by Ellie Hall
Click here to read more about grumpy boss Chef Ignacio and sunshiny waitress, Julia, in Nacho Boyfriend: A Fake Relationship Romantic Comedy
Want Francesca’s Happily Ever After? Click here to read The Friend Act: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy
Julie and the Fixer-Upper
Amy Sparling
Romance novelist Julie just moved into her dream rental—a lake house. Only the gorgeous jerk who is fixing up the place is still living there, a detail the landlord didn’t mention. To get Max out of her house ASAP, she helps renovate. With any luck, she’ll fix his broody attitude while she’s fixing the house.
1
Romance is for schmucks. You heard me correctly. Romance is for all the people too moon-eyed and stubborn to realize it’ll all fall apart in their face one day. Romance gets you nowhere. Snarking on romance, however, will get you everywhere.
Assuming you’re any good at it.
The navigation app on my phone tells me to turn left. I slow my old Jeep down to a crawl, wondering where exactly the left turn is, finally finding it tucked away in the thick brush of trees that line this old Texas county road. Eyes on the rear-view mirror, I check to make sure the rented box trailer hitched to my car stays there. It’s all I have left after my life exploded and I can’t lose it. I’ve never towed anything before, much less all of my precious belongings in an ugly rented box that’s not even the least bit aerodynamic. The guy at the rental place warned me not to take sharp turns, so I’ve spent this entire ten-hour trip worried that the trailer and my Jeep will go tumbling into the ditch each time there’s a bend in the road.
So far, so good. And now I’m almost here. Almost home.
The last year of my life has been a total disaster. Living in the city didn’t help one bit, because when you’re in a depressed funk, it’s no fun seeing a million other people living their best lives all day long. Who am I kidding? It was no fun seeing one person live his best life. In the same apartment complex.
Jason ruined our engagement with his affair, but then he ruined my living situation by shacking up with his new girl in the same downtown apartment complex. Just one hallway over. Then he ruined my career.
It took me ten years to become a recognized name in the romance industry. I poured my soul in to my romance novels, breathing life into my fictionalized characters, dreaming up swoony romances, and giving my readers couples to root for. I even had a TV network negotiating the rights to adapt my six book city romance series into a cute, romantic television show.
The day I discovered Jason was cheating on me was the day I realized I couldn’t write romance anymore. I wanted to. My livelihood depended on the money I get from writing. But I just couldn’t. The wool over my eyes had been removed, revealing the truth—that all that sappy, silly romance I had once loved was just a lie.
I shake my head. I won’t think about all that I lost. I will only look forward and focus on what I have right now. I catch sight of myself in the rear-view mirror and grin. After weeks of looking for the perfect place to live, I finally found it. The GPS says I’m 2.3 miles away from my new home. My dream home.
Butterflies light up in my stomach as I drive down the small road, which is flanked on either side by thick trees. I roll down my window and take in the clean, crisp air. It’s a stark difference from the exhaust-filled city air I’m used to. I breathe in deeply, catching sight of my hair in the mirror as it whips around my face.
I had the same boring hairstyle forever, long and straight just like Jason liked it, until a week ago when I got it cut into long layers with light brown highlights to give more definition to my otherwise boring brown hair.
My friends called it a breakup haircut. It’s not a breakup haircut, though. It’s the haircut a woman gets when she’s finally living for herself.
As I drive further down this small road, the thick pine trees part, revealing the hidden beauty of Lake Sterling. The photos online haven’t done it justice. It takes my breath away. The afternoon sun glimmers on the deep blue water. The lake is dotted with cottages, all waterfront properties with big back yards, plenty of room around them so you’re not too close to the neighbors. I don’t need the GPS to find my new home now; I’ve spent days staring at its picture online.
The white cottage has one bedroom with an extra studio space that I’ll use for an office, an open floor plan, and a huge wraparound back porch that faces the water. Little stepping stones lead from the driveway to the front door, and lush, vibrant flowers decorate front of the small home. It is a picture-perfect home. It should be on postcards and puzzles.
I park, trying not to stress about how I’m going to back out of the small gravel driveway with this box trailer attached to my Jeep. I went the entire trip without going in reverse, and I’m not even sure how to take it off the trailer hitch thingy on the back of my car. There’s a rental return place located a few miles away in the small town of Sterling, so I’m hoping to unload my stuff and get it turned in tomorrow morning.
My heart races as I step out and stretch my legs, gazing up at the gorgeous place that is now my own for the next two years. Snagging this rental property was a miracle. Sterling, Texas was voted one of the most charming small towns last year, and it shows. The real estate here sells for way more than it would anywhere else, and homes rarely ever come up for sale or rent. The people who live here, love it here.
As much as I loathe my ex, Jason did do something good for me. All the anger and pain I felt during or breakup might have ruined my romance writing career, but it started me on the path to a brand new journey. I was kind of joking when I pounded out an entire anti-romance novel in just fifteen days—a record for me—throwing all my bitter emotions into my made up character, Private Investigator Rosa Ramirez, the man-hating vixen who seeks out and destroys men who cheat on their partners. But my agent loved it and sold it to a publisher just days later—another record for me.
The first book in my Love Sucks series became an instant bestseller and my publisher wanted me to make it into a series. I just got a massive book advance for the next three books, which gave me the money to plunk down two years’ worth of rent at once, which put me in the running to rent my dream home, a small cottage on the lake. I know a dozen other people were hoping to get it, but it’s mine now. All mine.
I close my eyes and breathe in deeply, inhaling the sweet scent of the flowers, the crisp spring air, the woodsy pine trees.
“Well, hello, darlin’. What brings you to Sterling?”
The unexpected, somewhat gravelly voice startles me. I yelp, turning around. The woman smiling at me looks to be in her sixties, with bright red lipstick and dark black hair piled into a messy bun on top of her head.
Not everyone in Texas talks like that. I would know, I was born and raised in Dallas and I have never once called someone darlin’.
“I’m, uh,” I swallow then force a smile and gesture toward my new house. I want to belong here, blend into small town life away from the hustle of the city. Now that I’m here talking to a local, I’m worried she’ll know I don’t fit in. “I’m new here. I’m moving in today.”
“Well then, welcome, my dear. I didn’t even know the house was ready to be rented!” She holds out her hand. When I go to shake it, she pulls me in for a hug that smells like floral perfume and coffee. “I’m Lina. I live down the road on the left. Blue house, white door. I like to take a walk each evening. Keeps me fit,” she says, finally releasing me.
“Nice to meet you.”
“I’ll let ‘cha get back to it,” she says, waving as she starts to walk away. “You holler if you need anything, hun.”
My landlady lives in Arizona, so we’ve only communicated through phone and email. She told me the keys would be under a decorative turtle figurine on the back porch. Excitement pulses through me as I make my way across the beautifully green grass yard and into the back yard. I never had a yard in Dallas. It was just concrete as far as you could see.
I step
up on to the back porch and gaze out at the lake in front of me. This is stunning. Beautiful. Perfect. I picture sitting out here, sipping coffee and writing my books to the morning sunrise, the sound of birds and nature keeping me company while I fall into my fictional world with P.I. Rosa Ramirez.
I do a little dance on my new back porch. I close my eyes and wiggle and shake, letting loose back here because no one can see me anyway. Just months ago, my life felt like a tragedy. Now I’m thriving. This is my place, in my own little slice of heaven. Jason is a distant memory. In fact, all men are a distant memory.
My dancing is interrupted by the sound of the back door opening.
“Uh… hello?”
My mouth goes dry.
Dirty blonde hair, messy and curly, a scruffy beard, muscles. Muscles for days.
It takes a second for my brain to put all the gorgeous pieces into place, to register that this very attractive man is staring at me, a twist of confusion on his handsome face.
It’s only a second, and I’m snapped back to reality. It doesn’t matter how good he looks.
There’s a man in my house.
2
“Who are you?” My voice is too high-pitched, too mousy and scared. I’m supposed to be a strong, independent woman. Not someone who shrieks back in fear. I stand up straighter, channeling my fictional, sassy P.I. “Are you trying to rob the place? Because I haven’t even moved in yet so there’s nothing to steal.”
The man steps onto the porch, lifting an eyebrow as he looks me up and down. “I think you have the wrong address.”
“No, I definitely don’t. You need to leave or I’ll call the cops.”
He chuckles.
My hands slap onto my hips. I think this is a power pose, but I’m not so sure. There’s something about being in this guy’s intense stare, his light brown eyes seeming to shoot waves of fluttery electricity thought me that makes it hard to focus.
“Trespassing is not funny!”
He tilts his head. “It’s a little bit funny, especially when I’m not the one doing it.”
“You are the one doing it,” I snap.
He chuckles again. “What address are you looking for? I can help you find it.”
“I don’t need any help. I am right where I need to be.” I tug my purse off my shoulder, set it on the wooden porch railing and dig through it. When I find the papers I’m looking for, I hold them up triumphantly. “I have a signed lease.”
“I do, too,” he says.
“No, you don’t.”
He grins. “You want to see it?”
I nod. Then I follow him into the house. Into my house. Only…
My blood runs cold with humiliation as I look around the place. It’s basically a messy construction zone. Plastic tarps cover the floors, power tools litter the kitchen. Gallons of paint sit on a drop cloth in the corner. Oh no.
My jaw drops. “This isn’t my house.”
My house was a little outdated, but it was all put together in the online listing photos. This house is someone’s renovation project. I’m in the wrong house! My fictional P.I. Rosa would have never made this mistake.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly, turning and rushing out of the back door. I jog across the porch, down the three steps, and run back to my car, my heart pounding rapidly. How could I have been so stupid?
My cheeks are burning and are probably pinker than the flowers in the front yard as I start up my Jeep and throw it into reverse. The tires roll backwards and the trailer jets off crookedly, shaking my car as its wheels veer off the driveway and into the yard.
“Crap,” I say, shifting into drive. I pull forward a bit, then try to back out again.
This is so not happening. The stupid trailer keeps going off the driveway, rolling into the grass every time I reverse. My heart is racing and I’m freaking out. I’m about to ask Siri to show me videos of how to drive with a trailer on your car when there’s a tap on my window.
I roll down my window and put on the fakest smile in the world. But fake-smiling is better than crying, right? “I’ll be out of here in just a second,” I say.
“You dropped this.” Mr. Handsome No Name holds up my lease.
“Great, thanks,” I say, quickly taking the papers and throwing them in my passenger seat. “You can go now. I have this under control.”
“There’s a problem.” He runs a hand through his hair. “The address on your lease is the right address. But I also have a signed lease for this house. My lease is up in June. I’m renovating the house in exchange for free rent.”
This new revelation only helps ease my humiliation a teensy tiny bit. But it also brings with it a whole new set of problems.
“But my lease starts today, in April. How can we have leases that overlap each other?”
He shrugs, tapping his fingers to the roof of my Jeep. “We need to call Kelly.”
“Great idea.” I take my phone from the cupholder and scroll for my landlady’s phone number.
“While you do that, get out,” he says, stepping backward. He opens my car door.
“Excuse you?”
“Get out real quick,” he says, motioning for me to move. Then his eyes meet mine and he seems to have a sudden realization. “Please.”
I don’t even ask why when I climb out of my own car.
“I’m Max, by the way,” he says before getting into the driver’s seat.
“Julie,” I say.
He smiles, then closes the door and expertly backs my car out of the driveway. He pulls forward on the road, then reverses the Jeep and the trailer into the driveway so it’ll be easier for me to leave next time I rush out in a hurry.
Kelly answers the phone with a, “Kelly speaking, how may I help you?”
“Hi, this is Julie Baskins. I just rented a property from you in Sterling?”
“Oh, sure, what’s up?”
“There’s another guy living here. Max? He claims his lease is up in June even though my lease starts today.”
“Oh my goodness,” she says with a laugh.
Max gets out of my Jeep and tosses me the keys.
On the phone, Kelly is still laughing. “I can’t believe I did that. How funny!”
I palm my forehead. She and I have very different ideas of what funny is.
“Speaker?” Max whispers. I nod and put the call on speakerphone, holding out so he can hear.
“So what should we do?” I say.
“I’ll just cancel your lease and refund you the deposit. I’m sorry for the mix-up!”
“No!” I say, sounding desperate and pathetic. But I am desperate. “I don’t want to lose the house,” I add.
“Max can’t move out until he’s finished with the renovations. I’ll tell you what—I’ll just refund your first two months’ rent and then you can move in when he’s gone. Okay? I have another call coming in, so I have to go. Bye now!”
The call ends. My stomach drops.
“What am I supposed to do now?” I say, taking a deep, deep breath to avoid panicking. “There are no hotels within an hour from here. I already gave up my old apartment. My family lives in Florida! My trailer rental is due back tomorrow. I have nowhere to go.”
Max shrugs. “Just stay here.”
“No way. You could be a weirdo!”
“You could be a weirdo,” he retorts.
I roll my eyes. “I’m not a weirdo.”
“I’m not either.”
I heave a heavy sigh.
Max pats my shoulder then steps back. “Just stay in the house with me. I’ve been sleeping in the studio room anyhow, so the master bedroom can be all yours. It’s already been painted so it’s ready to move in.”
I stare at him, hoping that if I just watch him long enough, I’ll know what to do. I have never lived with a guy. Of course, this isn’t some kind of romance thing. It’s just a weird coincidence. I won’t even have to acknowledge him if I don’t want to. I’ll just stay in my bedroom until he’s gone.
&
nbsp; “Call your mom,” I say, thinking on my feet just like Rosa would do.
He lifts an eyebrow, but he doesn’t question me. He takes a phone from his jeans pocket, touches the screen, and then holds it out to me. Mama is on the screen, and it’s ringing.
I put the phone to my ear. “Hey, Son,” the voice on the other line says. “What’s going on?”
“This isn’t Max,” I explain. “I’m… Max’s friend.”
“Oh? Gosh, is everything okay?”
“Max is fine. I just wanted to ask if he’s a good guy? Trustworthy? Ethical?”
“Of course he is,” she says, sounding like she’s smiling. “I raised a great man. Quite the gentleman, if you ask me. And… why are you asking me?”
I can’t help but smirk while Max watches me, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. He can only hear one side of this conversation, after all.
“He’s living in the house I just rented while he renovates it, and he said I could stay here while he works. I have nowhere else to go so I just need to know how safe it’ll be.”
“He’ll take good care of you, dear. You get my number from him and you call me anytime, okay? I live here in town. I’ll come smack my son if he does anything that annoys you.”
I laugh. “Thank you, ma’am.”
When the call is over, I hand Max’s phone back to him.
“Well?” he says.
I bite the inside of my mouth to stop myself from realizing how handsome he is. I shrug. It’s not like it matters. “Guess we’re roomies.”
3
My junior high self must be cringing right now. Young Julie thought she was awkward? She hasn’t even seen how awkward adult Julie can get. I’ve never lived with a man. My ex, Jason, lived in the same building so we were always together, but I still got to go home each night. He didn’t see me in my embarrassing baggy T-shirt pajamas and had no idea I look like a wet dog after showering because my hair gets curly until I straighten it. I worked really hard to be cool and effortless and beautiful around him.