Page 18 of Sage Haven
Ribbon bracelets in every color fluttered wildly from her wrist, catching the light and throwing flashes of bright hues in all directions.
She smiled—wide and unrestrained.
Like we were old friends.
Like we hadn’t missed a single day.
And then she was walking toward me.
Straight for my passenger-side window.
For one wild second, I thought she was about to open the door and climb in like she belonged there.
Instead, she tapped on the glass with two knuckles.
I hesitated, but before I could decide if I was ready for this, my anxiety lowered the window.
“Hey! You’re the person who just moved into the third-floor apartment, right?” she said, her voice bright and unapologetically enthusiastic. “I think we might be neighbors!”
I blinked at her, momentarily caught off guard.
People didn’t greet me like this.
Hell, people didn’t greet me at all unless they had to, but there she was—this radiant, unstoppable force of nature standing inches from my car, acting like I was the best friend she’d been looking for her entire life.
I nodded, because I didn’t know what else to do.
Her eyes sparkled with something wild and untamed, like she was constantly on the verge of letting me in on a secret too good to be true.
She radiated joy. Pure, unfiltered joy. That was the best way to describe her.
In an attempt to not scare the butterfly off, I reached for the volume knob, turning down the blaring guitar riffs that had been my soundtrack that morning—a raw, guttural metal track pounding through the speakers, but then she surprised me.
“Oh, don’t turn it down for me! I love this kind of music.” Her laugh bubbled out, light and easy, as if we were sharing a joke, I hadn’t realized we’d made. “In fact, I’m pretty sure your apartment only became available because of a few noise complaints. You’re welcome, by the way.”
Her teasing grin was infectious.
Against every instinct that had kept me alive this long, I smiled.
Really smiled.
Not the tight-lipped thing I offered to customers or a passerby out of politeness.
This was something closer to real. More vulnerable.
“Not that I’m a noisy and unbearable neighbor,” she added quickly, throwing her hands up in mock defense. She bit her bottom lip, as if considering whether or not she should say more, and then her grin widened like she’d made a decision.
“I’m Sam,” she said. “And you are…?”
“Sage,” I replied, my voice softer than I intended. So, I cleared my throat and tried again. “Sage.”
She nodded like it was already the most familiar name she’d ever heard.
“Well, Sage,” she said with certainty, “you’re officially stuck with me. We’re going to be friends.”
And that’s how I met the one who would pull me out of my routine.
By the end of that week, Sam was everywhere.
