Page 6 of A Country Kind Of Love
I sage the house once a week to free it of all negative energy. In the house rules I do provide a schedule of when this will take place. It’s only through the night twice a month and may cause some disturbance to normal sleeping patterns.
Peyton’s shortlist is down one. The title looked promising, but the description is concerning; three remain.
She jumps up to grab a soda from the mini fridge. The laptop pings with an incoming email. A woman called Jesse from downtown Nashville would be delighted to have her come and visit the room.
The ad reads :
$700/RoomInTwoBedApartment/MusicLover/AwardSeasonEnthusiast/TTT.
Peyton has no idea what TTT stands for, but this girl does tick the other two categories. The ad feels like more of a dating app description, minus the rent fee. It is the first and only reply she’s had all morning. If she doesn’t find something soon, she’ll be hauled up in a dive motel with crusty sheets and mirrors onthe ceiling.
?
Who is this Jared Leto wannabe?
His cheeks are hollow, his jaw square, and his eyes large and piercing green. His dark tangled mess of hair gives off a certain Shawn Mendes feel, but the Van Dyke beard and stubble combination adds the grunge. There isn’t a single visible part of his body, other than his face, not covered in tattoos. He wears a pair of ripped denim shorts, and a V-neck shirt like he invented them.
Did he pick that shirt on purpose? Peyton wonders. The way it clings tightly to his body would appeal to most girls, but he’s barking up the wrong tree this time.
“Erm, hi. I’m lookingfor Jesse.”
His expression is empty. Is he high? Peyton wonders.
“I’m Jesse, you must be... Piper?”
He must notice the look of confusion on Peyton’s face. It is a simple case of assuming a non-gender specific name is a girl’sname.Idiot.
“It’s Peyton,but close.”
“Well, come in, Peyton.” He smells like a hardware store mixed with leather. You could bottle him up and sell the masculinity down at Sephora for fifty dollars a vial.
“I like your shirt.” He nods towards her chest.
The vintage Shania Twain T-shirt is a 1990s classic, now seen as rare concert memorabilia, and a gift from her mom. The black has washed out over the decades, and a small hole reveals her skin at the seam of the neck, but she adores it.
“Thank you.”
“That don’t impress me much,” Jesse says casually.
“Sorry?”
“The song; it’s my favourite from theCome onOvertour.”
Peyton laughs. “Ah, okay, so you’re a fan?”
Jesse removes his painfully tight shirt and reveals a large tattoo along his left side. It’s the tour poster for Shania’s 1998 tour, drawn the size of a CD case.
“That is so...” Is it weird to touch it? She does anyway. “...freaking cool.”
“My mom is a huge Shania fan,”Jesse says.
“Mine too!”
“I have the poster somewhere and a signed vinyl that I got a few years ago. Wait...” Jesse jogs to the other side of the room, pulls a record from the wall, and hands it to Peyton. “Look... It says,To Jessica. She misunderstood my name, but it’s the thought that counts.”
“I amso jealous.”
Jesse drops his shirt on the back of the brown leather sofa. She takes that as a sign he doesn’t intend to put it back on. Totally not weird at all.
