Just as I suspected, there aren’t many kitchen supplies in the house, not even a coffee maker, just some furniture and a sleeping bag that will serve as bedding tonight. Not wanting to go out with a bruised forehead, I order a pizza, which is enthusiastically delivered by Bart . . . the other Uber driver. Looks like he does Uber Eats, too, which definitely gives him a leg up on his competition. Seems to me like Bart might have a better grasp on his business than Wallace does. I give him five stars because I can’t be partial.

After a long, hot shower, keeping the water away from my forehead, I dress in my comfy pj’s and plop myself on the couch with my computer and the pizza box, settling in for a Netflix binge. Thank God the Wi-Fi is already available.

And just when I’m about to cue my show, my phone buzzes next to me.

My mother.

I know I have to answer it, or else I’m going to have a situation on my hands, on top of a damaged car and a cracked-open forehead.

“Hey, Mom,” I answer.

“Ren Juniper Winters. Why on earth haven’t you been answering my phone calls?”

Because I was in the emergency room getting stitched up.

Because my car was lodged between two trees.

Because I was ogling my new neighbor and reminiscing about how he’d effortlessly carried me up a grassy embankment.

But I don’t tell her that. I don’t want to give her a heart attack.

“Sorry, Mom, I’ve been really busy getting settled and meeting some locals.” Not a lie. I met some locals for sure. The EMT ladies, doctors, firefighters . . . you know, the basics.

“Well, you could have at least texted me. I was worried sick over here.” My mom, worried? Nooooo.

“Sorry about that. I’m just sitting down eating some pizza now.”

“Oh, is it good? I bet it’s better than what we have out here. I heard New England has amazing pizza.”

“It’s pretty good. I’m impressed. Glad it’s a place I can rely on when I’m too tired to cook anything.”

“That’s wonderful, honey. How’s the house? An absolute dream like the pictures online?”

“And so much more. I can smell the ocean from the living room window, and I can hear the waves crash into the shore. The entire house is quaint. The walls are covered in white shiplap, and the floors are to die for. Seriously, I don’t know how I was able to score this place for so cheap. Seems like a miracle.”

My mom chuckles. “You’re just so used to Los Angeles prices that this is a shock to you.”

“It really is.” I pause and take in the charming little house, feeling more content than I’ve been in a long time. “I’m really happy I made this move, Mom.” Despite the suicidal moose that will not be spoken of.

My mom sighs on the other end of the phone. “Even though I wish you were still a stone’s throw away from us, I’m glad that you’re happy. It’s all I want for you.” She pauses for a second. “Now, don’t go falling in love out there, you hear me? I couldn’t bear if you had children so far away from me.”

Falling in love . . . pfft.

But then Griffin’s face pops into my head, his strong features and mesmerizing eyes, the color of the ocean. His sweet smile, his concern, his . . . body.

I’m sure hordes of women throw themselves—

Something pops into my head, something Wallace said: that Griffin was given a rough hand at love. Is that what he said? I was so caught up in the swinging-from-trees story that I’m having a hard time remembering.

It doesn’t matter, though; I’m sure I’m not his type, especially given the way we met. I wonder what he truly thinks of me. Hot mess or genuine lunatic. At this point, I think I would settle for hot mess.

“Mom,” I say, chuckling, “that’s a big jump, don’t you think?”

“Never too early to warn you. Have fun, but not too much fun.”

“And what if I love it so much out here that I decide to become a true local? What would you do then?”

“Then I’m going to have to move in next door to you.”

I laugh and shake my head. “Helicopter mom.”

CHAPTER FIVE

REN

When I first researched Port Snow, I noticed the town is simply laid out, all roads leading to Main Street, where all the shops and restaurants are located beside a few random businesses on the outskirts. But its charm comes not just from this simplicity but from all the care its residents put into keeping it pristine. Details make the town so quaint and irresistible—from the hanging potted plants evenly placed over the sidewalks to the cobblestoned streets. Every shop is brightly colored, either with accents or with pastel facades. It’s a beautiful combination of Charleston, South Carolina, and New England.

Since I don’t have food, a car, or any kitchen supplies, I decide to venture out on foot to the local coffee shop, Snow Roast—where I’ll also be signing my lease!—and then to the auto shop to find out about the damage on my car.

Dressed in a simple yellow dress, my long brown hair tied into a bun on the top of my head, I lock up the house and tuck the key in my cross-body brown purse, ready for the short walk and my first full day in Port Snow.

The waves crash behind me, the ocean air whipping up the hem of my dress, which I quickly push down before I give my new neighbors a show, making a mental note that dresses can be dangerous. As I walk down Seagull Lane, I take in the other houses, pristine and well cared for, with their shake shingles and wooden shutters. When I reach Griffin’s place, I can’t help but study it for a brief moment, in awe at how beautifully kept it is. The lawn trimmed and edged, the flowers in the flower boxes vividly growing to their full potential, and the shake shingles on the house perfectly sun bleached, giving the house that coastal charm without looking old.

It’s so—

The front door slams shut, and before I can move on, Griffin strides toward me, a smile on his face, seemingly pleased to catch me staring at his house.

“Hey there, neighbor.”

Embarrassment flushes over my face. Caught in the middle of staring. Great. “Uh, hey.” I shyly wave and then start up the street at a quick pace, power walking with a purpose. Could I be any more awkward around this man? He saw me in my bra acting like a crazed woman; I want to avoid all clumsy conversations.

“Hey, wait up.” Guess he has other plans. Griffin jogs after me, and within seconds, he’s walking by my side, pulling on my shoulder to slow me down. “Hold on,” he says, chuckling. “Glad to see you woke up and the concussion wasn’t too serious. How are you feeling?”

I slow my pace, realizing that he wants to chat and there’s no stopping the interaction. And even though he caught me blatantly staring outside his house, mouth open like a carp, I wouldn’t mind a little neighborly chat with him.

“There was no concussion.” I roll my eyes. “But I’m feeling better. I have a little headache this morning, but that’s to be expected, since I slammed my head on my steering wheel yesterday. Other than that, I’m doing well.”

“Glad to hear it.” He’s wearing the same white shirt as last night, his hair a little damp from a shower and his face freshly shaved. He smells of soap and laundry detergent, and it’s pulling me closer to his side as we walk down the street toward Main. “Are you headed to get breakfast?”

“Yeah, I’m meeting my landlord at Snow Roast to sign my lease, making me an official resident. Then I’ll head over to the auto shop to figure out what to do with my car.” It might sound silly, but signing the lease is like the final step of moving in; it’s a relief and makes everything feel so official. Like I’m finally a Port Snowian . . . is that what they call themselves? Hmm, I’m going to need to look into that.

Griffin nods. “Well, I’m headed to Snow Roast as well; we can walk together.”

“That would be nice. If you don’t mind, maybe you can point out some of the other shops to me, give me your opinion on them.”

“My opinion? Not sure if you want that.” He winks and then turns his attention back to the road. “I’ve lived here my entire life, so I might be a little jaded. I know too much about the people in this town.”

“So what they say about small towns is true? Everyone’s in your business?”

“Yup, and since you just moved here, be prepared to have a lot of people whispering behind your back, especially with the way you came screaming into town. The best story I heard last night was something about me swinging from trees to save you.”

“Ugh. The Uber driver told me that one too.”

He nods knowingly. “Wallace or Bart?”

“Wallace.”

Griffin shakes his head. “Wallace, the exaggerator. Watch what you say to him; he’ll twist it into his own story and then spread it around to every person he drives, and let me tell you, he drives a lot of people, especially the elders.”

“The elders?” I ask as we turn onto Main, the colorful buildings that line the street leading toward the boardwalk and the harbor, where fishing, lobster, and tour boats are docked. Tour signs placed up and down the street promise a great view of the trail of famous lighthouses surrounding Port Snow.