Chapter 3

Three years later . . .

“Congratulations.” Tim the real estate agent smiles as he hands over the keys. “It’s all yours.”

“Thank you.” I open the door, and we walk into the foyer. My parents and Liam are here to help celebrate this momentous occasion.

He looks around the old, dilapidated house. “Have fun renovating.”

“I will.” I beam. “Renovator’s delight, remember?”

Tim chuckles at his own sales pitch. “I remember.”

My grandmother, God rest her beautiful soul, left me and my brother a large inheritance each, and with my savings I have somehow snagged a house in the best neighborhood in Half Moon Bay.

This is my ideal suburb, but it was never even close to my price bracket. Somehow—and I’m guessing it was Grandma organizing this in heaven—the stars aligned.

I received her inheritance, and in the first week I was looking, this house came up.

It was a deceased’s estate with no beneficiaries, so the will trustee made the call that it would be sold to the first person who made an offer, any offer. By some miracle, I was the first to look at it, I fell in love, and I was the first to make an offer.

I nearly fainted when they accepted it.

It’s a total dump, but it’s on a beautiful street. Well, it’s not really a street. It’s a cul-de-sac, Kingston Lane.

“Bye,” Tim says as he walks down the front steps. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I will. Thanks again. Bye.”

I do a little jig on the spot in excitement. “Can you believe this?” I gasp.

My mom kisses me. “We’re so happy for you, Jules.” She grabs her phone from her bag. “Hold up your keys—I need a photo.” I hold up my keys and smile goofily as my mom snaps away.

“It’s bittersweet. I wish Gran was here.”

“She’s watching.” Mom smiles. “I know she is.”

“The worst house on the best street.” My dad smiles. “You’ve bitten off a lot, that’s for sure.”

“I’m up to the challenge.” I smile as I look around. “There’s no rush. I have forever to do it.”

The old house is clapboard and two stories. It’s white with a green tin roof. It has a wraparound veranda and an overgrown yard. It’s going to be a lot of hard work to bring it back to its original glory.

“And when does your puppy arrive?” Mom asks.

I do a little dance on the spot. “I pick him up from the shelter tomorrow. He’s actually the most exciting thing about finally buying a house. I can have my own dog. And he’s not a puppy, Mom. Remember, I adopted an older dog.”

“But I thought you wanted a puppy.”

“I did. But when I got there, he looked so sad and timid. He’s the one for me.”

“What are you going to call him?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess we’ll work it out together once he gets here.”

“What time does the moving truck arrive?” Dad asks.

I glance at my watch. “We have three hours.”

Mom walks into the kitchen. “Let’s get cleaning.”

It’s 11:00 p.m., and after the longest day in history, I trudge up the stairs.

Liam left a little earlier for a hot date. Lucky him.

“Good night, Jules,” Dad calls from the spare room.

“Good night. Thanks for everything today.”

He and Mom are staying so that I’m not alone on my first night here. I’ve only ever lived in apartments since moving away from home. If I’m being honest, being here in this big old house may be a little scary. That’s one of the reasons I decided on getting an older dog. He can be my protector as well as my best friend.

I walk into my bedroom and look around. The walls are different colors, one green and one cream; the other two are a dusty pink.

Hideous.

The former owner did do a bit of a renovation at some point many years ago. An en suite bathroom was added to the master, although its brown tiles leave much to be desired. At least it’s there, I guess.

I shower, throw my pajamas on, and turn off the light. When I go to close the blinds, I notice that the neighbor’s upstairs bedroom window is in full view; I can see straight in. It’s luxurious looking, with expensive furnishings. There’s a four-poster bed with a couch at the end.

The bedroom looks huge.

Jeez.

“Swish.” I smile. There’s a giant artwork behind the bed, and I narrow my eyes to try and zoom in on it. I think it’s an abstract painting of a naked woman?

Hmm . . .

A man walks into the room with a towel around his waist, and I quickly grab the cord to pull the blinds down. I don’t want him to think I’m a Peeping Tom. I yank the cord, but nothing happens.

“Shit.” I struggle with the cord, but it’s stuck solid. I glance back up to see the guy is now in black briefs. He’s pulling the blankets back on his bed.

“Fuck.” I duck behind the wall. I don’t want him to see me. I’ll struggle with the cord after he closes his blinds.

I wait and wait . . . and wait. What the hell is he doing?

I peep around the corner and watch. And the man in the window walks over to close the blinds, and for the first time, I see his face.

My eyes widen.

No . . .

I quickly duck back behind the wall in horror. With my heart hammering hard in my chest, I peer back around the corner. This cannot be happening.

What are the chances?

It’s that asshole bastard, Henley James.

3:00 a.m., the witching hour

I lie on my back and stare at the ceiling.

Fuck. Him.

How dare he ruin this for me?

Is it not enough that he’s ruined sex for me forever?

Is it not enough that I compare every damn date I go on to that stupid fucking horrible, amazing, wonderful nightmare date that we went on?

I bet you he’s married.

I bet you his wife is gorgeous and smart and probably a lawyer or something equally impressive.

She’s probably going to prance around here every fucking Thursday in a little white tennis skirt.

With their two point five perfect children that go to a private school. She probably vacuums her car every Saturday and weeds the garden on Sunday.

Bakes pies and shit.

Ugh . . . I roll over, infuriated, and punch the pillow.

God, I wish I never met him.

And the worst part is, my mind still goes there. It lingers on that night when he was throwing me around in bed. The way we laughed at dinner, the way he kissed me.

The way he made me feel.

But worse than that, it lingers on how I wasn’t enough for him.

And how badly it hurt.

A click sounds through the kitchen as the toast pops. I take it out and juggle it between my fingers. Ouch, that’s hot. I put the scrambled eggs onto the plates. “Mom, Dad, breakfast is ready,” I call.