Can't Fight It (Fair Lakes 3)

******By Tuesday evening, I feel a proud sense of accomplishment sweep through me. Glancing around my apartment, I smile. My cabinets are stocked with new-to-me kitchenware, and my oversized chair and ottoman are positioned in the tiny nook by the window. There’s a floor lamp behind it and an empty bookshelf just under the window, and the small refrigerator has a little more food than it did the past few days.

The company I was working on the website for approved the model design yesterday, suggesting just a few minor tweaks. I should have the final product ready to go live by the end of the week, and the best part is they already paid their entire bill, including a ten percent tip. When that hit my account this morning, I went and purchased a few of the items I’ve had on my list, and still have cash in my account, a big thanks to the secondhand stores I’ve found in town.

The only thing I’m still needing is my bed, which should be delivered tomorrow. The furniture store called and said their shipment was arriving early, and while I hate to spend the fifty extra dollars for delivery, I don’t exactly have a way to get a full-sized mattress and box spring to my new place.

You could borrow Colton’s truck.

But that’s not going to happen. I’ve done well at avoiding him since Sunday evening. I’ve heard him come and go, and yes, heard him singing to Milo every night at bedtime, but that’s the extent of it. I’ve kept to myself, utilizing the laundry room during the day and working on my sites during the evening. So far, so good, especially when I have my earplugs in to block the sound of father and son bonding that makes my ovaries want to explode from my body.

I look over at the mountain view paintings I found at the secondhand store and smile at the serene story they tell. I’ve always lived in the city, but there’s something about that picturesque mountain landscape that calls to me. The trees, the streams, and the snow-capped peaks. I think that’s part of what beckoned me to Fair Lakes. I’d heard the stories, and while there are no mountains, it still gives that same charming and small-town feel.

Heading into the kitchen, I pull a Lean Cuisine from the small freezer and stick it in the microwave—another find at the resale shop. One thing I’m going to have to learn is what can and cannot fit in my small fridge. For as small as that part is, the freezer portion is even worse. I was able to stuff four Lean Cuisines, a pint of chocolate cherry ice cream, and a package of microwavable soft pretzels. Anything else isn’t going to make the cut.

When the microwave dings, I grab a hand towel and retrieve my dinner without burning my hand. I pull a glass from the cabinet and fill it with tap water, taking it over to the bookshelf beside my new chair. As I grab my chicken parmesan entrée, a knock sounds on the door that separates my place and Colton’s.

I head over and disengage the new lock he installed. When I open the door, my heart gallops in my chest. Colton stands there, holding a happy Milo, who gives me a toothless, drooly grin. The older man’s eyes do a quick scan before returning to my face, and I can’t help but wonder what he sees. I’m wearing a pair of jeans and a basic fitted T-shirt in an aqua color. My feet are stuffed in cozy socks, because no matter what time of year, my feet are always cold.

“Hey,” I say, running a hand over the top of my head, hoping like hell I don’t have crazy flyaways with my messy bun.

“Uh, hey.” He glances over my shoulder and smiles. “This place looks great.”

Stepping back, I give him a better view of the work I’ve put into my space today. “It’s getting there.”

He walks in and looks around, a small smile on his lips. “Love the chair,” he says, pointing to the tan-colored, oversized chair and ottoman.

“Thanks. I found some good deals today,” I tell him, trying to look around the room through his eyes. The curtains are a tan and navy chevron stripe, so I added navy rugs in the kitchen. My bedding is a blue, green, and tan floral print and will really tie the colors together when my bed arrives tomorrow.

“How did you get all of this in here?” he asks, noticing the small four-drawer dresser I have in the closet.

“Well, everything but the dresser, bookshelf, and chair and ottoman all fit in my car, and the owner of the resale shop volunteered her husband to deliver the furniture this afternoon for free.”