With a sigh of relief, I picked up the fruit and spoon and made my way to the barstools. "I just assumed you were watching a friend's kid or something like that."
She began opening and closing cupboards, seemingly taking stock of the contents. They appeared to be fully stocked.
"You said your friends are traveling."
"Yes, they like to go on long trips. I don’t even know if they’ve really lived in this house."
"Are they gone like this often? It doesn’t make sense that they would have fully stocked cupboards if they’re always gone."
Nola didn’t bother to turn around to look at me. "I have no clue. It doesn't make sense to me either. But they’re well off, so maybe they just don’t like the idea of empty cupboards. Some people always seem to have a surplus, while others seem doomed to struggle."
I nodded.
"People like you."
I sputtered as I accidentally squirted the grapefruit in my eye. "What do you mean people like me?"
"I mean, you lived in a run-down apartment while this house sat empty."
"The same could be said for you," I shot back.
"Yes, but I made that choice. I wanted to stand on my own two feet, but I also wanted to see what Sebastian Mercier's apartments were like. I'd heard about them but wanted to experience them for myself."
"And what did you experience?"
She laughed humorlessly. "Mold and asbestos exposure. And a growing certainty that Mercier is a ruthless businessman. I wondered if you were similar to him. But then again, you lived in those crappy apartments too."
"Maybe I lived there by choice."
Nola walked over to the counter and leaned her elbows on top. "Now why would you do that?"
I tapped the grapefruit with my thumb while I debated how to answer her. "I have a budget. I don’t like to go outside of that budget."
She cocked her head to the side. "So you stayed at The Market Street Apartments because it was within your budget?"
"Yes. I don’t like to overextend myself."
"Sebastian Mercier should take some money managing lessons from you. He obviously overextended himself if he had to keep those deposits." She began muttering under her breath, something that sounded suspiciously like, "Unscrupulous old goat."
I thought back to my unanswered emails about the return of our deposits. She had a point. If a man like Mercier was going to keep the deposits, that meant there weren't a lot of scruples involved. Two thousand dollars was a hefty deposit on such a trashy apartment in the first place.
"You talked to the owners about staying here, right?"
Nola cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders. "Not exactly."
"What does that mean?" I ground out. "Do we have permission or not?"
"They told me to come stay any time I wanted. I can’t exactly call them up right now!"
"We live in the twenty-first century! Of course you can."
"You haven’t spent much time in Uganda, have you?" She snapped.
I rolled my shoulders, trying to release the tension residing there. "Okay, fair enough. Can you email them? Then the next time they get service they can answer you. But we're not going to stay here long, right?"
"Right. Just until something better opens up." She crossed her chest with her fingers.
"Okay. Where did you park? I didn't see a car when I drove in."
"In the garage."
"How did you get in there? It's a key-code."
"I'm good at hacking?"
"Is that a question?"
"I'm good at hacking," she replied firmly with a nod.
"Remind me never to make you mad."
She grinned. "Just kidding, I knew the code. Now, let’s go look at the rest of the house. We'll decide which rooms we want."
I tossed the rest of the grapefruit in the trash and began my self-exploring tour of the house. The main living area was open concept. The kitchen had a large island and bar separating it from the living room and a dining room running parallel to it. It was walled off from the front entry, however. On one end of the house, we discovered an enormous master suite with a laundry room through the bathroom.
On the other end of the house, there were two more bedrooms and a bathroom.
Upstairs, there was a sizeable bonus room, a study, and another bathroom.
"You want the master suite?" I asked her once we finished the house tour.
"Oh no, you go for it. I like one of the bedrooms on the other end of the house better."
"There's no ensuite bathroom on that side though."
She shook her head. "It's not that far down the hall. Besides, the master bedroom had that king bed. You're taller than me. I don't mind sleeping on a queen. We can be the king and queen of our castle!"
She flung her arms out to her side and spun around in a circle where she stood in the living room.
Her carefree grin set my heart racing.
She reached out and grabbed my hands, dragging me with her in a full revolution. I dragged my feet, lost in watching her excitement.
"Loosen up, Bert. This is the answer to all of our problems. It will be fun! I’ve never been married before."
She threw her head back and laughed maniacally, her hands still gripping mine. Her soft hands had a tenacious hold. I wasn't sure I could break away if I tried. And I didn't want to try. Holding her hands was the most natural thing in the world.
I was in deep trouble.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Homeowners Association Rule #57:
Each household must have a representative at each HOA meeting.
If Nola thought I was going to be the only one representing the Fox couple as long as we lived in the neighborhood, she was dead wrong. It was her idea to live in the house. It was her idea to stay here. It was her friend’s house. She knew way more about it than I did.
Faking marriage? Yes, that was my fault, but it was an attempt to have equal footing. Pretending to be a married couple had just seemed like
