Page 7 of The Naughty List

Holy shit! What am I supposed to do with a house all the way over in Blushing, Colorado?

I wipe the back of my arm across my face, mop up the tears, and laugh over just how well my nana always knew me. Right down to getting snot everywhere. Then before I can even come up with a plan or begin a new list, my gaze lifts back to the letter, and I read it over and over again.

A house. I just inherited a whole damn house. That’s insane.

I’m not going to lie, after Nana passed, I had wondered what was going to happen to her estate, but when nothing came, I had assumed she had organized other plans, but me? This is crazy.

The house I grew up in is absolutely beautiful. It’s modest and homey with beautifully tended gardens, and while the thought of selling it makes something ache in my chest, there’s no denying that this came at the perfect time.

I need funds to support me while I build this new business. Hell, I need funds just to be able to afford my rent, water, food, and power. I can hardly build a business if I can’t look after myself first and foremost. Don’t get me wrong, I have enough cash to get through a month or two, but what about after that? Where does that leave me? Fuck Dwayne and his shitty timing. I needed that Christmas bonus.

Shit. Am I really considering selling Nana’s home? The place where all of my childhood memories are? The place I learned how to ride a bike, and where Pop taught me how to make snow angels? But do I really have any other choice?

I could sell the property over the next few weeks and close right before I open my new business. It’s short notice, but it’s not as though I have anything else going on right now. My now ex-boyfriend likes to dress up in latex and spank random women with ring gags, and it’s not as though I have an office I need to be in right now.

I have nothing but time on my hands. Is this some kind of gift from above? Has Nana been watching over me today and knew just how much I needed this?

There’s only one problem though. If I’m going to sell Nana’s property, I have to go back to Blushing. I need to make sure the house is suitable for sale and bring it back into this century, but in order to do that, I’m going to have to face everything I’ve worked my ass off to avoid.

Nicholas Stone.

What could possibly go wrong?

3

BLAIR

OhGod!WhatwasI thinking?

The plane touched down in Denver, Colorado two hours ago, and after catching another connecting flight to the Yampa Valley Regional Airport, I’m one step closer to returning to the one place I’ve truly felt was home.

The small airplane taxis back toward the terminal, and with every passing second, my heart races just a little bit more. Blushing is roughly another hour’s drive from here. It’s a sweet, secluded small town that has always given me Gilmore Girls vibes. Hell, Nana and I always joked that we could have easily been cast in that show. Only, she didn’t fancy the idea of playing Lorelai. She was too loved-up with Pop to consider the single, struggling mom life. That was until Lorelai started dating Luke of course.

We used to watch that show religiously, just something special we would do together while Pop rolled his eyes and muttered about not understanding the show’s humor.

My head aches after spending the main trip from New York into Denver getting drunk and spilling my guts to the poor, undeserving gentleman beside me. I told him my whole life story, told him all about Nick and how he was my whole world, and how I gave it all up to follow my dreams. I told him about Nana, then bitched about Dwayne and his stupid salmon button-down shirt, then about my grand plan to start up my own business after selling Nana’s property over Christmas.

I’m not usually one to talk to a complete stranger like that, and if it weren’t for the fact that I was on a plane, I’m sure I would have been fine. Air travel has a way of making me anxious, and if it were a longer flight, I would have taken a pill and knocked myself out for the duration of it, but unfortunately, I wasn’t that lucky. So, instead of being relaxed after spending the day sleeping off the anxiety, I now find myself pissed off with a killer headache and still struggling with the anxiety of returning home.

It’s another twenty minutes before I’m at baggage claim to collect my suitcase off the small carousel, and honestly, despite the multiple lists and planning I’ve done over the last two days, I have no idea what I’m supposed to do from here. There’s not exactly a taxi bay or a million Ubers waiting around to take me back to Blushing. Don’t get me wrong, I certainly tried to hire a driver and figure something out, but from the looks of it, the one driver I did manage to book has clearly bailed.

Shit.

Even during all my college traveling, I never really had this issue. Pop was always here when I landed to give me a ride. Now I have to fend for myself.

Letting out a heavy sigh, I make my way out into the chilly December air, cringing as I take in the snow-covered landscape. Don’t get me wrong, New York can be bitterly cold this time of year, but my collection of cute ankle boots, heels, and athletic shoes is not cut out for the knee-deep snow here in Blushing.

My gaze sweeps up and down, trying to figure something out, and after realizing just how alone I am, I scurry back inside and park my ass on a small bench. My thin wool peacoat isn’t going to cut it, so I pull it off and scramble through my suitcase. I pull out an old sweater and shrug it on over my head. It doesn’t exactly match my outfit, but layering my coat over top of it will be much warmer.

The bite in the harsh breeze outside warns me that we might be in for a storm tonight, and I pull my phone out of my handbag, scrounging through my contact list trying to figure out how to get my ass home. It’s been over a month since anyone has entered that house. I’m not even sure if it still has electricity or running water.

Scrolling past my high school best friend, Sarah, my thumb pauses. I haven’t spoken to her in years, but she’s the kind of person who would have dropped everything to help someone out. Guilt soars through my veins, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and I press her name before shoving the phone against my cold ear.

The phone rings three times before I hear Sarah’s hesitant voice coming through my small speaker. “Hello?” she says as though asking a question, probably certain that I’ve pocket-dialed her.

“Hey, Sarah. It’s Blair Wilder. How are you?” I say, trying to sound chirpy despite my current situation.

“Oh, hey,” she replies. “It’s been ages since we’ve talked. I’m doing really well. What about you?”

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