The
Perfect
Plan
By Carina Taylor
The Perfect Plan by Carina Taylor
www.cjtaylorauthor.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. Copyright law.
Copyeditor: Jenn Lockwood Editing
Cover Design: CJ Taylor
ISBN: 9781095915097
ISBN-13:
Also by Carina Taylor
A Love Like This
Neighbors Like That
Friends Like These
Fake It
Miss Trailerhood (Coming Soon)
Only in Colter
The Perfect Plan
Standalone
Love on Willow Loop
Mr. H.O.A.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Also By Carina Taylor
The Perfect Plan (Only in Colter)
Contents:
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Epilogue
The End
Further Reading: Neighbors Like That
Also By Carina Taylor
To my husband, for encouraging me to finish this book.
To my best friend, for letting me come out of the closet about my obsession with writing.
Contents:
Title Page...1
Copyright...2
Dedication...3
Chapter 1...5
Chapter 2...20
Chapter 3...30
Chapter 4...47
Chapter 5...68
Chapter 6...90
Chapter 7...102
Chapter 8...111
Chapter 9...117
Chapter 10...125
Chapter 11...130
Chapter 12...139
Chapter 13...148
Chapter 14...158
Chapter 15...176
Chapter 16...189
Chapter 17...201
Chapter 18...208
Chapter 19...225
Chapter 20...236
Chapter 21...251
Chapter 22...269
Chapter 23...283
Chapter 24...290
Chapter 25...304
Chapter 26...314
Chapter 27...327
Epilogue...340
Acknowledgments...343
CHAPTER ONE
LIBBY MORRIS PUMPED the brakes as she pulled into the parking lot of her townhouse complex. The car barely slowed. She shut it off as it slammed into the curb at her designated parking spot.
Something was banging around under the hood. It had started the second she turned into the parking lot and had grown louder when she turned it off. The engine sounded like it was about to combust. She yanked the key out of the ignition and jumped out of the car.
Libby stepped a few feet back, waiting for the car to burst into flames.
It didn't.
She patted the roof of the car, wondering if it was trying to quit on her for good. Sure, she hadn't changed the oil in a year. She didn't believe in making an unnecessary fuss over a car. What she needed was a dependable car, not one that was starting to thump loud enough to shake the neighborhood even though the engine was turned off.
Except, now that she was outside, she didn't think it was her car making those sounds. A rhythmic beat filled the air, and it was louder now that she was standing on the sidewalk.
She glanced at the row of townhouses and wondered if one of the tenants was trying to move at this time of night. Not that it was late; it was only nine in the evening, and most of the residents were college students. Students who should be out celebrating the end of the school year, not moving furniture. At least she knew her roommate, Vivian, wouldn't start moving without her. Vivian didn't like to do anything alone.
The thumping grew louder as Libby drew closer to her house.
Libby groaned. She had planned on going to bed early tonight since she had to begin packing in the morning. Instead, Vivian was blaring her music as loud as possible. Libby wasn't surprised. Annoyed, but not surprised.
Sleeping would be out of the question unless she convinced Vivian to turn it off. Her backup plan would be to shut off the breaker. Libby didn't mind sleeping in the dark. But one thing was for sure: she would sleep.
She marched halfway up the sidewalk before she remembered she still had her car keys with her. She jogged back to her car and threw them on the front seat.
Sure, San Francisco had a fair amount of auto theft. That's why she hoped that someone would be decent enough to steal her car one of these days. In high school, she'd made a rash promise to drive her car until it fell apart. It wouldn't be long now.
Libby glanced over by the dumpsters and spotted Jax tossing some garbage bags in.
"Jax!"
He turned to look at her, his lean face with dark eyes focused in on her. He raised his hand in a tentative wave. Libby grabbed the bag of groceries out of her car and headed over to him.
He nodded his head when he saw the bag she had.
"How'd the interview go?" Libby asked him as he slowly closed the dumpster lid.
"Start on Monday."
"Good."
"He's paying cash."
"House?"
"Moving to a group home. It'll probably be terrible."
"Probably."
Jax had shown up around the townhouse complex about a month ago. Libby had found him rummaging around in the garbage bin outside the community room. They began their tentative friendship when she brought out salad wraps and they sat at the picnic table together eating and talking about nothing in particular.
Turns out, Jax was too proud to ask for help. So, she would pretend like he was doing her a favor by taking things off her hands. They both knew what was really happening, but it saved his pride and helped Libby sleep better at night.
Growing up, there had been a month of homelessness and it gave her a new perspective. It had opened up her eyes to a lot of things. Just because you’re homeless doesn't mean you want to be a charity case. Sometimes you only need to get your feet back under you. Not everyone chooses to be homeless.
Jax had interviewed for a position on a yard maintenance crew and gotten the job. She was going to miss him. In the last month that he'd been around, he and Libby had talked every day. He'd even helped her carry groceries home and start her pesky car several times.
He never told her where he slept at night, and she never asked. She didn't want to embarrass him.
She told him, "I'll be moving out soon."
"Figured."
"It's okay to cry if you're going to miss me," Libby told him.
That earned a smirk behind the beard. "Didn't say anything about missing you."
"Good point. Hey, do I even want to know why the music is so loud coming from my house?" Libby asked.
Jax shook his head and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a scrap of paper and handed it to her. It had a phone number written on it.
"For if you ever need a reference for a job. Got a TracFone today. My new boss said it was part of the job and gave it to me."
Libby bit her tongue and swallowed the lump in her throat. "Thanks for this."
Jax nodded, scooped up the bag of groceries from Libby, and tied it onto the back of his baby blue bike. Libby waved as he headed toward the street.
She was going to miss him, oddly enough. His dry sense of humor made her smile. The fact that he fell on hard times hurt to see, but he was the kind of guy that would pull out of it. He was fairly handy and a hard worker. He'd helped Libby fix a leaky sink, and the townhouse complex manager hired him to do some handy work around the place.
Libby stopped and entered his number into her phone under the name "Jax who doesn't miss me."
She walked up the sidewalk to her townhouse. She stopped on the front porch and stared. She could see the windows shaking from the loud music. She didn't want to go in there, but she wanted her deposit back, and she didn't want to pay for shattered windows.
Libby opened her front door. The music blasted her eardrums, and her heart skipped a beat as she looked at what used to be her house. The small townhouse had an open-floor concept downstairs, allowing her to see everything. The couch was shoved against the wall. The distressed, pallet coffee table was lying on its side, broken. The macrame that had hung on the wall was nowhere to be seen.
The smell of alcohol permeated the air. Beer pong was set up halfway out on the back porch and halfway through the sliding door. The fridge door hung open, along with half of the kitchen cabinets. Every last piece of furniture was shoved to the edge of the room. Confetti covered the floor.
Vivian's friends were animals.
A broken chair, shattered glass, some man's pants were in the kitchen sink, a shirt was hanging from the ceiling fan — and that was only on one half of the room.
With sagging shoulders, she trudged into the kitchen, found the Bose speakers, and turned down the music. She rubbed a hand against her forehead.
Libby yelped when an arm slung around her shoulders.
"What did you do?" Evan Garber, her next-door neighbor, leaned against her.
"Come in, make yourself at home," Libby teased as she looked pointedly at the open door Evan had just walked through.
He smiled, sending warmth all the way to Libby's toes.
"Evan, my best friend in the whole world."
He pulled back and looked at her with suspicion. "How did I earn best friend status?"
"I happen to know you're a whiz with a vacuum cleaner."
Evan had been Libby's neighbor for almost three years, since the beginning of her sophomore year when Vivian and Libby had first moved out of the freshman dorms and into a townhouse. He and his roommate, Max, had quickly become great friends with the girls.
"Come on, I've done you a lot of favors."
"Like what?" he asked as he began twirling a piece of her stray hair around his finger. It almost distracted her enough that she forgot she was trying to enlist his help.
"Like the time you backed into my car, and I didn't report it. Or the time I helped clean your disgusting fridge. Then there was the time you threw a red shirt in with my whites at the laundromat and ruined all my clothes."
He grimaced and stepped back as though he needed the distance to keep his hands to himself. "You look good in pink."
Evan's tousled brown hair was wet, as if he had just jumped out of the shower, and he looked relaxed from where he stood with a hand resting on the kitchen island. His eyes widened as he looked at the living room.
He had olive skin, dark brown hair, green eyes, and a smile anyone would love. A couple inches short of six feet, he had an athletic build and had probably never experienced the “freshman fifteen.” He was also perpetually single.
Vivian and Libby had tried to solve the mystery of his singleness. Their personal favorite theory was that he was an international spy and didn't have time for a girlfriend. They liked that theory better than the he-might-be-a-serial-killer theory.
He'd make the best type of spy because he was that guy. That guy that's friends with everyone. That guy that's nice to everyone. That guy that's good looking enough to warrant a second, third, and fourth look. That guy that could get anyone to do anything for him.
Everyone loved him. He could probably charm anyone out of their secrets, which was why Libby and Vivian thought they were onto something with their theory about him being a spy. Someday, Libby would ask him about his secret life. He'd probably have to kill her after he told her all about it.
"This is the biggest disaster I've ever seen."
A noncommittal sound came from Libby's mouth. "Let's not forget that ugly Christmas sweater party that Max threw this year."
Evan nodded. "Fair enough. That was pretty bad."
They both turned in a full circle, shoulder to shoulder, surveying the mess.
Libby looked at Evan and stated firmly, "I'm not going to miss this."
He shook his head. "Me either. I may even be able to sleep all night at my new place."
"One can hope. You were probably here when this was going down. I'm a little surprised they all left so early." She stepped through the doorway and looked around the apartment in dismay. Vivian was a fun roommate, but sometimes she went too far, and usually it was Libby who had to deal with the aftermath.
Libby pulled out her phone and sent a text to Vivian.
Libby: Why aren't you here? The house is a disaster.
It didn't take long for Vivian to text back.
Vivian: Sorry about that. I had to leave, so I kicked everyone out but didn't have time to clean. I'll take care of it when I get home.
Libby glanced around at the mess. Vivian might have offered to clean it up when she got home, but it was too much of a disaster for even Libby to ignore. She didn't mind a little clutter — she was no Suzy Homemaker herself — but she did have a problem with a giant, disgusting mess.
She grabbed garbage bags out from under the sink and began scooping up cups and bottles into the bag from the floor. She heard clanking behind her and turned to find Evan with a garbage bag in one hand, cleaning off the counters with the other.
She opened her mouth to protest that he didn't have to help, that she had been joking about him helping clean up, but he waved her off while he kept working.
Trash was everywhere. There was even a broken beer bottle in the upstairs bathroom that Libby swept up. The downstairs bathroom was disgusting with toilet paper dragged across the room. It looked as though someone had turned a cat loose in there. When the garbage was picked up, they began working on the furniture.
"I'll disinfect everything tomorrow. I’m just going to pick up most of the trash right now." She yawned as she set a barstool upright.
"So, what are your plans now?" Evan asked as he dragged the couch back to where it belonged.
"After I get this mess cleaned up, I'm going to shower. And then I'm going to put on some ugly sweatpants, and then I'm going to bed," Libby said as she scooped up the red plastic cups that had been hiding behind the couch.
"No shirt?"
She glanced at him and saw him grin as he added more cups to her trash bag.
"You know, you really should have looked into being a stand-up comedian." She pushed the fold-up table outside onto the porch then closed the sliding glass door. She would let Vivian deal with that one later.
He chuckled. "I meant, what are you going to do for life after college?"
"You mean you're wondering if I'll be asking if you want fries wit
h that?"
"Oh, is that what you're doing this year?" he asked as he tried to reattach the coffee table leg.
"I got a job in Portland. I start in the fall. They emailed me with a job offer, which was weird because I didn't even send in my resume. But they offered me a really great salary, and I've heard good things about the firm. I think maybe my advisor at school sent in my resume for me. I don't know. I had another interview scheduled at a firm here in San Francisco, but I never heard back from them. It really seems like I'm meant to move to Portland right now. Come fall, you're looking at a transplanted Californian."
"You don't start until the fall. Perfect. You're free all summer." He had a distinctly scheming look in his eye.
"You're making me sound like a sad case. I have lots of plans. Tons of plans."
"No plans?"
"Oh please, of course I have plans. I'll be apartment hunting."
"All summer long? It doesn't take that long."
"Fine, so maybe I didn't think this summer through," she admitted as she sat down on the couch. This was the part of her ten-year plan that she hadn't accounted for — the time between college and starting a job. She'd been so wrapped up in school and work that she hadn't bothered to look around for any temporary summer work. In two weeks, she would be temporarily homeless and jobless.
"Perfect." Evan flopped onto the couch next to her.
"I hadn't realized my homelessness would bring such joy to your life. And I don't know if I like where this conversation is going. I'm too tired to guess what you're getting at."
"It's a question of where you're going."
"What?" She opened one eye and made an effort to look at him.
Despite his questionable status as a bad neighbor — thanks to the red shirt incident — she valued his opinion, and usually his suggestions were worth listening to.
"You could be my grandma's companion and live with her for the summer."
Except for that one.
With that one sentence, all of Evan's credibility disappeared. It almost sounded like a toilet was flushing somewhere.
"You're insane. I'm a CPA, not a nurse." She had accepted a job as a junior accountant at a well-known brokerage firm. All her studying and struggling through classes had paid off. Now was not the time to veer off course.
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