Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 102754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
But I had two options. I could sit here, wallowing in my bad choices, beating myself up for making yet another mistake with Roque Edwards. Or I could draw a damn line in the sand, learn from it, and never let it happen again.
I chose the latter.
With more force than necessary, I brushed my teeth until my gums protested, splashed my face with cold water, and scrubbed it dry with a vigor that should have removed not just water, but any lingering regret as well. Then, determined, I stomped back into my room—this time, for real—to continue packing.
This hangover wasn’t going to stop me.
Moving was about new beginnings and shedding the dead weight of the past. And Roque Edwards...he could, respectfully—respectfully—go fuck himself.
I had bigger things to focus on. Like making packing my absolute bitch.
I was a woman on a mission, and come hell or high water, I was getting out of here.
One
Roque
That damned woman never did anything predictable. Ever. But moving deeper into Piersville was extreme, even for Sayla Du Plessis.
I wasn’t sure if it was fate, sheer coincidence, or just Murphy’s law screwing with me, but I’d ended up buying the house directly across from hers on Magnolia Road. And the kicker was that we’d closed on our homes within fourteen hours of each other. She’d beaten me to it—only because of some last-minute paperwork holdup on my end—but the result was the same. We were now neighbors, and she had absolutely no idea. I’d made sure of that.
Even Evie—my sister and her best friend—hadn’t been let in on my little secret. Sure, I’d told her I’d bought a house, but I’d been deliberately vague about where. The last thing I wanted was to put Evie in the middle of whatever reaction Sayla was about to have. Because there would be a reaction, that much I was sure of. She was going to kill me, possibly in my sleep.
Glancing around my half-unpacked living room, I noted the haphazard placement of furniture and the stacks of boxes that still needed to be dealt with. The guys from work who weren’t on shift today helped me move everything in, loading up two trucks and knocking them out in record time. This meant the furniture had been placed in whatever spot seemed convenient at the time, with zero thought given to practicality.
Anyone who’s ever moved house knows the difference between where you think something should go and where it actually needs to be. It all looks seamless in your head—or even on a perfectly curated online vision board. Reality, however, has a way of smacking you upside the head.
Case in point: the couch, currently positioned in the direct path of the afternoon sun, meaning my TV screen was now more glare than the picture. If I kept it there, I’d be baking in a personal sunspot every day, sweating through my shirt like a germaphobe in a public bathroom. And at night, the paranoia would kick in—because there was nothing worse than feeling like someone was watching you through the slats of your blinds while you tried to relax.
Yeah, this would take some work, but that was a problem for later.
I grabbed a beer from the fridge and went to the front porch, settling into one of the chairs with a slow exhale. Lifting my boots, I propped them against the railing and took a swig, my gaze settling on the quiet street in front of me. Magnolia Road had a picturesque charm—tree-lined sidewalks, well-kept lawns, the kind of place that felt welcoming but had just enough space between houses to avoid nosy neighbors.
Except for Sayla, who had no idea her new neighbor was me. Sayla, who was about to drive up any second now and see the U-Haul parked in my driveway. That was going to be fun.
I smirked to myself, already picturing her reaction. Sayla had been in business with Evie for years, but for the longest time, the only things I could get out of her were a blush, a squeak, or a sarcastic comeback. She’d had a crush on me—something she’d been horrible at hiding—but I hadn’t been in a place to entertain it. I wasn’t blind, I’d noticed, but my job in Palmerstown had required absolute focus. What we’d been up against back then wasn’t for the faint of heart.
Now, things were different.
We weren’t operating blindly at Palmerstown P.D. anymore, just waiting for the next storm to hit. But the damage had been done. I had no idea where things stood between Sayla and me, but I knew one thing for sure: she wouldn’t be happy when she found out I’d moved in across the street.
That thought alone should’ve entertained me, but my mind veered down another track. One that made my grip tighten around my beer bottle, dirty cops. The phrase alone made my jaw clench.