He dashed up the garage stairs to his new apartment. A bristly welcome mat informed him to ‘fuck-off’ unless he’d ‘brought beer’. The corner of his mouth quirked up. Classy. Asher’s touch, no doubt.
Pulling a red envelope off the front door, he read the message. Guess you found the place. Give me a call when you get in. Key is under the mat. –Asher.
As promised, he found the key under the mat. He rolled his eyes as he slid the key into the lock. Crime rate must be pretty nonexistent around here.
Not bad. The windows were all wide open, but a lingering smell of wet dog was unmistakable. Prior tenant must have been a dog person. He didn’t mind, he’d always wanted a dog. Maybe now that he lived in the fucking sticks…
Otherwise, the place was spotless. Faux-wood flooring spanned the main room, an L-shaped plush couch faced an electric fireplace. On the tag was a sticky note that read, Happy Housewarming, in elegant handwriting. Not Asher’s. Who the hell would have bought him a couch?
The breeze from outside gusted in through the open windows, the warmed cedar tickling his nose before spiraling up to the exposed-beam ceiling. Open and airy, the place had just been updated. The kitchen had shiny black granite countertops, stainless steel sink and faucet, with matching appliances. Shit, nice digs.
Zane couldn’t say what he’d been expecting, but this wasn’t it. Probably something more like the tired shoebox he’d had in San Diego. He’d moved into the place when he’d joined the SEALs, a cheap place for a couple just starting out; he hadn’t felt like getting a new place even when he’d paid off his student debt with the GI Bill and his combat pay.
He fired off a quick text to Asher, Here. The place is great.
His phone buzzed a few seconds later. I’ll let you get settled. See you tomorrow?
Bring breakfast.
He dashed down the stairs to start unloading. What he was going to do after that, he didn’t have a fucking clue.
Freya chugged her water. The cool flow soothed her scratchy throat but failed to lighten the lead coating her eyelids. Jetlag was a bitch. She would kill for a caffè, but as she’d have to attempt sleep again in another few hours, she didn’t dare.
She glared at her suitcases. It hadn’t been worth the money to ship her few belongings from Florence, so she’d just kept her clothes, a few favorite trinkets, and then shipped her art supplies and the completed paintings she hadn’t been ready to give up just yet. Flying back for a showing and to pack up her things had been a headache and a half. Double jetlag was like a monster of a hangover, and she hadn’t felt one of those since her foolish early twenties. At least Sophie had enough basics to stock the house for now, and Freya would only be here for a few months while she looked for something more permanent anyway.
Permanent. That would be nice. The last few years had been a whirlwind, couch surfing when things were tight, living in closet-sized studio apartments with roommates or boyfriends when she had the cash. Art school, internships, waiting tables. None paid well.
Until the last year. Things seemed to be taking off. Not like a jet leaving the runway, more like a rusty sedan in need of an oil change, but she’d established enough of a foothold in the art world that she might be able to continue the momentum from home. A few big galleries had even expressed interest in carrying her work on an ongoing basis. Her income was meager but steady… otherwise she would still be over there.
An engine rumbling down the driveway pricked her attention. Too big for Sophie’s new RAV4 that she’d paid cash for with her inheritance. Freya had thought herself frugal, but Sophie spent so much of her childhood rationing every penny that she rarely splurged.
Foothills was too spread out to function without a car, unless she wanted to move closer to downtown, but she had craved the wide-open spaces of rural Foothills. While she needed a car, the expense was daunting. By the time she made it to the window to see who was here, she saw the rear of a truck loaded with tarped boxes in the carport next to the garage.
Hmm. This must be Asher’s SEAL buddy, Zane. He’d mentioned that Zane would be arriving soon, and to give him some space. Her cousin had been hurting when he’d gotten home from the Navy a few months ago, and apparently Zane was worse off, as he didn’t even have a supportive family to get him through.
Uncle Paul and Asher had moved fast to get the apartment fixed up before Zane arrived. Her aunt and uncle had practically adopted Sophie the first time their daughter had brought her home, and brought her further into the fold each time. It looked like they were on track to take Zane right under their wing as well. No wonder they were her favorite aunt and uncle. Their children have been her best friends since childhood, and Paul and Denise were honest people that cared about their home and family, blood related or not.
While the dust still settled in the driveway, Sophie pulled up in her new SUV. Freya would say shiny and new, but the driveway was a dustbowl, so nothing was shiny around here for long. Uncle Paul, officially still the owner, had promised to have it graveled before fall, or it would be a mudhole. Parking in the empty two-car garage, Sophie appeared with a pair of grocery bags and sneakily eyed Zane’s truck, but resisted the urge to go pry.
As soon as Sophie made it inside, she dumped the groceries on the kitchen island
