I put my feet on the footrests and spun the chair so that I faced the floor-to-ceiling windows, which were curtained by heavy drapes. I cast Jackson a dark look, at which he wagged his eyebrows. He moved the curtain aside just enough to let me see out, too.
My tenant was seated on her patio in one of the two cushioned chairs that faced the pool. She was wearing a long-sleeved black shirt over a pair of black-and-white-plaid pajama bottoms. There was nothing sexy about the outfit and yet the sight of her in her sleepwear, with her painted pink toes peeking out beneath the hem of her pants, felt oddly intimate.
I watched as she lifted her coffee mug to her lips. She was pale, as if she hadn’t seen the sun in months, with long dark hair, and average features that were neither stunningly beautiful nor hideous. Compared to the women I’d dated back in the day, she was plain with a side of pretty, but nothing I would have looked at twice.
“Meh,” I said. “I’ve seen better.”
I felt Jackson’s gaze on the side of my face, but I ignored him, not wanting to get a lecture about my Neanderthal tendencies toward the female gender. As I watched my tenant, her sleeve rolled back and I could see a tattoo on the inside of her wrist. I squinted. Was she one of those girls who got the ubiquitous butterfly tattoo on her arm? Probably.
There was an effortless grace to her movements, and when she puckered her lips to blow the steam away before she sipped, I found myself watching her mouth a little too closely. I glanced away. My first assessment about her had been correct, and I wasn’t going to change it.
“She’s just average,” I said. I tried to sound dismissive, but my voice dipped a bit lower than normal and Jackson didn’t look like he believed me.
“Average for what?” he asked. “A goddess?”
“Goddess?” I choked. “Sure, if you’re sight impaired.”
Jackson laughed, that annoying booming laugh that came up from his belly and encompassed anyone in a hundred-yard radius. “If you say so,” he said.
He turned away to go grab more of his gear. He was whistling as he gathered several resistance bands, or as I thought of them—implements of torture. I turned back to the window and took just another quick peek at the woman who was going to be living in the little guest house on my property for the next six months.
All right, so with that long mane of curly dark hair and heart-shaped face, she was actually quite pretty. Since I had no intention of ever interacting with her during her time here, it wasn’t relevant to me in the least. As I watched, she opened an envelope and a sheaf of papers fell into her lap.
I felt my face grow warm. Those were the additional rules I’d had Miguel deliver to her yesterday. Why I felt a sudden surge of embarrassment, I had no idea. Probably because in my mind I had pictured Annabelle as a nerdy, man-hating graphic designer, with glasses, improbably dyed blue or green hair, who dressed from neck to knee in too big, secondhand store cardigans, ironic T-shirts, and old-school lace-up sneakers.
Instead, I watched this unexpected—What? What was she? A girl? A woman? The words swirled around my head, not quite locking into my fuzzy brain. The only word that clicked was Jackson’s. Goddess. I watched as this unexpected goddess—I rolled my eyes—read my rules with a smile tucked into the corner of her mouth, as if she thought I was joking. I wasn’t. Not even a little.
Annabelle
4
I brewed a pot of coffee in the oh-so-high-tech coffee maker, which had a cool milk frothing doohickey built into the side. I could foam up my morning cup of joe? Fancy. I might never leave.
I took it and the envelope Miguel had given me last night out to the patio. I found a sunny spot in the corner and pulled one of the padded wicker chairs over to it. I sighed, feeling the sun warm the top of my head and shoulders while a cool breeze scented the air with something delicately sweet. After I’d slugged back half of my coffee, I used my thumb to open the envelope. Ten pages fell into my lap. Ten.
I would like to report that it was a friendly, chatty, getting-to-know-you missive. It was not. It had bullet points. Seriously. And suddenly the term bullet points seemed very on target, so to speak.
The language was unapologetically terse as if the person issuing the rules felt that this would preemptively halt any argument coming from the recipient of the letter, i.e., me. Hmm.
I scanned the pages, looking for any hint of warmth or apology for not including these rules in the original lease. There was nothing, just rule after rule, belabored to the point of exhaustion. I glanced back at the first page and began to read, while the froth on my coffee deflated much like my spirits.
Tenant [as if he didn’t know my name from all the paperwork I’d submitted]
Be advised [I wondered how hard it was for him to use the word advised instead of at my command] that the following is a list of rules I encourage you to follow [I suspected there had been a punishment—such as lashings or banishment—that had been listed here but he forced himself to reconsider, given that he’d missed his opportunity to put “the rules” in the legally binding lease] for the benefit of all residing on these premises.
The pool is for the exclusive use of the homeowner. [I noted he did not mention the hot tub.]
No noise, such as loud music, is allowed after 9 PM. [9??? Good grief, he must be old enough to remember life before motor vehicles.]
No pets, of any kind, are allowed. [Did that include dragons? I wondered. I suddenly quite desperately wanted a fire-breathing dragon.]
Trash pickup is Tuesday morning. You are responsible for putting your bins at the curb and must bring them in before nightfall the same day. [He really did have too much time on his hands.]
On and on it went. By the end, I was only surprised that he didn’t specify which way I put my toilet paper, over or under, on the holder. Honestly, it was clear Mr. Daire needed a hobby. Well, nagging me was not going to be it.
I glanced at the clock and realized that Soph and Miguel would be here to pick me up for my first day of work soon. I carefully folded “the rules” and stuffed them back into the envelope. Mercifully, I wasn’t going to be here most of the time so Daire’s rules shouldn’t impact me overmuch. I had only signed a six-month lease, so if it became unbearable, I could always leave.
I glanced at the big house across the yard. I wondered if Mr. Daire was up and about. It was a beautiful home, and yet it had an air of orneriness about it like a man sticking out his chin and asking for a punch. The windows, like mine, were floor-to-ceiling, but whereas I kept my draperies open, his were drawn, blocking any light that might have gotten inside the big house.