Chapter 2

“You work around here?” I asked Jimmy. I didn’t remember him from five years ago.

“Yeah. I own the coffee shop, Penny’s Too, down the street, and another Penny’s in the mall by the highway.” He took a huge handful of peanuts and downed them. Stone was watching him and looking concerned.

“Oh, nice place and great coffee.” Then our conversation dried up, and a group around a small table called Jimmy over.

I said good night to Stone and asked if I could put up a Seeking Room to Rent notice on the bar’s bulletin board. After his nod, I donned my ski jacket and knit hat and gutted up to walk out into the cold.

“Say ‘hi’ to Beth and Kate for me, and tell ‘em I’ll give ‘em a free drink the next time they come in,” Stone yelled after me.

I nodded, waved, and then pinned my notice to the corkboard. As I did, my eye caught another notice, this one lettered in a precise, architectural-looking capitalized handwriting:

ROOM FOR RENT

BLUE COTTAGE, MAIN STREET

MONTHLY WITH YEARLY OPTION

J. BARTON

Under the name was a phone number. Fucking wow. It was exactly what I wanted. I ripped down my note and the Blue Cottage one too. I was stoked. Just to make sure I was remembering the right place, I decided to drive by on my way to Beth and Kate’s and take a look, but I was sure it was the house I’d lusted after the last time I was here. Damn, yes, I was interested in a monthly rental there.

I put on my gloves. When I opened the door, the cold slapped me in the face. It didn’t sting like it had when I walked up to the bar. I wasn’t sure I could get used to real twenty-four-seven winter days, but I would be more willing to try if I was living somewhere hot like Blue Cottage.

The house, misnamed a cottage, was one of those stately old Victorians, two stories with all the curlicues and fancy wood detail. Porthole windows dotted the fa?ade here and there among the regulation tall four-paned windows. A front porch wrapped around to the left. A gable and, best of all, a round, two-story tower on the right made it my dream house. It was painted a medium sky blue with white trim on the shutters and front door. A white picket fence enclosed it, and a painted sign hung in the arc of the trellis above the wooden gate: Blue Cottage, 1896. Its next-door neighbor was the city park. With trees and bushes sheltering it, the cottage was my idea of perfect.

Ordinarily, if I was staying for such a short time, I wouldn’t rent somewhere but would live the whole time with Beth and Kate. It’d only taken me one night to remind myself what a mistake living with my cousin and her wife was. Sex and cuddling I like. In fact, I love them. Listening to my cousin and her wife go at it? Not so much. As a gay man, hearing two lesbians last night—even though they were obviously trying to be quiet as mice—had made me shiver and flinch. If that weren’t enough, having to push aside drying bras in order to take a shower this morning made my hands itch. I had to get out of there.

So going back for what I hoped was the last or next-to-last night, I tried to cheer myself by driving slowly past Blue Cottage, taking in the details. With the snow mounded around it and flakes swirling in the air, the place looked like the setting for a snow globe. A plastic family should be standing on the sidewalk, waving to me.

No question. I’d fallen in love with Blue Cottage again, just as I had the last time. I was definitely giving J. Barton a call.

Now if I could only afford the rent. 2

“Barton.”

After a hectic morning, I’d finally gotten a chance to phone Blue Cottage’s owner a little before lunch. He’d answered almost on the first ring. His last name, a one-word greeting, rolled over me and nearly brought me to my knees, it sounded so beautiful. God, I love baritones. His deep, husky voice soothed me. I could live under this landlord. I refused to giggle at my joke.

“Uh, hi. This is, uh, Fen Miller.”

“You want to see the apartment.” His tone said not to waste his time. I could hear the sounds of pots and pans rattling around in the background.

So I launched into my schedule.

“I’m off at five Tuesdays through Fridays, work half days on Saturday morning and Monday afternoon. Are any of those times good for you?” He wanted serious, I could do serious.