The Fine Line Between Love and Hate: Part One (Mistik Ridge #1) Page 2

  “Hi, Mom. How was your day?” Walking into the living room, I straighten a pillow and settle onto the couch for my weekly check-in.

  “It was fine. Your father was having a good day, so I spent the entire morning with him. He asked about you, you should make time to go see him.” She sounds happy, something I haven’t heard in her voice in a while.

  “I can probably fit it in this weekend.” Visiting my father is something I dread. He had a stroke in January, and it completely changed the man I grew up with. Every time I go see him, I never know what to expect and I hate the unknown.

  “Did you sort things out with Evie?”

  Filling her in on the flower pots that are now spread out over the front yard, I’m shocked when I hear Mom laugh. “It’s not funny. It’s awful, and there is nothing I can do about it. I think I should book an inspection with her, make sure she hasn’t gone too crazy inside.”

  “Charlie, she’s a nice girl. Some colorful pots are nothing compared to what you could be dealing with.” She tries to placate me, but I’m already planning on sending her a notice of inspection.

  Ms. Jackson,

  I would like to schedule a six-month inspection for this coming weekend. Sunday, at two in the afternoon. I have included my card. Please email to confirm this date and time at your earliest convenience.

  Sincerely,

  C. Greene

  Tossing the notice in the drawer, along with the first one and the rental agreement, I send my landlord a quick text stating that Sunday works. I will finally meet the man whose neat handwriting with uptight wording has been taunting me all week.

  I’m not surprised that he left another notice wanting to check out the inside of the house. If the flower incident is any indication, the guy has a stick shoved so far up his ass, it’s all the way in his throat.

  Thankfully, I don’t think he will find fault with the changes I’ve made inside the house. I painted a feature wall in each room, but ensured they matched the color schemes in the house. Which means, darker neutral tones. I added color throughout the house with throws, photos, and more flowers.

  After receiving the first notice, I read through my rental agreement cover to cover. This guy obviously has control issues, and I want to make sure he can’t find fault with my behavior. That doesn’t mean I can’t find ways to have fun within the limitations of the agreement, especially if he continues to ride my ass. I hate being restricted into the confines of a contract, however, I don’t have enough money to buy a house yet. It’s part of my two-year plan, the only plan I ever live by.

  Landlord: Hello, Ms. Jackson. I appreciate the quick response; however, I specifically requested an email response, as I require the documentation for my records. Thank you.

  Rolling my eyes, I open my laptop and send him a quick email. This is ridiculous.

  It’s Friday night, he’s given me forty-eight hours’ notice. That gives me tomorrow and Sunday morning to walk through the house and make sure it’s presentable. Tonight is about getting out and forgetting everything but having a good time.

  A knock at the door distracts me. Shutting the drawer, I walk to the front door. As expected, it’s Natasha.

  “The party has been moved to a pub. Everett decided it would be simpler than dealing with everyone at his place.” Stopping in front of the full-length mirror I hung in the foyer, I adjust the short black dress. It’s backless, which means I can’t wear a bra, but damn it makes me feel sexy. It’s also sleeveless, so it shows off my ink.

  “That’s fine.”

  She looks gorgeous in dark jeans and a strapless top that shows off her chest. She’s voluptuous and curvy, absolutely stunning. But that means nothing when I see the frown on her face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Grabbing my keys from the hook behind the door, I lock up and wait for her to spill.

  “It’s nothing I want to think about. For tonight, I want to remember I’m young and carefree.” I can hear the air quotes she puts around the word carefree, but if she doesn’t want to talk about it, I’m not going to push.

  The music is loud as we shove our way through the crowd towards the bar.

  “I’m going to go to the bathroom.” Natasha yells in my ear. Nodding, I try to maneuver my way through the crowd.

  Someone shoves me, knocking me into someone else. Strong arms wrap around me, the only thing preventing me from falling. Turning, my words of gratitude fail when I lock eyes with one of the most gorgeous men I’ve ever seen.

  He towers over me, everything about him is big and muscular. As I look up, my head tilting back until I finally meet his gaze, my heart stutters. Holy shit. His hazel eyes are stormy, he has the moody look down to an art. His hair is short on the sides, and long on top. Everything about him screams “put together.”

  I can feel the air thicken, my pulse reacting to the hold his gaze has me locked in. My nerves crackle where his skin touches mine, his large hands splayed on my bare back.

  I want to press into him, feel those arms close around me even tighter. I’ve never felt so safe. It’s a bizarre feeling, my history with men is mediocre at best and my trust is not given easily. Something in my gut tells me this man is steadfast and reliable.

  Clearing my throat, I finally speak. “Thank you.”

  He holds me a moment longer before tilting his head in a nod as he drops his arms and turns, disappearing into the crowd. My heart thunders, reacting to the loss of his presence. Wow.

  I stare into the sea of people, no longer seeing the mystery man, but unable to tear my eyes away from the crowd that swelled around him.

  “Evie.” Jumping at the voice in my ear, I turn to a grinning Everett, giving him a quick hug.

  “Hey! I need a drink.” Following him to the bar, I glance behind me one last time, knowing I won’t see him but unable to resist the urge to try.

  The rest of the night, I find myself looking for him. I catch glimpses, he’s with a couple of other guys, all good looking men, but my gaze is pulled back to him.

  “Who are you looking at?” Natasha leans in when she catches me checking out the room for probably the tenth time.

  “No one. For a small town, I’m surprised I don’t recognize more faces.” Mistik Ridge has less than six thousand people. The town is so isolated, it’s like its own eco-system. People rarely move here, almost everyone has been raised here. Yet, despite its isolation, it thrives and the people who live here embrace the close-knit community.

  “You haven’t been here that long. Soon you will wish you knew less people.” Natasha laughs, but I know she loves this town. That’s why she’s never moved away. I wouldn’t even have known it exists if it wasn’t for getting a job at the library.

  Looking back over the crowd, I frown when he’s disappeared from view again. My vision is blocked by some guy in a Star Wars t-shirt. Grumbling, I try to peer around him.

  “Hey. I’m Darcy. I haven’t seen you around here before.” The voice is deep and filled with humor.

  Looking up, I grin when I see it’s one of mystery man’s friends. “Hi, I’m Evie. And I haven’t been here before.”

  He moves next to me, leaning against the bar and clearing my view to search for his friend.

  “My friends just left for the night, but I didn’t want to leave without saying hello. He looks me up and down. Smirking, I plant a hand on my hip. I’m not into one-night stands and I can tell that’s what he’s looking for.

  “Darcy.” Natasha moves in next to me. Her eyes narrowed.

  “Tash.” The warmth in his eyes fades away. He leaves without another word.

  “Ugh. Sorry, he’s just such a jerk.” Natasha turns to me, the coldness bleeding from her eyes. Suddenly, she looks contrite. “Wait, I hope he wasn’t the one you kept looking at.”

  “No.” Sipping my drink, I watch her for a moment. “No love lost there?”

  “No, he’s a couple years older and friends with my brother, Guy. I’m surprised I didn’t see him her
e. Anyways, he’s always been kind of a jerk to me. Not to everyone, just me. But he treats women like they’re disposable and I didn’t want you to deal with that,” she rambles on, unaware that her eyes haven’t moved away from the direction he walked.

  Picking up the file folder from the front seat of my car, I glance at the car I’ve parked next to. It’s a small sedan, conservative looking. Fitting for the quiet librarian living in my house. After the flower incident earlier this week, things have settled down.

  I’m feeling more confident about meeting her after her calm reaction to my request for an inspection. Making my way up the sidewalk, I begrudgingly admit that while the planters she chose don’t really fit with what I tried to create here, at least they are well-maintained and tidy. In fact, the entire yard has been well-maintained.

  Knocking on the door, I inspect the front porch, satisfied that nothing has been altered or damaged. When the front door opens, I turn to greet Evie Jackson.

  The air is sucked from my lungs as a familiar blue gaze looks up at me in shock. The woman from Friday night. The one who’s simple touch and genuine smile seared into my soul. My muscles jump at the memory of her slight body in my arms, my hands burn with the memory of her skin against my palms.

  Her tattoos stand out vibrantly against the white of her tank top. She is wearing black leggings that show off her toned legs. As I look back at her face, I see the recognition written all over it.

  “You must be Evie.” Holding out my hand, I pretend I hadn’t held her in my arms the other night. There is no simple way to categorize the fact the woman I’ve been fantasizing about since that night is no other than my tenant. I need time to process the information, and then resist the fantasy. I don’t do complicated, and any dalliance with someone living in my house is complicated. “I’m Charlie.”

  “Hello.” She takes my hand briefly, my skin jolting at the contact. Her gaze still locked on mine as she drops it and opens the door for me to step in. Her voice isn’t the soft tone from the other night. It’s strong, but feminine. Without even speaking, I can already sense that she isn’t the quiet, mousey librarian my mother led me to believe she was.

  Closing the door, I narrow my eyes as I take in the house. The first thing I notice is that she’s painted some of the walls. At least they match the color I had painstakingly selected. The second thing I notice is that there is no order to the way she has moved the furniture or organized her things.

  Books are piled on the coffee table, a blanket tossed on the couch, and this morning’s coffee cup is sitting on the wood of the table, rather than one of the coasters sitting less than a foot away.

  My eye twitches.

  Grunting, I make note that everything in the living room and kitchen appears to be well-cared for and intact. Despite the clutter, the house is clean.

  “What are you writing?” She lifts onto her toes, trying to see my notepad. Clutching it to my chest, I ignore her and continue to check out the living room and kitchen.

  When I’m satisfied that things are as they should be, aside from the disorder, I make my way to the bedrooms. Evie follows me, her arms crossed as I check out the guest room. She’s turned it into a library. It’s the most organized space in the entire house. Bookshelves lining the walls, a leather chair sitting underneath the window. Shutting the door, I turn and enter her bedroom. My skin crackles at her proximity behind me.

  The bed is unmade, but again there is no fault in the care she puts in maintaining the house. My heart thuds in my chest a little harder as I step further into the room to check the bathroom. Images of her gazing up at me at the bar flash through my mind as she leans against the wall, watching me carefully. I peer into the bathroom, swallowing hard when I see lacy lingerie hanging from the shower door.

  Turning on my heel, I brush past her and head back to the living room. She is silent as she follows me, but despite this I can feel the defiance radiating off of her.

  “Everything looks satisfactory.”

  She snorts, her face less than impressed. “Thanks, I guess.”

  “I wanted to discuss the flower pots. I appreciate that you put your flowers in pots, but don’t you think it would’ve been better to select something more in keeping with the tone of the house? They’re a little—bright. I believe I have some in the shed that you could use.”

  “No. I like them.”

  Stunned, I stare at her before nodding grimly. “Fine.”

  In spite of the defensive look on her face, I’m struck again with how beautiful she is. Even her tattoos, which normally I hate, fit her. Something about her makes me anxious. She doesn’t fit into the organization of my life, and yet here she is. Renting my house.

  Tucking my thumbs into the pockets of my jeans, the sudden urge to pull her into my arms is startling. Usually, the realization of who she was would eliminate any allure she holds, but there is something about her that calls to me. It’s unexpected and uncomfortable.

  “If that’s all . . .” She trails off, looking at me expectantly.

  “Oh, yes. I would appreciate if you could look through the rental agreement, just to ensure we don’t clash in the future.” Looking around the living room, I realize that we already do clash, but hopefully we won’t have another flower incident.

  “I read through it this week. Don’t worry, I know what I’m not allowed to do,” She smirks then, filling me with unease.

  I excuse myself to check out the backyard.

  Before I leave, I notice that the front door is scuffed, probably from her purse. Peering into the house, my stomach flips when I see she’s lying on the couch, with her feet resting where her head is supposed to go. “Ahem.”

  She looks over at me, not righting herself on the couch.

  “I notice there are some scuffs on the door. I would appreciate it if you could eliminate them and be a bit more careful with your purse coming in and out of the house.”

  She stares at me stunned. “You want me to get rid of the scuffs on the door?”

  Nodding, I swallow when she narrows her eyes. Instead of arguing, she just smiles, her eyes glinting in a way that makes me nervous.

  “Okay. I will fix the door.”

  Thanking her, I shut the door as I leave with a sense of dread.

  Evie Jackson is nothing like I expected.

  A week later my best friend, Guy, and I are driving past the house at my request. All week, I checked to see if Evie fixed the door, and as of yesterday afternoon it was still the same as the day of the inspection.

  “I know you like things done a certain way, but I can’t believe you asked her to unscuff the door,” he chuckles. He’s listened to me go on random rants all week about the disarray in the house. He thinks it’s hilarious, I do not. But that’s how Guy is, he’s disarray, while I’m orderly. I don’t know how our friendship works, but it does. Probably because I don’t have to live with him or deal with the chaos that is his life.

  “The stain was worn right down to the wood.” That’s a slight exaggeration, but I’m tired of him judging me. There is nothing wrong with expecting excellence. She gets a newly renovated house at a more than reasonable rate, I expect it to stay in pristine condition.

  Guy looks out the window, blocking my view of the door, and bursts into laughter. “Oh shit, man, I don’t know what your mom was thinking.”

  Leaning around him, I growl when I see the door.

  It’s purple. Fucking. Purple. And there is nothing I can do about it.

  “What the hell?”

  “Dude, there is no way she’s met you and still thinks that you would be okay with that.”

  Grinding my teeth, I’m about to pull away when Mrs. Jesperson waves at me, walking over. Rolling down my window, I paste on a smile.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Jesperson,” Guy and I greet her at the same time.

  “Hello, boys. Charlie, I love what Evie did with the door. It’s so sweet of you to let her add her own character to the house. Why don’t you
come over for dinner on Wednesday? Keep an old woman company.” Her eyes crinkle as she smiles and there is no way I can say no.

  “That would be nice, thank you.”

  “Wonderful. Dinner is at six.”

  Shutting my window, I glare at Guy as he cracks up.

  “Oh shit, that’s hilarious.”

  “No, it’s not. I hate her. She did that on purpose, just to bother me. I have to look at this every day on my way home from work. It’s going to be fucking torture.”

  Guy just laughs even harder.

  Gripping the steering wheel, I seethe as I try to think of what I can do. Obviously she just wants to make my life hell because Guy is right, there is no way she could be disillusioned into thinking I’m okay with the front door being purple. I need to make an amendment in the agreement.

  Every time I leave my house, I can’t help but gloat when I look at my door. I painted it Saturday evening, it’s now Wednesday morning and I haven’t heard a peep from him.

  I’ve met Type A people before, but Charlie makes them look like tree-hugging hippies. The man needs to learn how to relax, be a little more flexible. I mean, the flowerbed issue was ridiculous enough, but worrying about a few minor scratches on a front door?

  Shit, I am still trying to wrap my head around that one.

  I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so rigid, the complete opposite to me, and yet, despite my irritation with him, he still has been the shining star of my dreams. My body doesn’t seem to understand that I could never tolerate being with someone as uptight as he is.

  After his walk-through of the house a week and a half ago, I took the time and memorized the rental agreement. I know what I’m allowed to do, and what I can’t. That doesn’t mean I will play fair. I’ve never been the type of person that stays in the confines of a neat little box. I’m spontaneous, colorful, and quirky. At twenty-seven, I doubt that’s ever going to change.

  I walk into work right on time, much to Everett’s surprise.

  “Good morning.” Greeting him and Lola, I tuck my bag in the cupboard.