A door to the left led to a large bedroom and bathroom. Like the kitchen, they were immaculate. A king-size bed with a black frame, more blue-gray for the bedding, and a matching black dresser took up half the room. A small writing desk with a black leather office chair had been placed in front of the window. It was cozy and perfect, and I knew I could work quite happily here as soon as I hung up some pictures or bought some colorful pillows or possibly a throw.
Soph and I wheeled my bags into the bedroom and then headed back to the kitchen to take stock of what I would need to survive.
“The place comes with dishes and cookware, and I put some supplies for you in the cupboard this morning,” she said. I opened the surprisingly deep pantry and noted there was stuff in there.
“Oh, you didn’t have to—” I began but she interrupted.
“Please.” She held up her hand in a stop gesture. “I’ve lived with you. I know your essentials. Coffee, sugar, and your breakfast granola are in the pantry; milk, yogurt, and wine are in the refrigerator; and a couple of frozen pizzas are in the freezer just to get you started. We can hit the grocery store this weekend for a bigger supply run.”
I tipped my head as I gazed at my sister from another mister in surprise. “Look at you, momming me.”
“No. Nope. Nuh-uh,” she said. “I am not mom material. Not yet at any rate. I am merely being a fabulous boss because I don’t want you to regret coming here, and I know if you wake up without coffee first thing tomorrow, you will examine your life choices in a fit of insufficient caffeine and regret everything.”
She knew me so well. I supposed it came from years of drowning our sorrows in cheap booze and pints of ice cream after bad breakups, followed by holding each other’s hair out of the toilet while we threw up, which we then topped off by sharing the greasiest breakfasts we could find in the wee hours of the morning at some fairly sketchy city diners.
Ours was a once-in-a-lifetime sort of friendship, forged in dubious choices, heartache, drunken texting, and the complete acceptance and understanding of our individual gifts as well as our flaws. I’d take a bullet for Soph without question, and I knew she’d do the same for me.
“So work tomorrow, huh?” I asked.
She met my gaze. “Yes. You don’t have to work the whole day, but I am just so excited for you to see the office and meet everyone.”
She was dancing on her tiptoes again, and I was afraid a high kick of excitement was headed my way.
“I was just confirming,” I said. “Of course I’ll be there bright and early.”
She hugged me tight, pulling me down to her level while she hopped up and down.
“Is she trying to choke you out again?” Miguel asked as he strode through the kitchen door.
Sophie released me and turned to him. “I think I have been remarkably self-contained, given that having Annabelle here is a dream come true for me.”
“Yes, I know.” His smile was tight as he slid his arm around her back and gave her a half hug. When he looked down, I noticed his smile was not reflected in his eyes when he asked, “And you always get your way, don’t you?”
Sophie blinked at him. A look of hurt flashed across her face, but she visibly shook it off. I didn’t know if I was just overtired from the long day I’d already put in, topped by margaritas, and was being oversensitive, or if my feeling that there was something wrong between them, and that something appeared to be me, was accurate or not.
I forced a laugh, because, as I’ve mentioned, I hate conflict and will always try to laugh it off, but then Miguel held out an envelope to me, stifling my awkward attempt to keep things light. The letter-size envelope looked thick, like something the IRS hand-delivers to your house if you forget to pay your taxes.
“What’s this?” I asked.
He blew out a breath. “Daire’s rules for the renter.”
I looked at him and then at the envelope. I weighed it in my palm. It had some heft. I glanced back at Miguel. “How many pages is it?”
He shrugged and said, “I don’t know. Feels like fifty-eleven.”
Soph frowned at the envelope. “I thought we hashed all that out when she signed the rental agreement.”
“Apparently, Daire got to thinking about it, and he has some additional house rules that he’d like Annabelle to follow,” Miguel said.
“Like what?” Soph asked. She sounded annoyed on my behalf. “She paid her first and last, put down a security deposit, and signed the lease. What more could he want from her?”
Miguel sighed. “It’s details. He has too much time on his hands. It makes him overthink things. I don’t think these are hard-and-fast rules but more like suggestions for peaceful neighbor cohabitation.”
“Oh, in that case,” I said. I tossed the envelope onto the counter to be ignored with all the other junk mail that was sure to find me within the week.
“Don’t you want to look at it?” he asked.
A big jaw-cracking yawn slid out of me. “Not tonight. I’m going to shower, put on my jams, and pass out. The ‘rules’ can wait until tomorrow.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “But you will look at them just so that there’s no misunderstandings, right?”
“Sure.” I squinted at him, suddenly suspicious. “Question.”
“Shoot,” he said.
“Why is some old retired guy, who lives in a huge house and is clearly not hurting for money, willing to rent his guest house to a complete stranger?”
“Uh,” Miguel stalled. I’d obviously caught him off guard.
“Because Miguel saved his life,” Soph said. “He collapsed and Miguel happened to be the one who found him and called an ambulance. Daire doesn’t like to be indebted to anyone, and he’s been badgering Miguel for a way to make things square. When we couldn’t find a reasonably priced apartment for you nearby, we suggested the use of his guest house for six months as his payback. Daire jumped on it.”
I jerked my thumb at the envelope. “Do you think he’s reconsidering?”
“No,” Miguel said. “He’s just a pain in the ass.”
“Ah,” I said. “Well, I’ll do my best to abide by his rules.”
“Perfect,” Soph said. She grabbed me in another hug. I yawned. Miguel hugged me, too. I yawned again. They shared an amused look and left me to my new home, promising to pick me up on their way to the office in the morning. My eyes were slamming shut as I locked the door after them.
In the quiet after their departure, I took another look at my sparsely furnished abode. Whoever had put it together had minimalist taste, which was perfect because it gave me enough room to make the place my own.