Sleeping with the Enemy (An Enemies to Lovers Collection)

She’s set out romaine lettuce leaves and is piling tomatoes, avocados, hummus, cucumbers, and peanuts into them.

I clear my throat, and she turns around. She shouldn’t be pretty. Well, she’s not pretty by usual beauty standards. In fact, she’s actually quite waif-like, pixie-like, and bordering on looking plain, but she has huge blue eyes framed by long lashes. Her nose is as delicate as the rest of her heart-shaped face, and her lips aren’t big and full, but they are perfectly bowed. Her cheekbones aren’t high, but the slight color on her face from hard work gives them definition. Also, her skin is tanned as much as pale skin can get, but it’s flawless aside from the smudges of grime that are still there, and the ash blonde hair piled on her head looks tangled and wet at the front from sweating, but I bet it’s long, and when brushed out, it probably shines.

Wtf, Finn! Stop assessing her and checking her out. I tell myself I’m just looking at her to take stock of her appearance. She knows I’m there, and apparently, she doesn’t mind being watched. She looks perfectly comfortable in the kitchen, not at all sketched out by her new houseguest.

Becki Wilkinson is probably the strangest person I’ve ever met.

“You’re a vegan.” I figure I should say something to dial down the creep level, so I gesture at the wraps. I probably shouldn’t have been such a dick about my meat-eating comments out in the driveway, even though they were true.

“Of course. It just makes sense, given what I do, but I started it a long time ago before I even started this. I guess it’s a natural progression.”

“From not eating animals to rescuing them.”

“I guess so.”

“Well, I’m not. And I won’t be.” Subtle. Just like outside.

“That’s fine. I’m not here to make your meals, mother you, or look after you. You can buy your own groceries and cook what you like whenever you like. I’m really busy with the sanctuary. It takes a lot of work.”

“It’s just you?”

“Yeah, mostly. I’m a small operation because it’s all I can afford to be. Unfortunately, it also means I’m pretty much at capacity, and right now, if another larger animal comes along, I would have to find them a place with another rescue. It’s not unfortunate for them, and I don’t mind doing the work, but a lot of rescues are in the same position I’m in. Either they’re full, or they don’t have enough staff or funding to take on more animals.”

“Was the farm in your family?”

“Yeah, I guess so. I mean, yes, it was. It’s a long story, and it involves a lot of family drama. To condense things, my Great Aunt was more of a grandma to me than my own grandparents. It was her farm. She lived here after she married my great uncle, but he passed away long before I was born. Even though my parents really wanted her to move into the city after she got older, she stayed out here all by herself. She was super independent and didn’t mind being out here alone. When it was too much for her to keep up, she paid local neighborhood kids from down the road to cut her grass and weed the garden.

“My Great Aunt May always loved my mom best. She was really close to her two sisters, and one of them was my mom’s mom. My actual grandparents basically disowned my mom after she met my dad because he was a mechanic, which they didn’t like. He wore his hair long, and he had tattoos. They hated that, so they told her to pick. Marry him, and she’d be done with her family. She loved him, so she went with her heart, I guess. Maybe it was her gut. I don’t really know. Anyway, they did cut her off. I have no relationship with them. My Great Aunt May was appalled at what her sister had done to my mom, and she had no children of her own, so she kind of adopted my mom and dad as her own. It was just us at Christmas, Easter, and Thanksgiving—all those holidays—while the rest of the family went over to my grandparent’s house. My mom’s sister and brother still talk to her, but they aren’t very close. I have lots of cousins who I kind of know but also kind of don’t. We hung out here and there while growing up, but we don’t see each other very often now that we’re adults. Most of them don’t even live around here anymore. Anyway, my Great Aunt May got sick all of a sudden and passed pretty much out of the blue, and I…” Becki trails off.

“I’m sorry,” I cut in, even though I hate saying it. I hate the trivial, token response to death and loss, but having lost my grandfather so recently, I understand how painful it can be. I really am sorry.