Chapter 4
1211 Words
The thick leaves hung close, rustling in the wind. Pigeons flew in from the church square, landing on the emerald grass and pacing in slow circles. They seemed to be strolling, not foraging.
Joelle didn't have the pigeons' leisure. She wrestled five heavy bags of trash to the bins in the backyard, meticulously sorting each one. When she was finally done, she let out a long breath.
Rowan stood at the window, watching her.
His laptop pinged. He clicked the new email open and then froze, his fingertips tapping an unconscious rhythm on the desk. It was from his father. Direct and brief—a meeting in two days at a small restaurant. Communication between them was rare; their sparse emails were the only threads connecting them.
He slammed the laptop shut just as Joelle walked back in.
"I’ll take out the trash today, you do it tomorrow. We can alternate," she proposed. "By the way, do all these rooms need to be cleaned daily?"
Sunlight poured in, filling the house with a warm brightness. Rowan sat in a black leather chair, his back to her, facing the yard. The wisteria trellis leaned against the window, its tendrils creeping across the sill. Pale purple buds, heavy with the promise of bloom, brushed against the pane. Rowan nudged them aside with his pen, as if clearing his thoughts.
Pen in hand, he continued writing while adding, "Besides the trash and cleaning, you’ll also be doing the laundry and pruning the plants…"
Joelle stepped to his side. "Mr. Wolfe, you’re the landlord. I intend to pay rent—let’s split the chores fairly."
Rowan showed no interest in the rent. "And do tenants typically offer to pay rent and then get treated like the help?"
Joelle leaned forward, planting her palms on the desk. "What’s next? Am I supposed to cook your meals, too?"
Sunlight spilled across the crisp white paper, illuminating his slanted script. Rowan didn't even look up. "You offered," he replied smoothly. "So the job is yours." He said it with the cool authority of someone stating an indisputable fact.
He added, "That soup you made last night was… passable. Drinkable."
Joelle matched his dry tone. "Let's hope you find whatever I cook from now on to be at least edible."
Despite her retort, the reality of her situation was clear—she was living under his roof, bound by his rules.
At dusk, the sun faded and night fell swiftly.
Joelle carried two heavy plastic bags, walking back from the grocery store. Next door, Leo Bennett stood by his mailbox, pulling out a bank statement. He glanced up and caught Joelle's eye.
"Stocking up for a siege?" Leo asked, nodding at her bags.
Joelle replied casually, "Just thought I'd cook a few more dishes."
Leo gaped in mock surprise. "Since when do lawyers from your firm cook for their clients?"
"We handle the cleaning too," Joelle said drily.
Leo gripped the rusty gate, a joke forming on his lips. "What, is 'home service' a new package? Maybe I should hire a lawyer myself."
Before he could finish, a hand touched his shoulder.
Leo turned to find Rowan standing there.
Darkness had settled, the corner of the gate illuminated by a solitary streetlamp. The streetlamp's glow caught in Rowan's eyes, making them seem brighter, sharper.
But Rowan hadn't come for her.
He handed Leo a letter. "Postman mixed them up. This ended up in my box."
Leo tore open the envelope right there, revealing a stack of postcards. Landscapes from Scotland and Wales adorned the glossy surfaces.
"Come on, you know these are for you," Leo laughed, shoving the envelope back into Rowan's hands. "Last time you mentioned lacking inspiration, so I grabbed these. Take a look—might spark something."
He gave Rowan a hearty clap on the back.
Rowan flicked through the postcards. "Your taste is… improving," he conceded. He bowed his head slightly to examine them, the sharp line of his profile illuminated in the evening light.
Leo, not looking, spun his keys around his finger, idly fidgeting.
His border collie, a black and white bundle of energy with snowy paws, came bounding out of the house and ran straight to its owner.
Joelle recognized the dog.
Unexpectedly, the dog first circled Rowan, resting its paws on his trousers in a lazy, affectionate stretch.
Only then did it settle contentedly beside Leo.
Joelle set her heavy bags down and called across the fence, "What’s his name?"
"Jo," Rowan said.
The night grew deeper, the darkness blending with the whisper of the grass. The moon rose, casting soft halos over the yard. Joelle looked directly into Rowan's eyes, searching for a hint of jest, but saw only her own faint reflection.
"Are you kidding me?" she asked.
"Not at all," Rowan answered offhandedly. "You're not that funny."
As if to prove his point, he tucked the envelope into his coat and said deliberately, "Jo."—his voice low and surprisingly pleasing. He looked at the dog; their eyes met, and the collie let out a single, sharp bark.
A sudden silence hung in the air.
Until Leo couldn't contain himself—he snorted with laughter.
"Alright, Jo, don't be mad," he confessed. "His real name's Burger. Rowan's just pulling your leg."
The dog's fluffy tail swept back and forth in a blur of delight. Rowan scratched its head and ears, making the wagging intensify.
Joelle knew she'd been teased but refused to give them the satisfaction of a reaction. She picked up the bags and headed up the steps without a backward glance.
The April chill lingered, and she wore a long coat, the belt cinched tightly around her waist, her figure tall and elegant as she retreated.
Leo watched her go, lighting a cigarette.
Smoke drifted, the ember glowing in the dim light. "Hey, man," he mused, "you know any other lawyers? Smart, good-looking ones—maybe you could introduce me?"
Rowan lifted his chin. "You've ever met one as… accommodating as this?"
Leo said, "See? Tells you how brutal the job market is."
Rowan asked, "How so?"
"Girls like Jo are doing home visits now. You can lose your temper, and she just takes it," Leo said, stroking his dog's head. "They say the most expensive lawyers aren't necessarily the best. They just want to bleed you dry until you're flat broke—that's when they quit."
The night air was growing colder; Rowan pulled his coat tighter around himself.
He was silent for a moment. "You think she's after my money? She had her chance last night if that were the case."
Leo had no reply to that. Rowan patted his shoulder. "Thanks for the postcards. I'll buy you a drink."
"Where?" Leo asked.
"Anywhere," Rowan said. "This city isn't short of bars."
While Rowan and Leo chatted outside, Joelle was on the phone with her secretary.
She stood in a darkened bedroom, the only light coming from her phone. Her secretary's voice was crisp through the speaker. "We did what you asked. The gallery's client list is a mess. Three locations. The moment we filed, the bidding started…"
Joelle smiled to herself in the dark. "They want a bidding war? Fine. Let them bleed."
- Writer
