The Yin to His Yang

by Wynter Daniels

  He strode around the side of his aunt’s house. The grass in the backyard was way past needing cut, and the exterior paint was peeling in several spots. An easy fix. Good thing. The sooner he could get the properties on the market and sold, the sooner he could make the downpayment on the Brooklyn townhouse. He’d signed the contract just days ago—right after he’d ascertained the approximate value of the houses his aunt had willed to him—but if he couldn’t come up with the money in the next sixty days, the deal would crash and burn.

  He had every confidence, though. Even if he got under market value offers on the two Nocturne Falls houses, it would be more than enough for the downpayment on the New York house.

  Movement in the neighboring yard caught his eye. A willowy woman with long black and teal braids and dark skin slipped through a doorway into the rental home before he could get a good look at her. The estate lawyer had told him that the tenant’s name was Steve. Could the woman be Steve’s wife or girlfriend?

  “There you are.”

  A vaguely female voice drew his attention to the driveway. He recognized the attractive redhead in the pink business suit from her photo on her website.

  She waved at him. “Pandora Williams,” she said. “How was your trip from New York?”

  Long and lonely. “Fine. It’s nice to meet you in person, Pandora.” He shook hands with her.

  “Same here,” she said. “Have you had a chance to look around the cottages?”

  “Only the exteriors.” He noticed a broken section of PVC pipe extending out from a well pump. None of the setup appeared to be up to code. And the small shed was leaning to one side as if it was about to fall over. “I already see a few projects that need a little attention.”

  Pandora used her hand to shield the afternoon sun from her eyes as she glanced toward his aunt’s house. “Maybe more than a little. I haven’t been inside yet, of course, but I ran a market analysis for you after our phone call yesterday.” She handed him a blue folder.

  He quickly perused the multi-page report. “Impressive.” He’d Googled her, of course. She was the number-one agent in town. Speaking of the town, he had loads of questions about the place. “So what’s the deal with Nocturne Falls, anyway? I get the whole Halloween everyday thing. I’m sure the theme brings in tourists, but you all have taken it to the extreme.” Most of the streets and businesses had supernatural-themed names, like Broomstick Lane, Franks-n-Steins, Hats in the Belfry, and The Hair Scare.

  “This town is magical.” A glint of mischief shone in her green eyes. “Spend some time here and you’ll feel it, too.”

  He scoffed. “I know a public relations campaign when I see one.” He planned to take only as much time as he needed to get the houses in tiptop shape for the sale.

  Pandora shrugged. “If you say so.”

  His gaze landed on the trashcans near the curb. “Is there a list of rules for the neighborhood?” he asked her.

  She cocked her head to the side. “Rules?”

  “Homeowners’ Association documents, something like that?”

  “Not specific to this neighborhood. What is it you’d like to know?”

  He considered her question. “Everything. All successful organizations and municipalities have charters, or a constitution, or some kind of set of governing principals that make it all work. For example, how long can trash cans remain out after pickup before the resident can be cited?”

  The real estate agent raised an eyebrow. “The family that bought the town when it was on the verge of bankruptcy keeps a tight rein on esthetics, without being jerks. As I’m sure you noticed on your drive through the area, Nocturne Falls is beautifully maintained.”

  Although she hadn’t really answered his question, he couldn’t argue with that. From the fountain in the center of the downtown business district to the unusual orange and black-trimmed buildings to the cobweb-shaped streetlamp brackets, it was clear that everything stayed true to the Halloween theme, which did indicate a strong local government. “It is, but I couldn’t help but notice that my great aunt’s tenant hasn’t taken in his trashcans. And the yard looks…” He glanced toward the other house. “Abandoned.”

  Pandora’s eyes widened. “I’d call the gardening style…homey. I think it’s kind of charming. They have all sorts of wildflowers growing.”

  Well, maybe abandoned had been too strong a word, but it was at least…unmanicured. “Do you know the tenant?” And who was the beautiful siren he’d glimpsed? Not that it mattered. He ought to be picking the agent’s brain about the fastest route to a sale.

  “Sorry, I don’t.” She tipped her chin at the folder she’d given him. “I use public record information. I’m sure that your aunt’s lawyer has that information.”

  All the lawyer had given him was the name, Steve Mercer. He sent a quick text to the lawyer to have him send the lease. “So how do we proceed from here?” he asked Pandora.

  “If you’d like, I can take a look inside your aunt’s house. That’ll allow me to give you a more accurate idea of a fair asking price.” She pursed her lips. “As far as the other property goes, the best course would be to knock on the door and introduce yourself to the tenant. See if he’ll show you around.”

  “Should I tell him I’m planning to sell?”

  “I would, but you might not want to lead with that.”

  “Good point.” He fished the key out of his pocket. “Let’s start with Aunt Dorothea’s place.”

  After they’d done a walk-through of his aunt’s house, Griffin had a long list of repairs to tackle, thanks to Pandora’s suggestions. As they headed outside, his phone buzzed with a message. He checked the display. There was an email from the lawyer along with an attachment. The lease, no doubt.

  He accompanied the real estate agent to her car and frowned at the renter’s trashcans, which still were not put away.

  Pandora pointed a key fob at her car to unlock it. “I’ll email you my list of local handymen, electricians, plumbers and such. As soon as the work’s finished, I’ll be happy to list it for you.”

  Most of the repairs were within his capabilities, and since his bank account hadn’t yet recovered from the divorce settlement, he planned to do as much as he could himself. But local contractors might come in handy. He shook hands with the real estate agent. “I’ll let you know when we can check out the other house.”

  After she drove off, Griffin returned to his aunt’s porch to skim the lease. Better to have an idea of the terms before he spoke to the man. A few minutes later he headed next door and grabbed two of the renter’s trashcans then returned them to their empty brethren on the side of the house. His tenant could get the rest. Heading up the walk to the rental, he pushed aside a tall flowering bush that blocked almost half the width of the path at one point. He ducked to avoid a wind chime that hung over the first step leading up to the porch, then parted a beaded curtain before he actually set foot on the floorboards. “Maybe I should have left a trail of breadcrumbs,” he muttered under his breath.

  He took a moment to absorb the décor. A rattan loveseat near a large window was piled with half a dozen brightly-patterned pillows. An old wire spool had been transformed into a small coffee table and was topped with a sheer scarf and several pillar candles that were burned about halfway down. Dreamcatchers, hanging planters, and more windchimes dangled from hooks in the ceiling. Talk about sensory overload.

  But he had to admit that together, all the mismatched items worked. This Steve person—or maybe his female friend—had a knack for bohemian-style decorating. Which didn’t excuse them from maintaining the yard. His gaze landed on an electrical outlet that wasn’t up to code for the outdoors. He followed the cords to two sets of fairy lights crisscrossing the ceiling. Scratching his head, he made a mental note to speak to the resident about that.

  A wood sign over the door said, Namaste. Must be hippie types.

  Like my mother.

  An unwelcome mem
ory of her flashed through his mind—those intense brown eyes, her crazy blond mop of frizzy curls. And the back of her old bumper sticker-covered VW bug as she’d left him for good.

  His gut tightened.

  Deal with it.

  Aunt Dorothea had been related to his mother, and there was a chance that he might come across photos or other reminders of her as he sorted through his aunt’s belongings in the coming weeks. The painful memories would be a small price to pay considering that the proceeds from the sale of the properties would allow him to realize his life-long dream of buying his own place in New York. After spending his career inspecting so many residences, he’d finally found the perfect house for himself, and he’d be able to put down his own permanent roots. That feeling of never being settled, of not being on solid ground, would be a thing of the past.

  He stepped to the door, drew a deep breath, and knocked. Half a minute passed as he waited. Until the door opened, and the woman he’d seen earlier stood there, a serene smile on her pretty face, charcoal eyes glittering with warmth. Up close, she was the most gorgeous creature he’d ever seen.

  Since his divorce, he hadn’t met anyone who’d piqued his interest. But now, when he was a thousand miles from home, staring at the woman who was probably his tenant’s girlfriend, and completely ineligible, an explosion of wow! had him completely paralyzed. Her cinnamon-colored skin glowed with youth, although her regal countenance and high cheekbones called to mind a sculpture of an ancient Egyptian queen. “Can I help you?”

  His heart pounded. He started to say something, but the words jumbled together in his head. Was he having a heart attack? Why couldn’t he speak?

  The woman narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you all right?”

  No, he most definitely was not.

  Chapter Two

  Stevie waited for the man in her doorway to say something. Although she’d be perfectly happy if the Clark Kent lookalike just stood there because she was definitely enjoying the view. His jaw worked, but nothing came out.

  After a few more moments, he scrubbed a hand over the dark stubble on his cheek, and straightened to his full height—which was pretty tall—she guessed around six-foot-three. “Hello,” he finally managed with a deep voice steeped in sexy. “I brought in two of your trashcans.”

  Why? She glanced toward the curb, but couldn’t quite make it out through the rhododendron. Which meant that no one could see her from there if the man meant her any harm. She tightened her grip on the doorknob, ready to retreat into the cottage.

  “I trust you or your boyfriend can get the other,” he said. “One had rolled out into the street and could have caused an accident.”

  “On this street?” She rubbed the pentacle charm on her necklace, silently shoring up the protection spell she’d charged the item with. “It’s not like Crossbones Drive is a major thoroughfare. Although so many people are multitasking these days, fiddling with their phones, rather than concentrating on driving. I guess that makes it more likely.”

  “Is that right?” His glasses slipped a little down his Roman nose. “As a matter of fact, I sideswiped one of your cans, and now I have a nice scratch on my Volvo. And I never look at my phone while driving. That’s against the law.”

  Uh oh. “I didn’t mean to imply that you were at fault. I appreciate you putting the cans away, and I’m sorry you weren’t able to avoid hitting one.” As wide as the street was, she wondered why he hadn’t merely steered around the runaway trashcan. She started to shut her door.

  The man held up a palm. “Wait, I’m not finished.”

  Did he want compensation for a possible ding or scratch on his expensive car? If so, she hoped he didn’t ask for much. She was barely getting by this month. Well, every month. “Yes?”

  “I’m looking for Steve, the tenant.”

  It wasn’t the first time someone had mistaken her name for a masculine version of it, although she wasn’t ready to share the fact that she was the person he wanted, not just yet. Particularly because the man still hadn’t said who he was. “Why?”

  His brow shot higher. “Because he isn’t following the rules, starting with taking in the cans in a timely manner. And then there’s this…” He swept his hand toward the yard. “…this overgrown weed patch. It’s his responsibility to keep up the place.”

  So he was her new landlord? Darn. She’d been hoping that whoever Mrs. Percival had willed the house to would be as sweet and wonderful as she’d been. Apparently not. Didn’t matter that he was kind of adorable in a nerdy sort of way. All she really needed in a landlord was someone who’d maintain the status quo, and not raise her rent.

  She drew a breath to a count of four, then let it out slowly. The pranayama calmed her, as she’d hoped. “Those aren’t weeds, sir.” She stepped around him, and through the beaded curtains, descended the porch steps and gestured toward the bushes of yellow flowers on the right side of the yard. “This is calendula. I use its flowers to make a tea that has anti-inflammatory and healing properties.” Moving a few feet to the left, she pointed out the lavender. “In the spring and summer I use this to make a potpourri that helps me fall asleep, and the best lavender tea bread in the south. The white sage is great for keeping negative energy away.” She met his stare. “Usually.” Picking an early yellow and red bloom off of the mostly bare witch hazel plant growing near the fence, she sniffed the strong fragrance, then held it up for him to do the same.

  But he merely stared at the blossom as if he had no idea what to do. “Where’s Steve Mercer? I should be having this conversation with him since he’s the tenant.”

  Stevie returned to the porch. “It’s not Steve, it’s Stevie. That’s me.”

  “You? Why didn’t you say so?” He followed her up the steps, swatting aside the beaded curtain strands as if they were pesky flies.

  She sat on the loveseat. “I’m saying so now. Talk.”

  He leaned against the railing and folded his arms. “Fine. My name is Griffin Dunlap. Dorothea Percival was my great aunt, and she left her house and this one to me. I plan to put them both on the market as soon a possible.”

  The veggie burger she’d eaten for lunch at Howlers churned in her stomach. Her thoughts jumped back in time, a decade and a half ago, when a social worker and a policeman had removed her and her brother from their mom’s care.

  “I’m clean,” her mother had pleaded with the cop. “Have been for almost a month.”

  The middle-aged social worker frowned. “You were warned twice about keeping your kids in conditions like this.” She flashed an official-looking badge at Stevie’s mom. “This is your last warning before we pursue removal.”

  It wasn’t long before Stevie saw that social worker again when the woman took Stevie and her brother from the house for the last time. Soon after, their mom was dead.

  Because I left, because I wasn’t there to save her.

  How could she abandon all the cats she’d rescued? If she wasn’t there, surely they’d end up starving, hurt, or at the county animal control, where some would be euthanized. No, she couldn’t leave her home. Could he force her to move out? “I have another eighteen months on my lease.”

  He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’m aware. But there’s a clause in it that gives the landlord the right to terminate that lease in the event of a sale. I’ll print a copy of it for you if you don’t have yours.”

  She gulped. Had sweet Mrs. Percival slipped that in when Stevie had renewed? She had to admit that every time she read legal papers, her eyes tended to glaze over within a few moments. “But…Miss Percival wouldn’t have wanted me kicked out. She liked me. And I cared about her, too.”

  His Adam’s apple slid up and then down his neck. “I’m sorry, Miss Mercer.” He glanced toward the yard. “I have no interest in keeping two houses that are a thousand miles from where I live, particularly if they’re not well-kept.”

  Not well-kept? She resisted the urge to argue. After the
chaos of her childhood, she’d striven for a peaceful mind in the face of any and all obstacles. Maybe she could appeal to his sense of right and wrong. “I’ve made a lot of improvements. When I first moved in, almost three years ago, the house was in terrible shape. Your aunt told me several times over the years that I was welcome to live here as long as I liked.”

  She tamped down a kernel of emotion as she thought about her elderly neighbor. They’d connected on several levels since Miss Percival had been a witch, just like Stevie and her grandmother. And the elderly woman had confided that she’d always felt like an enigma in her family since she’d never married as her sisters had. Plus she only had one relative who’d inherited the witch gene, a niece whom Miss Percival had confided had spent several years in prison.

  “I wish my aunt had put that in writing, Miss Mercer, but she didn’t.”

  This was so unfair. It wasn’t his aunt’s intention for Stevie to be thrown out of her home, she was sure of that. “I’ve made a lot of improvements to the house, at my own expense. I replaced several of the appliances, and repainted inside and out.” She’d sunk most of her savings into renovating the cottage because she’d hoped to buy it someday. Only now wasn’t that time. It would be a couple years before she could replenish her savings enough to be able to afford a downpayment.

  She ticked off the other projects she’d completed on her fingers. “I refinished the wood floors in the living room so my meditation students could be more comfortable; I covered the old kitchen counters in mosaic tiles, and I added a screened lanai onto the back of the house where I keep the cats I rescue.”

  He raised a dark eyebrow. “Wait a second. You hold classes here? And an animal rescue? I don’t think your lease allows for businesses to be run out of your home. In fact, I’m sure it doesn’t.”