Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 107204 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107204 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
He gestured for me to enter the elevator first, like a gentleman.
“Which floor?” he asked.
“Six.”
His smile stretched. “Same here. You must be one of my new neighbors.”
“Yeah, I’m Yara. I was born and raised in Honey Creek but moved into my apartment today. The last box of the unload,” I said, nodding toward the cardboard in my grip.
“Can I carry that for you?” he asked.
It was official.
I had a crush.
My first crush in decades!
The situation was worthy of a parade. Or at least a glass of cheap champagne from Jackie’s Beer & Spirits store around the corner.
I had an official crush on the elevator man, Jake. Or John?
No, no. It was Jake. It had to be Jake.
And Jake was chef’s kiss attractive. Dirty-blond buzz cut with hazel eyes, built like a contestant on Ninja Warrior, and a wicked smile that made my cheeks heat. And that accent!
People always say women will not meet a guy if they never leave their apartments, but the joke’s on them. It just so happened that men also lived in apartment buildings.
Some of them even had accents.
CHAPTER 2
Yara
“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you,” Avery complained as she collapsed dramatically against the bench in front of Peter’s Café. She dripped in a pool of sweat and regret as she panted and drained every drop left in her water bottle. Her ordinarily straight black hair was frizzy and drenched as she wore a backward baseball cap. And those brown eyes of hers shot daggers my way.
I snickered at my sister’s terrible morning attitude. “You’re grumpy.”
“We just went on a two-hour hike at six in the morning with three huskies,” she said, gesturing to the three large pups sitting before us on their leashes. “I told you repeatedly, I’m not a hiker.”
“You love our morning hikes,” I said. “It’s the highlight of your days!”
“That’s just because I live bleak days,” she dryly replied. “You know what my favorite part of the hike was?”
“What’s that?”
“The moment it was over. Remind me never to make a bet with you during a game of Scrabble.”
“You do know I’m the champion of that game. You made a grave mistake thinking you could beat me.”
She rolled her eyes. “Shut up, Yara.”
I smirked, knowing my sister’s grumpiness only made me love her more. Every Tigger needed an Eeyore. Well, I didn’t even claim to be Tigger—that was Willow’s role. She had an amount of energy I couldn’t grasp even if I’d downed ten espressos. She was our Tigger. I was more so a Pooh Bear, if anything. I often avoided wearing pants at home, a little naive and a stickler for honey—especially when drizzled on avocado toast.
“I think hiking is growing on you,” I mentioned, nudging her.
“I have enough blisters on my feet to prove that point,” she replied. Just as she spoke, a car with a U-Haul hitched to the back drove past us. Avery grimaced more than before. “Have you noticed an upswing of new people moving into town? It seems odd to me.”
“Our little Honey Creek is growing.”
“I hate growth.”
“You hate everything.”
“Fair.”
“Seeing people and businesses entering town is a little exciting,” I said. Especially if they had penises, no wedding bands, and zero clue about who Cole Parker was.
She gestured across the street. “You call this exciting? It’s giving ‘bringing the city to small town’ vibes.”
Across the street from Peter’s Café was the old movie theater. Well, it used to be the old theater before being transformed into a fancy-pants restaurant that would open any day now. It was called Isla Iberia, and it was the most bizarre thing that existed in our town. Don’t get me wrong, it was a beautiful building. It just felt out of place.
“One of these things is not like the other,” Avery sang with a deep bass tone. “It’s a bit pretentious, don’t you think?” she asked, staring across the street at the new restaurant. “A hair over-the-top.”
“An eyesore,” I playfully agreed at the multistory restaurant. Since when did restaurants have more than one level? Who did the owner think we were? Chicago?
“An atrocity,” she said.
“A blot on the landscape.”
“I bet they use cloth napkins instead of paper towels.”
I shivered at the thought. “I bet people can’t wear jeans to enter.”
“Have you met the owner, Alex? Seeing as how he’s your business neighbor, I figured you might’ve crossed paths.”
“No. I haven’t. I’ve seen him here and there, but we haven’t spoken. He lives in my apartment building, too. I noticed him leaving with a gym bag on his shoulder this morning.” He was quite attractive, too, with dark features. His deep, coffee eyes matched his messy brown hair and beard. He didn’t smile as much as JoshJake. I wasn’t certain Alex Ramírez knew how to smile at all. Yet the fact that two extremely good-looking men were in my apartment building was very promising.