Maya yelled, "Nola! Watch this!"
I turned to watch her go down the slide on her stomach, cackling the entire way down.
"I'm flying!" She caught a little air as she flew off the end of the slide and landed in the sand with an extra poof. "I'm doing that again!" She jumped up, hair flying everywhere as she ran around to the back of the slide.
"You're still alive."
I jumped at the deep voice behind me. I spun around and met Bane's hazel eyes. "Sorry, slide's full. You'll have to wait your turn."
The corners of his mouth turned up in a friendly smile. "I can see that. But you didn't answer my question."
"You didn't ask a question."
A chime sounded, and Bane glanced down at the phone in his hand. "Must be yours. I meant to ask how you were getting along at the apartment. I've been worried about you."
I shifted from foot to foot. "I know. I've waved at you both mornings you've driven by."
He shrugged and turned to watch Maya, who was squealing loudly, go down the slide. "I wanted to make sure you were all right. You know, there's a new apartment complex going in over in Burnside. I know it's a commute, but I wanted to let you know. They're accepting applications right now and will be available for move-in two weeks from now. I just got the word this morning."
I relaxed my arms at my side. "Thank you for telling me." Maybe he expected me to pay for that information.
"No problem. My clients have changed their criteria based on how competitive the market is here."
"What do I owe you for your services? Is this going to take the shirt off my back?" I tugged gently at the collar of my blouse, and I felt oddly satisfied when Bane's eyes widened with panic.
"It was just a friendly heads-up. I can text you the information if you'd like." He took a step back from me. "I don't want you to pay me."
Chewing the inside of my lip, I thought about it for a moment before deciding that I didn’t want to live in Burnside. I didn't like long drives—I had a tendency to fall asleep on drives that lasted longer than fifteen minutes. I would make the world’s worst commuter. All of that aside, it was nice of him to let me know about the new apartments.
I smiled, trying to put him at ease. "Okay. That’s—that’s nice of you. Commuting just isn’t my thing though. I fall asleep easy on lengthy drives."
He nodded. "Then Burnside probably isn’t the best fit for you."
"Have you found anything yet?" I asked.
He glanced back at his SUV, then shook his head. "Nothing permanent."
I had an overwhelming urge to lean forward and iron out the frown on his face. Dark circles had formed under his eyes, but he still looked handsome, even with a scowl. His scruff offset his suit. Instead of making him look more formidable, it made me want to reach out and touch his chin to see if it was soft or prickly.
"You know, it really is a shame you're not living on Cypress Avenue."
He looked at me sharply. "Why would you say that?"
I shrugged. "It's an empty home, and obviously you could use a place to stay."
"Well, so could you. You shouldn't stay in that empty building by yourself. It’s dangerous."
I half expected to see him plant his hands on his hips or start shaking a finger at me. He did neither of those things, but he did manage to look stern. And why did I have the overwhelming urge to apologize?
"I'll leave when the demo team comes. It’s just such a hassle. I’d prefer to find my own place, but if I have to, I’ll go stay at my friend’s house in Willow Loop."
Bane's frown deepened as he pulled out his phone. "At least let me text you my phone number so you can call if you need me."
Who was I to say no? I told him my number as I pulled my phone out of my pocket, seeing that the chimed text was from my brother, Nate.
Another text popped up. It simply said, Bane Fox.
It was really rather sweet of him to be worried about my safety. But maybe he was that concerned with everyone. Maybe he didn’t even like me...then again, he made sure he had my number too. He could have just as easily told me his number without bothering to get mine.
"I know you don't know me, but I'd like you to call if you need anything. Staying in that building isn’t safe. If you change your mind about the Burnside apartment, just call me."
Maya ran up to me and latched onto my leg. "Who are you?" she asked Bane.
"His name's Bartholomew," I answered for him.
Bane narrowed his eyes at me, and I winked. Shaking his head, he squatted down and held out his hand. Maya reached out her hand and shook his. "My name's Maya."
"That's a pretty name. I saw you sliding down that tall slide. You're very brave."
Maya stood up a little straighter. "I'm not scared of anything."
Says the little girl who screamed bloody murder when she found a ladybug in the bathroom. I didn't say that though, because I didn't want to mess up her flirting game, and it was coming on strong. She planted a hand on one hip while she smiled and batted her eyelashes at Bane.
A door slammed, and the couple who had entered the house earlier walked down the path back to Bane's SUV.
"I've got to go, but I’ll see you later," Bane said as he stood up giving one last bright smile to Maya before turning to me. "Call me if you need me."
"Maybe."
He chuckled as he walked back to his car, and I couldn't help thinking what a nice chuckle it was.
"Do we have to go yet?" Maya asked, tugging on my hand.
"Not yet, sweetie. You have time to slide a few more times."
"Yay!" she yelled as she ran back to the slide.
I sat down on the park bench and pulled out my phone, setting an alarm for when we would need to leave to pick up the other kids from their auditions. Once it was set, I opened my messages and read the text from my brother.
Nate: On a scale of one to ten, how extra is a bow tie on a first date?
Me: 9.5
Nate: I thought it would be closer to a 6.
Me: Where are you going for a date?
Nate: Tapas bar.
Me: No tie. Casual. She nice?
Nate: Yeah...nice looking.
Me: Would I like her?
Nate: Nope!
And that summed up my relationship with my pesky little brother, who wasn't so little anymore. We were eleven months apart. I was older, but he'd always been taller. Mom swore he was born bigger than me, even though I was nearly one.
I wasn't overly close with my parents anymore. I wasn’t on speaking terms with my dad, and my mom was on a medical mission trip in parts unknown. Though I wasn’t in close contact with my parents at the moment, Nate and I kept in touch.
He worked in Portland and was only a short drive away when I felt like harassing him. During our growing-up years, we’d been inseparable. Even when we hit high school, we still spent a lot of time together. It was usually my best friend Riley, Nate, and I getting into trouble together. I’d always suspected that Nate had a little crush on Riley. He had been as worried about her as I was ever since she disappeared.
I texted Bane the address of the house. He didn’t reply, but it showed that he had read the text. Was I being pushy? Was that why he didn’t respond?
"Come swing with me!" Maya yelled, distracting me from thinking about Bane.
Swinging made me nauseous, but I couldn’t say no to that adorable little face. So for the next twenty minutes Maya and I had a swinging competition. By the end, I was ready for a seasickness patch.
My alarm went off, telling me it was time to pick up the kids from tryouts. If I wasn't careful, I would end up living in my minivan with all the driving I did.
CHAPTER FIVE
Homeowners Association Rule #49:
Overnight guests may not exceed three persons.
Maybe Nola was right. Maybe I should just stay in the vacant house. It’s not like it would be permanent. Maybe I could even just park my car in the driveway. That way, I’d have a safe place to
sleep where Sterling wouldn’t catch me.
Living in a stranger’s house without permission—verbal or written—was a terrible idea. But I would simply park my car in front of the house. Nothing was wrong with that, was there?
Besides, Nola could vouch for me.
Two hours later, after touring a listing with a senior woman looking for a small cottage to buy, I made my way toward the Willow Loop neighborhood.
The neighborhood had the lowest turnover rate in town. The people who moved to Willow Loop stayed there until they died. Or something like that. It was a highly desired area. Was it the most expensive? No, but it was close. It had close proximity to the schools, had a low crime rate, and even had its own security guard. The HOA was rumored to be the reason the property values stayed so high, even with recent construction coming up all around.
I could only hope no one would come nosing around for a day or two. I didn’t want to pour my money into a fixer upper right now. I had enough cash if push came to shove, but I'd really been hoping to hold out for the just-right house to buy.
I didn’t even know the name of the homeowners. I needed to find that out if I was going to sleep in their backyard.
If someone asked what I was up to, I would just have to hand them a business card and tell them I was taking a look at the place. They could go ahead and infer that the owners were thinking of selling.
Pulling onto Willow Loop, I passed the brick pillars and wrought iron archway that sat over the neighborhood entrance. It was not a gated community, but it had very clear signs posted saying, "no thru traffic."
The homes were all white, cream, and pastel colors. The sidewalks lining the street had patches of grass between them and the road. SLOW signs were posted at every side street. The posted speed limit was ten miles per hour.
Every lawn was green and clipped short. Mailboxes sat at the end of each drive with the house number painted in a scripted font. The mailboxes matched the color of each house.
The streets were quiet. I passed only two cars.
There was a man in his front yard holding the leash to a large white dog. The dog seemed to be dragging the man around the yard. He looked young enough to handle the situation, so I didn’t bother stopping.
When I turned off Willow Loop onto Cypress Avenue, I began looking for number 268.
Three houses down, I found the mailbox painted 268. It sat in front of a tall white house, surrounded by a cedar wood fence.
All the houses had tall wood fences surrounding them, only this one had a darker stain than the other houses on the street.
It looked as though the power was turned on, with a porch light on even in the middle of the day.
Glancing both ways, I made sure no one was watching when I pulled into the drive and parked in front of the garage.
Obviously the neighbors would notice the vehicle, but I hoped they would assume it was the owners coming back to live here. I’d helped people move who never met their neighbors even after living in the same house for ten years. I hoped this neighborhood had similar personal boundaries.
Climbing out of my car, I scanned the front yard. No one was outside the house. Next I studied the two-story, white house. A large bay window afforded a nice view into the downstairs. No movement inside.
But I knew I would rest easier if I made sure no one was around. I went to the front door and knocked. No answer. I went to the side gate and slipped a pen through to help me unlatch the hook. The gate swung open with ease, and I stepped into a backyard oasis. A green yard, a patio, furniture set, and an outdoor kitchen. A gazebo sat in one corner of the yard, and a bonfire pit in the other. Walking further along the yard, I spotted an outdoor shower on the side of the house closest to the backdoor. Wide wood planks walled it in, creating privacy. The rock floor connected to the stamped concrete patio. A hammock hung on a stand, swinging in the light afternoon breeze.
Parking here was definitely going to have its benefits.
I knocked on the back door to double check if there was anyone in the home. I didn’t want to rely on one measly front door knock. No one answered. Next, I knocked on the glass door and waited a moment before I peered through the glass.
No sign of life.
Nola had been right. The house was deserted. I was only half-surprised that she wasn't staying here. It wasn't good that she was staying in that building all by herself. Besides the fact that the health board had condemned the house, there was the matter of her being there by herself and possible vandalism or break-ins happening. I had driven by earlier that morning—the third time this week—to make sure she was okay. I’d witnessed her walking out to her car—presumably heading to work.
I'd drive by first thing in the morning again and make sure she was all right. I only did it because I was a concerned citizen. I wasn’t interested in her. I couldn’t be. I had too much going on to be interested.
I looked around the covered patio. Looked like I would be enjoying a night sleeping in a hammock.
I slept in the hammock two nights in a row.
On the way to the office, I detoured to the store and bought a mosquito net. Sleeping in the hammock was remarkably more peaceful than sleeping in my car, but some ornery bug tried to make a meal out of me the night before.
I’d discovered the outdoor shower even had hot water plumbed to it.
Being able to use the warm shower made the world seem brighter, and the chance to sleep in a pair of shorts instead of my suit kept me wrinkle free.
Today had been another long day. I'd helped connect a client with a contractor and architect. They paid for the lot with cash. They handed me a check for my commission. Those were my favorite types of people to work with. All very cut and dried. Unfortunately, it meant I made a smaller commission, but I slept well at night when I knew people weren’t overextending themselves.
After work, I drove to the bank, got my cashier’s checks in order, then headed back to the Cypress house, where I parked in the driveway, and slipped into the backyard again. Two more nights. The foreclosed house would go to auction sooner than I originally thought, and I wouldn't have to worry about using a deserted house's outdoor shower.
My checks were ready for the auction. Hopefully, no one else wanted it—or knew of it. It would require an extensive remodel, but I had the cash on hand ready to tackle the project.
After parking my car, I hurried to the outdoor shower and shucked my suit. It was ridiculously hot and in need of a cleaning. I stood under the shower spray feeling better about life than I had in a while. Was I homeless? Yes. Was I trespassing? Technically, yes. But it in a few short days, I'd be paying cash for my first home, and no one would be the wiser.
I shut off the water and grabbed the towel hanging over the wide wood planks. After drying off, I wrapped it around my waist, and stepped outside the shower to grab a shirt out of my backpack.
"Oh, hello! You must be the new owner!"
I spun around as I pulled my shirt over my head. A woman somewhere in her forties stood in the yard holding a plate of cookies.
She smiled and began talking rather loudly. "My name is Carol. I live just across the street, and I noticed your car this week."
"Oh, did you?" I cleared my throat and clenched my hands around the towel. "How long have you lived across the street?"
I stalled for time, wondering how long I would have to stay there wrapped in a towel while the neighbor woman grinned at me. Using the backyard shower was supposed to be a safe thing. My backup plan to pretend be a hired property manager wasn’t going to work. Handing out my business card now would be a little suspicious. She glanced at the hammock with the pillow on it. I muffled a groan.
"Oh, I see you've been enjoying your patio. This house has the most beautiful backyard in the whole neighborhood."
I cleared my throat as I shifted closer to the chair where my jeans were hanging. "Did you know the previous owners?"
"No, I poked my head over the fence to look. You know what t
hey say about curiosity!"
I tried to smile, but I was afraid it came out like a grimace. Just what I needed; a nosy neighbor who had noticed my coming and going. How long was she going to stand here and chat? Did she not realize I was pants-less?
"Anyway, I wanted to stop by and introduce myself and bring you this plate of cookies. I'll have to bring you a schedule of all the neighborhood activities."
Oh, no—there were activities? I didn't want to be included in those. What I wanted was to get out of there before someone recognized me.
"Our HOA meeting is this Thursday. We’re electing a new president soon, so this might be an important one to be at. Anyway, great to meet you." She turned to leave then stopped and glanced over her shoulder. "Oh, silly me. I forgot to ask your name."
I hesitated to tell her, given the fact that she stood there chatting with me like it was normal to talk to a man with a towel wrapped around his waist. But lying felt too risky—not to mention I was terrible at it.
"My name is Bane Fox."
"Well, Mr. Fox," she purred. "Welcome to the neighborhood, and I hope you'll be able to come over for my special barbecue meatballs someday soon. I have a secret sauce." She winked as she turned to go.
No, I didn't think I could handle any secret sauce right now. Instead, I said, "I'll see you on Thursday, Carol!" I smiled and waved as she walked out of the backyard leaving the gate open behind her.
Carol had to wonder why I was in the backyard instead of inside. Well, I guess that was my welcome to the neighborhood. I'd have to risk sleeping in my car at the office.
I wondered if moving to Florida was far enough from Oregon that this disaster wouldn’t follow me.
CHAPTER SIX
Homeowners Association Rule #12:
No on street parking.
Sitting in my apartment felt eerily quiet—until a loud crash made me think that someone was trying to break in. Maybe it was a pipe bursting; maybe it was someone planning to kill me.
I reached my hand into the side pocket of my purse that sat next to me on my couch, fingering the pepper spray I always kept there. There were no more sounds, so I released the can. My fingers brushed against a stiff paper. Pulling it out, I remembered that I had tucked Bartholomew Fox’s business card in there when I took it from him at the store.
Mr. H.O.A. Page 4