I have my first task.

I drive into town and pick up a couple of cans of glossy white paint, plus some painter’s tape and brushes. Back at the house, I drag an old step-ladder out of the garage, fill a bucket with soapy water, and set to work, scrubbing down the shutters and window frames along the back of the house. It’s a hot, sweaty job in the midday sun, so I prop the radio on the window ledge and grab a cold beer from the fridge to help me along.

The breeze dances lightly around me, carrying the sound of vacationers and seagulls from the beach. Up on the ladder, I can see the whole curve of the bay: the deep blue ocean edged with golden sand, and the town just half a mile away. I feel light, buoyant, and as I wash each frame in turn, I picture everyone back in New York: cooped up in the office, or snatching a quick twenty-minute break on a bench in a crowded, bustling park.

Here, there’s nothing but open space. Sand dunes, and wide ocean, and the glint of sunlight on the waves. It fills me with a sense of possibility like nothing before, and every minute that passes here makes me believe I’ve made the right decision.

Soon, the prep work is done—and I’m covered in paint splatters. I grab another beer to help me along with the painting, starting with the highest shutters while I still have the energy to hold on tight to the ladder. By the time I’m done with the first row, the difference is clear: with a crisp, white trim, the house looks ten times more quaint and inviting.

I climb halfway down and start on the top of the ground-floor shutters, dabbing happily from the paint can I’ve balanced on the ledge of the ladder.

“Here’s your one chance, Fancy,” I sing along, barely in tune. I’m light-headed from the beer, but it doesn’t matter. This is a vacation, right? “Do-do-do, la la la, don’t let me down!”

“I haven’t heard that one.” An amused voice comes from nearby.

I twist around to look.

It’s Ash.

I grab hold of the ladder to steady myself. He’s standing in the yard of the house next door, looking up at me with a smirk on his ridiculously handsome face.

“What are you doing here?” I demand. “Are you stalking me now?”

“Easy there.” Ash doesn’t answer. He just watches me, effortlessly cool in an Oxford shirt and jeans. “You missed a spot.”

“Did not,” I retort, turning back to my painting. “I’ll have you know, I have a system.”

“A painting system?” Ash still sounds amused. Well, I guess I’m one big joke to him.

“Yup.” I focus on daubing white paint along the window frame—and not splashing it over the crooked line of painter’s tape. “So you can see, I’m pretty busy right now. No risk of me kissing you, or causing another lapse in judgment.”

There’s a long silence, until I can’t resist turning to look. Ash is still there, but now he’s smiling even wider, like he knows he caught me.

“Can I help you with something?” I call down, trying to sound detached and aloof. Like him, with his perfect hair, and perfect mouth, and perfect tongue…

I catch myself, unsteady. Maybe that third beer was a bad idea.

“No, I’m good,” Ash replies. He crosses his arm and leans back against a tree, watching me.

“Don’t let me keep you,” I snap. “I’m sure you have to be somewhere, doing—whatever it is you do. Building skyscrapers, and taking over the world.”

“Actually, I have the day off from world domination.”

I turn in time to catch Ash’s wide smile. Even from up here, I can see the glint of flirtation in his eye.

What the hell? He acts totally aloof before in the diner, and suddenly turns back into the charming guy, when there’s nobody around to see it?

“Well, it’s just great you managed to get that stick out of your ass,” I say sunnily, “but I’m kind of busy. And you’re trespassing right now, so you might want to get out of there before the owner catches you.”

“That would be me,” Ash replies. He keeps smiling, that infuriating, all-knowing grin. “I just bought this place, so I guess we’re going to be seeing a lot more of each other. Neighbor.”

The news is too much for me. Ash. Here. All the time?

Looking at me with that face. Hanging around with that body.

I take a step back, forgetting that I’m ten feet off the ground. My foot hits empty air, and I grab frantically for the ladder, but it’s too late. My balance is gone.

Me, the ladder, and half a can of paint go crashing to the ground.

8.

“Are you OK?”

I lift my head, groaning, to find Ash leaning over me. He helps me sit up, looking concerned.

I bat his hands away, feeling embarrassed. Way to act cool and unaffected! “I’m fine,” I insist, hauling myself to my feet. “You just startled me, that’s all.”

I stand up, and the world starts spinning again. “Maybe I will sit down.” I sink back onto the ladder.

Ash frowns. “Have you been drinking?”

“Have I… What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?” I protest. I’m feeling kind of woozy, but that’s probably just the shock of discovering I’m going to be stuck living next door to this pill for the rest of summer. “Yes, I’ve had a couple of beers. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“A couple?” Ash smiles again, teasing. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were a cheap date.”