Flirting with Forever: A Hot Romantic Comedy(3)

Joey, one of the moving guys, came out of the house and grinned at me as he walked up the ramp into the back of the truck.

He was cute. Not I’d-invite-him-to-stay cute, but we’d been having fun. Flirting with a couple of muscular men certainly made moving into a new house more pleasant.

My new house.

I’d fallen in love with it immediately. The cute two-story on a quiet cul-de-sac had pretty maple hardwoods, new appliances, and a neutral color palette just waiting for someone to make it their own. It had a quaint front porch with just enough space for a little bistro table and chairs and big windows that let in lots of light.

Although now that I was here, with my entire life packed into boxes, I was wondering what I’d gotten myself into.

When I’d picked up my keys the day before, the house had looked like a fresh, clean slate. Now it was a mess—furniture and boxes everywhere.

And the yard. It appeared that the previous owner had stopped doing any sort of maintenance while waiting for the deal to close. The grass was too tall and I had no idea what plants were weeds and what was overgrown landscaping.

I’d never had a yard before. This was going to be interesting. Especially considering all the other houses on the street had lawns that were as well manicured as my nails.

I put my hands on my hips. I’d just have to figure it out.

But first, I needed a place to work. And sleep. And ideally the ability to cook, although takeout was definitely on the agenda for at least the next few days.

My phone buzzed with a text. As if I needed the reminder that work was a thing, I had a text from my boss, April.

What did she want? She knew I was moving.

I decided to ignore it for now and swiped away the notification. I’d get back to her when I at least had a place to sit down. And could locate my laptop.

Joey came down the ramp with a load of boxes on the hand truck. “Just you living here? No husband or boyfriend?”

“Just me.”

“Does that mean you’re taking applications?”

“Why? Do you think you’d get an interview?”

He grinned, flashing a set of straight teeth. “Oh yeah. My resume has an impressive skills section.”

My hands rested on my hips and I gave him a subtle eye roll. “That’s what they all say.”

With a wink, he rolled the hand truck toward the house.

His counterpart came out with a similar cocky grin. “Don’t believe anything he says. He’s totally full of it.”

“And I suppose I should believe what you say?”

He paused on the ramp and shifted his shoulders so his chest flexed beneath his t-shirt. “Obviously.”

“Does that mean the skills section of his resume is lacking?”

“Yeah, my dude in there has trouble finding things. If you know what I mean.”

“Too bad. It’s nice when a man knows his way around.”

“That’s why they call me the navigator.”

My eyebrows drew in. “Has anyone ever called you that?”

He grinned again. “No, I just made it up. But it sounds good, right?”

“Maybe think twice before you use that line again.”

I left him to get another load and went inside to check on our progress.

Chaos. It was chaos.

I sighed at the boxes everywhere. The guys seemed to be doing a good job of putting things in the correct rooms, but the mess was a stark reminder of how much work I had ahead of me. And I couldn’t help but wonder, again, what I’d gotten myself into.

Nora Lakes, homeowner. And not just a homeowner, but the owner of a house on a quiet suburban cul-de-sac. This was white picket fence territory. Most of my new neighbors had minivans in their driveways and swing sets in their backyards. It was so different from the urban apartment I’d been living in.

But I’d decided it was time to settle down. All three of my best friends now had husbands and houses, and life in my old apartment hadn’t been nearly as fun without Everly and Hazel living in the same building. It had felt like time for a change—time to level up.

Marriage wasn’t for me, thank you very much, but a woman didn’t have to get married to take her life in a new direction. A more adult direction.

So I’d bought a house.

“Ma’am?”

Joey’s voice from one of the bedrooms made my shoulders tighten. Had he just ma’amed me?

He appeared in the hallway and I quickly softened my expression. I didn’t want to show that kind of weakness.

I raised my eyebrows. “Sorry, did you call me?”

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure if you were out here. Do you want us to put your bed frame together? That way you’ll at least have a place to sleep tonight.”

“That would be great, thank you.”

“No problem.” He grinned like he was expecting me to engage in a fresh round of flirty banter at the mention of my bed.

Ma’am? Really?

I pretended not to notice his playful expression and waded through the boxes into the kitchen. It was probably just a slip-up and he used that term with clients all the time.

Then again, the movers were probably both ten years younger than me. At least.

I sighed. When had that happened?

An idea for a column popped into my mind, something exploring the modern woman’s experience of aging. From those first realizations that you’re no longer twenty-one to navigating the different seasons of life with elegance and grace. It would make an amazing series, especially if I found women of different ages and backgrounds to interview and—