The Fine Line Between Love and Hate: Part One (Mistik Ridge #1) Read online

  Copyright © 2016 by Ashley Erin

  Cover Design by Kari Ayasha with Cover to Cover Designs

  Model: Rainey

  Photographer: MHPhotography

  Editing by Missy Borucki and Jessica Grover

  Interior Design: Integrity Formatting

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner. All rights reserved.

  All or Nothing series

  All About Us

  All About Hope

  Rule series

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  The No Bad Boy Rule

  Standalones

  without walls

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  Also by Ashley Erin

  The Rental

  The Tenant

  It Begins

  First Notice

  Order vs. Disorder

  First Meeting

  First Impressions

  The Clash

  Distraction

  Chemistry and Comfort Zones

  Two Steps Forward, Three Steps Back

  The Escape

  Reality Check

  Second Notice

  Attack of the Gnomes

  What am I doing?

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Parking my car, I smile when I see the cute house before me. It’s perfect. Despite the snow blanketing the grass and shrubs, I take immediate notice as to how immaculately the yard and exterior of the house has been kept. The siding looks brand new, the porch freshly stained. Even the driveway is crack free, unlike every other driveway in the neighborhood. I sure hope the lady—Lorraine, I think her name was—likes me, because now that I’ve seen this place in person, I want it. Everything is falling into place and this would tie it all up into a neat bow.

  A car pulls into the driveway, the woman who steps out can only be described as elegant. Her hair in some neat twisty knot, showing off the fine features of her face. Her makeup is subtle, but impeccable. When I see the A-line skirt and silky blouse she is wearing, I second guess my casual appearance.

  Oh well, this is me. Skinny jeans, with my cozy winter boots. The sweater I’m wearing is loose and comfortable, falling off one shoulder to show off my ink. It’s currently covered by my worn leather jacket. It’s freezing outside and I’m completely unprepared for the cold weather.

  Locking my car, I walk up to her with a warm smile.

  “Hi, I’m Evie.” Holding my hand out, I try to exude confidence. I’m not typically intimidated by people, I’m confident in who I am, but this woman looks like she belongs on the red carpet, not in some small town with less than six thousand people.

  Mistik Ridge is idyllic. An hour’s drive from the nearest big city, it sits on a cliff overlooking the Mistik River. It’s not a huge tourist spot, despite the vast number of attractions close by. I like that it’s an undiscovered gem, and I admit to imagining living here being similar to an episode of Gilmore Girls.

  “Lorraine Greene. It’s very nice to meet you, Evie. Let’s get out of this cold, and I will show you the house.” She leads me up the walk, unlocking the door.

  I can’t help the sigh of relief at how warm the house feels.

  “I think I mentioned moving here from the West Coast, I’m not used to the blistering cold or the snow. Good lord, is there always so much snow?” Shrugging out of my coat, I hang it in the closet.

  “It’s been pretty frigid this year. More so than usual.” Her smile is friendly, and I begin to relax as she shows me through the house.

  The bungalow is split into two halves. The first half is the kitchen and living room, open to each other, but separated by a railing. The kitchen is to die for, with new stainless steel appliances, dark granite countertops, and mahogany cupboards. It looks like it’s been recently renovated.

  “My son owns the house. He’s out of town, so he asked me to help find a tenant for him. He just finished renovating the entire house this past summer. As mentioned in the ad, it’s fully furnished so everything in here is yours to use as you wish.” Continuing the tour, she shows me the bedrooms, there are two. The master has an amazing bathroom attached to it.

  I love the entire house, the only thing I would change is the color of the walls. They are all beige and that’s so boring.

  Once the tour is through, she goes through the rental agreement. I will have a three-month grace period to ensure it’s a good fit, and she smiles widely when I say I want to sign a two-year lease.

  Her eyes sparkle as we chat, my usual quirkiness shining through.

  “Evie, I think you will be the perfect tenant for my son.”

  By the time I leave, I’ve signed the paperwork and I have a key. Finally, I can move out of the damn hotel I’ve been staying in while trying to find a place in this small town.

  Opening the door to my hotel room, I check to make sure everything is exactly how I left it. I forgot to put the “Do Not Disturb” sign on my door, and the thought of housekeeping messing up the order in which I laid out everything has been bothering me all day.

  Typically I love professional development days. However, this one has been stressful. I hate staying in hotels, and I’m relying on my mother to show a potential tenant the rental house.

  Glancing at the clock, I pick up my phone and dial her number. She should be finished by now.

  “Hi, darling. I was just about to call you. I should’ve known you would beat me to it.” Dropping into the generic hotel chair by the generic hotel table, I lean on my elbows and grin. Mom is one of the rare people who can tease me about my, as she calls it, “anal retentiveness.” I just call it being precise and organized.

  “How did it go?” Straight to the point. She may be able to make me smile, but I won’t be distracted.

  “We signed the agreement.”

  Sitting up, I frown. “That quickly? I know I said I trust your judgment, but . . .”

  “But nothing. She’s a nice girl. A librarian. Trust me on this, she will be a good tenant for you.” I hear her car door shut, the beep of the horn as she locks it.

  A librarian. I imagine a quiet, subdued woman. Someone studious and serious. The anxiety that was building all day fades away completely. “Okay. If you say she’s a good fit, I believe you.”

  My eyes automatically look over at my little rental house as I drive by. It’s my afternoon ritual. In the morning I don’t drive by, since my gym is not on this route, but in the afternoon I always check to make sure everything looks as it should.

  A flash of color catches my eye. Braking, I park the car and gape at the brightly colored flowers now filling the flower beds. The flower beds I meticul
ously planned out and planted.

  No. It specifically says in the rental agreement that the flowerbeds are to be maintained as they are. Grabbing a pen and paper, I jot a quick note for my tenant, before slipping it into an envelope.

  Exiting the car, I tape it to the door before going down the steps and taking a closer look at what she’s done to my hard work.

  Begrudgingly, I admit she did a nice job. It’s obvious she tried to complement what I had done, and she’s put a lot of effort into it. Shaking my head, I dig a box out of the trunk of my car, kneel down and gently begin to dig them out.

  They may look nice, but I specifically stated that I didn’t want any changes made to these beds. Everything planted was specifically chosen to fill in the empty spaces over the next few years.

  Washing my hands with the garden hose, I bring the box of flowers to the back and set them in the shade. She’s more than welcome to plant them in pots.

  Before I leave, I take one last look around the outside of the house, only getting back into my car when I’m satisfied that everything else is as it should be.

  Pouring my coffee into a to-go mug, I race out the door with one last look at the clock. God damn it, Everett wins the pool this week. Again.

  Heels clacking on the pavement, I race down the walkway to where my car sits in the driveway. It takes me less than five minutes to get to work. As I open the doors to the Mistik Ridge Public Library, I spot Everett strutting around the desk waiting for me.

  “I win. You would think after the past six months you would know better than to bet against me.” He rolls the overflowing cart of books that need to be shelved over to me, his smile triumphant. Normally we tackle the task together, but I foolishly bet him I could make it to work on time three days this week. I haven’t made it on time once since we made the bet last Wednesday.

  “Gloating is not a good look for you.” Slipping my sweater on, I look around the empty library. “Where’s Lola?”

  “Every look is good on me.” He points to the closed office door. Right, Monday, which means Lola is enduring the weekly conference call with the board of directors. She’s going to need a strong pot of coffee once that’s done.

  Grimacing at Everett, I roll the cart to the stacks, eager to get this over with.

  “Enjoy, darling.”

  Glancing around the empty library, I flip him the bird.

  By the time Heather and Sophie come in to relieve Everett and me, my entire day has been spent shelving books. Everett followed me around all day, mocking and teasing as he watched me work.

  “I forgot to mention, what with watching you do such a great job today and all, that I’m having a party on Friday. You and Natasha should come.” Everett opens my car door for me, leaning against the frame.

  “You just want to see Natasha.” I met Natasha one day when she came into the library. She owns the inn fifteen minutes out of town, and I helped her research gardening for some new thing she wanted to try. Shaking my head, I promise to invite her before starting my car and driving the short distance home.

  Parking, I grab my purse and the stack of books I brought to read over the next couple of weeks, I’m halfway up the driveway when the flowerbeds catch my eye. All the flowers I had planted amongst the boring shrubs are gone. The splash of color the yard is sorely missing disappeared.

  What the hell?

  That’s when I notice an envelope taped to the front door. Stalking up the steps, I don’t even have a chance to enjoy the cute little porch, the feature that sold me on the house, because I’m tearing open the envelope. The neat cursive taunts me as I begin reading.

  Ms. Jackson,

  I was driving by this afternoon, on my way home from work, when I noticed the flowers in the garden. I don’t know if you recall the part in the Rental Agreement about the yard, but it specifically states not to change the existing flowerbeds. I have placed the flowers in a box in the backyard. If you wish, you can always plant them in pots. Please refer to the Rental Agreement if you wish to make any changes around the house.

  Thank you,

  C. Greene

  By the time I’m done reading, I’m seething. I have yet to meet my landlord, and we’ve never clashed before, but apparently he’s come out of hiding.

  I can’t believe he dug up my flowers. Who does that? They looked nice, they were colorful and pretty, and I had worked damn hard on ensuring every plant would work together and fill in the empty spaces between the shrubs.

  Crumpling the notice in my hand, I storm into the house. Part of me wants to plant them again, just to spite him, but I don’t want to get evicted.

  Me: I’m fuming.

  Natasha: Why?

  Me: My landlord dug up my flowers. At least he didn’t throw them away, but apparently I can’t plant them in the flowerbed.

  Digging out the agreement I had stuffed in a drawer, I scan through it. Sure enough, there is a clause about changes that are acceptable to make to the yard.

  Who the fuck is this guy?

  Natasha: He’s been so quiet up until this point.

  Me: Yeah, I guess now that the weather is nice he’s come out of the hole he’s been hiding in.

  Natasha: I guess you better just do what he says. You have another year and a half on the lease.

  Me: I know. And I love this house, but wow.

  Grumbling, I pace throughout the house. I can’t afford to buy my way out of the lease. Besides, I love this house. I can play by his rules. It pains me, but I will curb my temper and do exactly what he says.

  Shutting down my computer, I stack the papers on my desk into a neat pile before moving about my classroom straightening everything before I head out for the day. I hate having a messy classroom, actually, I just hate messes in general.

  Life is much simpler when it’s orderly. You know what to expect when everything is done in a precise manner. My students learn early on, if they follow my rules and do their best, the year is easy. If not, it’s unpleasant for them and for me.

  Locking up, I check my bag to make sure the papers that need grading are in there. Of course they are, but it’s a good habit to be sure.

  The parking lot is full, it usually is this time of year as my colleagues are trying to catch up with curriculum and preparing for the end of the year. Shaking my head, I wish they would listen when I try to point out different ways they can structure their time to be more efficient. It never goes over very well, but it’s their decision. When everyone else is running around stressed, I’m winding down and finally breathing easy.

  Walking around my car, I check the tires and make sure everything is as it was this morning. I do the same inside. I check the rear-view mirror, the side mirrors, and adjust my seat slightly when it feels off.

  At the intersection, I turn towards my little rental house as per my usual afternoon ritual. I never miss a day, but I feel it necessary to make sure my tenant got the notice I left her yesterday afternoon. I worked damn hard on those flower beds, measuring the correct distances, and researching the types of plants that do best with the shrubs in there.

  I was explicit in the rental agreement, but when I called Mom to ask if she went over the entire agreement with Evie, she just laughed and said it’s easy to forget those details.

  I disagree.

  My eyes scan the yard as I pass by the house. Blinking rapidly, I slam on the brakes before backing up and gawking at the sight before me.

  The yard is full of brightly colored, gaudy flowerpots. She must have bought more flowers, because I know I didn’t dig out enough flowers to fill those pots.

  Counting them, I see seven. Each pot is a different color.

  Upon closer examination, they’re the colors of the rainbow. It looks so . . . so . . . unorganized. There is no rhyme or reason to the way she’s put them throughout the yard. I notice she was also careful to put them on the stones throughout, so I can’t even ask her to move them.

  Or can I? I mean, maybe I can cite complaints fro
m the neighbors. Seeing Mrs. Jesperson toiling about her yard, I roll down my window.

  “Hi, Mrs. Jesperson!”

  She walks over with a huge smile on her face. She was my teacher in the eighth grade, and I recall her being an orderly person.

  “Hi, dear, how are you?”

  “I’m well, thank you. I just wanted to check and make sure my tenant’s flower display isn’t bothering you. Those planters are quite large, and . . .”

  “Oh no, dear. I adore Evie and the color she brings to the neighborhood. All the neighbors adore her. She’s so spunky, it’s nice and refreshing for us old folks.”

  Crap.

  “Great! I just wanted to check. Take care of yourself.”

  When she’s back on the sidewalk, I pull away from the house.

  Okay, I can deal with the awful planters. They’re not harming anyone, and maybe now things can go back to normal. Evie has proven to be a quiet and responsible renter until this point, I’m sure this is a one-off.

  Once I’m home, I check the chicken fajitas I prepared this morning and put in the slow cooker. It’s ready, and my stomach grumbles at the delicious scent. Before I serve myself, I grab Sebastian’s food from his cupboard, measure out the exact amount directed by the label for his age and weight, and settle his stainless steel dish onto his mat.

  Calling him, I smile when he comes slinking down the stairs, his black fur shining as he rubs against my leg, purring, before going to eat.

  I set my place at the kitchen table, before filling a serving dish with the steaming fajitas. Placing the serving spoon inside, I set it on the table and sit down. Spreading a napkin on my lap, I dish up and eat in the peace and quiet of my home.

  Once I’m done, I clean up. Everything washed, dried, and put in its place.

  Glancing at the clock, I pick up the cordless phone and call my mom.

  “Hi, darling.”