Marlory dropped the boxes from her truck with a huff, wiping sweat from her brow. She glanced at the run-down building and sighed.
Yep, this was going to be the hardest task ever.
Grabbing a box, she stepped toward the house. There was no need for a key—the door had been chewed to splinters by termites.
Step one: fix the door, she thought grimly.
Inside, the living room was a disaster. The chairs were worn and decayed, the air reeked of years of neglect and unflushed toilets, and the curtains were stained beyond recognition. Paint peeled in long, curling strips from the walls.
She dropped the box with a groan, only to let out a high-pitched scream as a rat darted across her boot.
"Eeeeeeeee! God, no!" she shrieked, leaping back.
Her heart pounded as she made a mental note: Step two: call an exterminator. Immediately.
The suffocating stench drove her back outside, where she gulped fresh air. Just then, her phone rang.
"Hello?" she answered, her voice still shaky.
"Did you reach Boston safely, sweetie?" came the familiar voice of her fiancé, Todd.
Marlory sighed, brushing a stray hair from her face. "Yes, I did. Everything's... great," she replied, her tone unconvincing.
Her gaze wandered to the street, where a sleek black truck—a newer version of her own—pulled up in front of a pristine apartment building. The owner of the vehicle stepped out, and her breath hitched.
Dressed in coveralls with his hair tied back in a casual bun, he carried an air of effortless confidence. A cigar hung lazily from his lips, and the sunlight glinted off his mirrored sunglasses as he glanced her way.
Marlory's pulse quickened. He paused just long enough to make her feel unnerved before turning and disappearing into the apartment.
"Marlory?" Todd's voice snapped her back to reality.
"Oh, sorry," she stammered, swallowing hard. "I got... distracted."
"You're always distracted. This is why you didn't become a Michelin chef when you had the chance!" Todd chided.
Her jaw clenched. "We agreed not to talk about that anymore."
"I know, baby, but you threw away such a rare opportunity," he whined.
Marlory squeezed her eyes shut, forcing calm into her voice. "Goodbye, Todd."
Hanging up, she grabbed another box from the truck. Distracted by her simmering irritation, she tripped over a stray box and landed face-first in the mud. As if on cue, the sprinklers sprang to life, drenching her from head to toe.
"No, no, no!" she gasped, scrambling to push the boxes out of the water's path. Mud smeared her jeans, and she groaned in frustration.
Looking up, she froze. The man with the black truck was leaning against his window, his piercing blue eyes locked on her.
He was grinning.
"Something funny, dude?" she snapped, glaring at him.
He exhaled a puff of smoke, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. "Nice view."
With that, he shut the window, leaving Marlory burning with embarrassment. She glanced down and felt her stomach drop—her wet white blouse clung to her skin, and the imprint of her polka-dot bra was visible for all to see.
She groaned.
Yep, she already hated Boston.