Roommating (Preston's Mill #1) (2 page)

She’d always wondered why her father had kept all the
birdhouses he’d made with his wife, even after she’d abandoned them.

Heather brushed the memories away as she got into her car.
Her throat was tight, but she wasn’t going to cry.

Her father had always been there for her, and he’d never
wanted anything but the best for her. So if he was so adamant about this
ridiculous roommate scheme, then she was going to do it.

***

On Monday, just before noon, Heather
pulled the small moving truck up to the entrance at Preston’s Mill.

She’d made it in from Charlottesville an hour early, and the
guys her father had gotten to help her move her furniture wouldn’t show up
until one. That was fine with her, though. She could scope things out, bring in
some smaller items, and decide where to put all her stuff.

She’d decided to leave Lucy with a friend until tomorrow, so
her dog wouldn’t be so upset by the moving commotion. But she was planning to
be fully settled—with Lucy joining her and all her possessions unpacked and
where she wanted them—before Chris arrived tomorrow or Wednesday

Over the last few days, she’d come to terms with her
situation. It was a ridiculous plan. She didn’t think her father was getting
senile, so he must just be indulging a whim.

Maybe he was feeling nostalgic for the old days, when Chris
had felt like part of their family. Maybe he was trying to reconstruct their
old relationships by forcing the two of them together now.

Whatever the reason, she loved her dad more than she hated
Chris.

After all, she and Chris would have their own rooms. She was
willing to spend most of her time in her bedroom if she had to. They could
basically ignore each other at home. The main thing was to avoid getting into
fights—if they were going to prove to her father that they could get along.

She could do this. It was only six months, after all.

She walked up the stairs to the second floor, carrying her
purse and an overnight bag. Her unit was at the end of the hall on the corner.
As she walked past the adjacent apartment, the door opened without warning.

Heather jerked in surprise and stopped to see an elderly
lady poke her head out into the hall. The woman’s hair was full of those pink
sponge curlers she thought no one used anymore. “Oh,” Heather said with her
normal friendly smile. “Hello. I’m your new neighbor, Heather Carver.”

“Estelle Berry. I know your father,” the woman said,
narrowing her eyes as she looked Heather up and down.

“Oh, do you? It’s very nice to meet you, Mrs. Berry.”

“You seem like a very polite young lady, so you can call me
Estelle. So is this some sort of modern arrangement then?”

Heather blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“You and that hunk of a mountain man in there.” Estelle
nodded toward the door to Heather’s unit. “Do you and him have one of those modern
arrangements, where sexual relations are had without a wedding ring?”

Heather was so confused and startled that she looked between
the old lady and her front door. “No,” she managed to say. “No. There are no
sexual relations being had.” Ridiculously, she felt her cheeks flushing.

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” Estelle pulled her head back
into her own apartment and closed the door in Heather’s face.

Heather stood there for a full minute, trying to figure out
what was going on. She finally realized something that she should have put together
much earlier.

There was a “hunk of a mountain man” in her apartment.

Chris wasn’t supposed to arrive today.

She walked slowly down the rest of the hall toward her unit.
When she tried the doorknob, it was opened.

Her father had done a great job with this building. All of
the apartments were lovely, and this one most of all. The ceilings were tall,
and the beautiful dark hardwood floors were original. One wall was exposed
brick, and another was full of tall windows. The sleek modern kitchen opened to
the main room, separated by the dark granite of the island.

Heather loved this place, but she felt a sinking of her
stomach when she saw a pile of boxes and an ugly orange recliner stuck in the
middle of the living area.

What the hell was Chris doing here already?

She was staring at his recliner—right where she’d been
planning to put her pretty red slipper chair—when he emerged from one of the
bedrooms.

Chris had always been good-looking with his broad shoulders,
easy smile, dark eyes, and cleft chin. When she’d known him before, he’d always
kept his hair short and been clean shaven.

He wasn’t anymore.

He looked like he’d just slunk out of a cave. His beard was
long, his hair untrimmed, and both his jeans and T-shirt were torn. He was
bigger than she remembered, and he seemed to take up all the space in the big
room.

She’d intended to act friendly toward him, but she was too flustered
to say anything but, “I thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow.”

“I got here today.” His voice was low, gruff. He was staring
at her with those same dark eyes she remembered, and he wasn’t smiling.

“I can see that.” She took a deep breath, tearing her eyes
away from the breadth of his shoulders and the size of his biceps. He’d been
strong before, but it looked like he’d been tearing up trees by the roots for
the last few years.

They’d been screaming at each other the last time she’d seen
him. She’d been berating him for abandoning her father, and he’d been saying
over and over that she had no idea what was going on with him.

It was the worst fight she’d ever had, and it suddenly felt
like it had just happened yesterday.

She’d trusted him before, and it had been one of the worst
mistakes of her life.

Her gaze landed on the door he’d emerged from. That was the
room she’d been planning to claim—the one with the best view and larger closet.
Her mind whirled with confusion and annoyance and resentment and something like
anxiety, but she tried to sound her typical upbeat self as she asked, “So
you’re taking that room?”

“Yeah.”

If he’d been a gentleman, he would have offered it to her,
but she knew better than to believe he was anything like a gentleman.

It didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to get into an argument
on their first day here. She just had to make it through six months. She could
keep a smile plastered on her face for that long, and then she could mostly be
free of him.

“Did you want it?” Chris added, when she didn’t say
anything.

She shook her head with a fake smile. “Of course not. The
other one is just fine.”

She walked into the bedroom and dropped her stuff on the
floor, giving herself a mental pep talk about keeping her composure.

It was just Chris. He wasn’t—and he’d never been—that
important to her. She could paste on a smile and pretend he didn’t exist for
the next six months.

Right?

When she felt up to it, she peeked out into the main room
and was relieved when she didn’t see him. She stepped out and noticed that his
bedroom door was closed.

Good. Maybe he had the same thing in mind that she did. Stay
out of each other’s way as much as possible.

There was only one bathroom in the apartment, but it was a
big one with a free standing soaker tub, a lovely tiled walk-in shower, and a
granite-topped vanity. She went to use the bathroom and then stared at herself
in the mirror as she washed her hands.

She looked like her normal self—smallish with long blond
hair, her eyes and mouth a little too big. She’d pulled her hair into two
braids to keep it out of the way as she moved her boxes, but she suddenly
wished she’d done something prettier with it.

Not that she wanted to attract Chris. Not at all. She’d
sooner hook up with old Jack Turner who lived downstairs and only showered once
a month. But still. She didn’t want Chris to look down on her in any way, and
right now she looked like a little girl.

She blew out a breath and resisted the urge to take her hair
out of the braids. She wasn’t going to primp for him. She wasn’t going to
change anything about herself for him.

She was turning to leave the bathroom when the door started
to open.

She couldn’t hold back a squeal of surprise and indignation.
“Hey! I’m in here.” She swung the door opened all the way to glare at Chris,
who was standing there looking rather stunned.

“I thought you were back in your room.”

“I’m not back in my room. I’m in here. When the bathroom
door is closed, then you either knock or you wait.”

“Okay. Fine.” His brows were lowered as he studied her. “I
heard the toilet flush a long time ago. What were you doing in here?”

For no good reason, she was embarrassed that he’d heard her
flush the toilet. And she certainly wasn’t going to admit that she’d been
standing there, trying to steel herself to face him again. “That’s none of your
business. Just knock on the door next time.”

“Fine. I will.” He didn’t look happy to be here. He didn’t
look like he liked her. But he also didn’t look angry at her.

And that bothered her a little bit too. That he could upset
her so much after just a few minutes, and she couldn’t upset him at all.

She reminded herself it didn’t matter. She was going to
pretend he didn’t exist to the best of her ability, and she wasn’t going to let
him see that he could upset her like this again.

Chris shut off his alarm and let out
a long, weary sigh. What the hell had he been thinking to agree to this
arrangement? Yesterday had been awkward enough, but luckily there had been the
distraction of Heather moving her stuff in to keep them from actually having to
talk too much.

Except to argue.

Damn, but the woman certainly knew how to do that.

About everything!

With a muttered curse, he climbed from the bed and
stretched. It was only five-thirty in the morning. He had purposely set the
alarm for this early so he could have a little time to mentally prepare for
their first official day of…well, everything. Roommates. Business partners. What
the hell was Tom thinking of with this crazy arrangement?

An overwhelming sense of guilt washed over him for a minute.
It usually did when he thought of his friend and mentor, Tom Carver. The man
had been the one source of stability in his life for so many years, and how had
Chris thanked him? By running off as soon as life got a little tough.

So maybe this was payback.

The thought made him laugh. It would be fitting too—forcing
Chris to not only work with the man’s daughter, but live with her too. He shook
his head because, although he realized what the lesson was they were supposed
to be learning, it just still didn’t sit right with him. The entire thing.

Heather was always a good kid—quiet, studious and
easy-going. That was not the woman who had walked in yesterday like she owned
the place.

Well…technically she did. Sort of. But the quiet girl he
remembered was gone, and in her place was a woman who wasn’t afraid to speak
her mind.

About everything.

With shuffled steps, Chris walked out of his bedroom and into
the bathroom. The apartment was dark and peaceful, and after quickly relieving
himself, he stepped out into the kitchen to make some coffee. As the liquid
brewed, he looked at the mess in front of him. There were boxes everywhere, and
it was a hodgepodge of furniture.

He chuckled as he remembered Heather’s instant dislike of
his orange recliner. She’d been glaring at it as he’d come out of his room
yesterday to see her for the first time. Once his coffee was made, he walked
over and ran his hand lovingly over the piece of furniture. Flo. That’s what
he’d named her. The orange fabric reminded him of a character, Flo the waitress,
on a television show his mother had always watched, and so he’d been calling
the recliner that since he’d gotten it. She was the most comfortable piece of
furniture he had ever owned—other than his king size bed—and although she
wasn’t the prettiest piece of furniture ever made, he loved her.

“Do you two need a moment alone?”

Chris froze at the sound of Heather’s voice. Why was she up
so early and, more importantly, why hadn’t he thought to put on pants? Looking
down at his boxers, he immediately realized that he was going to have to make
some adjustments to living with Heather.

Namely? Wear pants.

Dammit.

Forcing a smile on his face, he looked over at Heather. “We’re
fine with expressing our love in front of other people.” She didn’t smile at
the joke. Clearing his throat, he took a sip of his coffee and motioned over
toward the kitchen counter. “Coffee’s ready. Help yourself.”

If he wasn’t mistaken, she made a face before turning and
walking toward the kitchen. He studied her as she moved and mentally noted all
the ways she’d changed in the three years he’d been gone.

The girl he remembered didn’t have the same grace. She
didn’t move with the kind of ease that Heather was moving with now. And she certainly
didn’t walk around in short little robes that showed a lot of tanned, toned
legs.

Swallowing hard, he quickly turned away, but it was too
late. Certain parts of his anatomy were way ahead of him in noticing her skimpy
attire and now…

“Oh my God!” she cried from across the room, and Chris
jumped into the recliner before she could see his response to how gorgeous she
was. “What on earth is this?”

He had to stifle a laugh when he realized she was referring
to the coffee. Yeah. He liked it really strong. Like…really, really strong. Most
people hated his coffee, and judging by the carrying on going on behind him, it
was fairly safe to say that Heather did too.

Chris heard her slam the mug down while muttering about bad
coffee and how she should have just made her own and his overall lack of
manners because he lived like a mountain man and…

Wait…
what
?

Standing up, he walked back to the kitchen. “Mountain man? What
the hell does that even mean?”

Big blue eyes looked back at him, like a deer caught in the
headlights. It was really hard not to laugh this time because it was obvious
that she not only thought he had no manners, but that he couldn’t hear either.

“Oh…um…I just meant that you…”

He leaned casually against the granite countertop and sipped
his coffee, amused by her sputtering, since she normally seemed so composed.

“You could have warned me that the coffee was that strong,
Christopher.”

Christopher
? Hell, the last person to call him
Christopher was his fourth grade teacher Mrs. Kelly. And his mom.

“Obviously you’ve been living in some sort of wilderness,
based on the looks of you,” she was going on. “And maybe you’ve forgotten basic
common courtesies but—”

“I’ll have you know that no one on my last job complained
about my coffee,” he said as he took another long drink.

“Really? Were they ever forced to drink it?”

She had him there, but he wasn’t ready to admit it. “No one
forced you to drink it either. You did that at your own risk.”

“My own…” With a huff, Heather walked past him toward a
stack of boxes in the corner of the kitchen and began moving them around. Five
minutes later, she was back with some sort of…hell, he didn’t know what it was,
but she was putting it on the counter next to his coffee maker. “This,” she
said breathlessly, “is what modern, non-mountain people use to make coffee now.”

He frowned. “What have you got against mountain people?”

“What…I don’t have anything against them.”

He arched a dark brow at her. “Are you sure? Because you
keep throwing that phrase around like you’ve got a serious grudge.” Then he
stood back, finished his coffee and watched as she tried to come up with a
snappy comeback.

And realized this was kind of fun.

Normally, he preferred the peace and quiet of a morning
alone—it was a great way to get his head in the game for whatever work was in
store for him that day. But bantering with Heather had him more engaged than he
could remember being in…a really long time.

Stepping past her, he poured himself a second cup of coffee
and grinned at her as he walked back over to Flo to sit down.

“Can we talk about moving the furniture around for a minute?”
she said from across the room.

“Sure. What were you thinking?”

“Wait…give me a minute.”

One of the many good things about Flo was that she also spun
around. So he turned and watched as Heather put some sort of pod into the
machine she just put on the counter. It made a humming noise, and then she had coffee.
Interesting. He was so focused on the coffee maker that he didn’t notice those
tanned, bare legs coming his way. Quickly spinning Flo back around, he took a
sip of his coffee.

Heather took a seat on the sofa that was facing him. “I
would really like to get this place put together a bit today,” she began. “I
think the couch works here and the coffee table is spaced nicely. But maybe
your recliner would look better…in your room.” She looked at him sweetly as she
took a sip of her own coffee in some sort of flowery mug.

“You want me to put Flo in my bedroom?”

She straightened and looked at him oddly. “Flo?”

He rubbed the arm of the recliner.

“You seriously named that chair Flo?”

“Yup. And she stays in the living room. Where else am I
going to sit while I watch TV?” He studied Heather for a moment and saw a world
of frustration play across her face. “Any other suggestions?”

Now it was her turn to arch a brow. “I’m sure I can think of
one.”

“Sarcasm…nice,” he said with a grin and then stood and
stretched. “Flo stays, but I’ll make you a deal. You can move the rest of this
furniture around any way that you like, as long as she stays right here.”

“But it’s so ugly!”

He ran a hand lovingly over the top of the recliner and
leaned down toward it. “Don’t listen to her, baby. She’ll come around.”

“Christopher,” Heather called out as he turned to walk away.

He stopped and looked back at her. “Look, I’m not any
happier about this setup than you are,” he began, realizing suddenly that this
was going to be life for the next several months. “It’s six months. If you
don’t like the chair, tough. I’m sure by the time you get your things unpacked
I’m going to find something of yours that I don’t like too. We’ll just have to
deal with it. Okay?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He stormed off to the bathroom
to take a shower.

Twenty minutes later, he looked at his reflection.

Mountain man.

Yeah, it had been a while since he’d shaved. Or gotten a
haircut. Or given a damn. He was looking pretty rough. At the back of his mind,
he’d always assumed he’d clean himself up some after he got back to Preston, but
if he shaved right now, it would look like he was caving to her and her
mockery. Then again, he was supposed to be getting ready to take over Tom’s
business, and it wouldn’t be right to look so…unkempt and unprofessional.

So he made a mental note to hit the barber later today and
let someone else help him start to look human again.

The bathroom wasn’t overly large, but Heather’s stuff was
everywhere—makeup, jars of mysterious creams, and just general clutter. They
were going to have to figure out a better system for this. And fast. Drying
off, he wrapped a towel around his waist, brushed his teeth, scooped up his stuff
and opened the door.

Heather turned and looked at him, her eyes going a little
wide before she turned away. Okay, so a towel wasn’t much more than the damn
boxers. Note to self: pants! Seriously. Take pants with you everywhere.

***

It was close to six that evening
when Chris was standing at the door to their apartment with a mixture of
apprehension and exhaustion. It had been a long day. He’d spent a large part of
it getting reacquainted with the town and driving by some of the job sites Tom
had told him about. Then he’d gone to get that shave and a haircut. He ran a
hand along his now-smooth jaw and had to admit, it felt pretty damn glorious. He’d
forgotten how freeing it felt to be clean-shaven. So clearly, beards weren’t
for him. Good to know.

He felt a little bad about not helping Heather with her
unpacking, but he had a feeling she probably preferred it that way. He’d had
the advantage of arriving first, and he didn’t have much with him to unpack. Plus,
he was a guy, and he didn’t overthink the placement of every item he owned. He
had a feeling Heather did.

No doubt, he was going to find that everything was put in a
specific place, and if he tried to move it, he would get his head bitten off. He
chuckled. “Bring it,” he murmured.

But he still didn’t open the door.

But someone did. Down the hall.

“Young man! What are you doing loitering out here in the
hall?”

He turned around and saw an elderly woman standing in the
doorway to the apartment down the hall. She was tiny and had a bunch of pink
rollers in her hair—the kind his grandmother used to wear. And she was scowling
at him.

“Um…excuse me?”

“You heard me,” she snapped. “What’s the matter, did you
forget your key? Or did that pretty girl throw you out?”

“Um…I…I was just…”

“Of course, in my day, we didn’t throw handsome men out of
the house.”

Oh my God…was she
flirting
with him?

“It’s a good thing you shaved. Show her you’re sorry and
that you’re making an attempt to look nice for her.”

“Who exactly are we talking about?” Chris took a couple of
steps toward her. “And I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced…I’m Chris. Chris
Dole.”

“Christopher is a nice strong name,” she gushed, and for a
minute, he swore she was blushing. “And I’m Estelle. It’s lovely to meet you.” She
held her hand out for him to…kiss.

Fabulous.

So he did, and then had to admit he kind of liked the small
giggle she let out before taking her hand back. “So…Estelle. Who am I trying to
look nice for?”

“Heather,” she replied firmly. “Although, now that you’re
all cleaned up, maybe I’ll have to talk to her again about your modern arrangement.”

He had no idea what she was talking about and was starting
to get a headache. “Modern…”

“Heather said there was no hanky-panky going on between the
two of you, no sexual relations, you understand. But you sure did clean up
nicely.”

Now he was blushing!

“You should go,” Estelle said. “Wheel of Fortune’s about to
start, and I don’t want to miss it.” Her door slammed shut, and Chris could
only stand in stunned silence for a minute as he tried to comprehend what had
just happened.

Shaking his head, he walked to his door, let himself in and,
just as he’d suspected, the place was completely decorated. There were throw
pillows on the sofa and pictures hung on the wall. But luckily, Flo was exactly
where he’d left her.

He shut the door and was about to call out to Heather, but
she walked into the room and came to a halt at the sight of him. No doubt she
was noticing that there was a whole lot less hair on his head and face. He
braced himself for the mountain man comment.