Romance Rules for Werewolves (Charming Cove, #3)(7)

I caught sight of the light that shone through the window to the far right. Had someone stopped by to turn it on for me? That was kind, but who had it been?

Unlock the door. I’m ready for a nap by a fire.

“Hold your horses, I’m getting there.” I pulled the key from my pocket and went to the door.

It slipped easily into the lock and gave a satisfying click when I turned it. The heavy door swung open on well-oiled hinges, and the scent of freshly cut wood washed over me as I stepped inside. The light that I’d seen shining from the corner of the building illuminated two large shapes covered by tarps.

Boats? They had to be.

Large electrical tools sat against the walls, hulking machines that must have cost a fortune. Nothing looked dusty or out of use like I’d expected in my grandmother’s abandoned boathouse. Had someone been working here until her death?

Poa sniffed disdainfully. We must remove those. Replace them with cushy couches.

“We’re staying upstairs,” I said. “And whoever is working will be gone now that I own the place. We’ll talk to them about getting the machinery out later.” Or maybe I could rent the boathouse to them once Lavender House was fixed up. I wouldn’t turn down any extra income, especially the kind I didn’t have to work for.

Poa stalked past the tarp-covered boats and found a set of stairs that led to the upper floor. I followed her, my footsteps creaking on the wood, then entered the tiny flat and flipped on the light switch. The golden glow illuminated a cluttered interior. It took me a minute to see that there was a method to the madness. The room wasn’t actually messy—my grandmother had just been intensely committed to knickknacks. They littered every surface, tiny figurines and vases and shells. The faint smell of dust filled the air, and closer inspection revealed that it covered everything in sight. Whoever was keeping the downstairs tidy wasn’t worried about the flat above.

I blew out a breath. This, in itself, would be a job.

Now this is what I’m talking about. Poa strolled toward one of the cushy couches and jumped up. A cloud of dust poofed around her, and she gave a delicate sneeze, then began to knead the cushion.

“This is your style?” I asked.

What’s not to like? She looked around. The dust is a bit much, but everything else is perfection. Right next to her, the porcelain figurine of a milkmaid with freakishly angelic features smiled at me with an expression that looked more like a grimace. Poa stared at it approvingly.

Fantastic. My cat has the style of a ninety-year-old woman who collected haunted bric-a-brac. She wasn’t going to be pleased when I cleaned the place out, but I didn’t mention my plan to her. It would have to wait until I was finished with Lavender House, anyway.

“I’m going to take a shower,” I told her, but she was already asleep.

I left her on the couch and explored the rest of the flat, finding a little kitchen with a view overlooking the water and a bedroom with spare bedding in the closet. I changed out the dusty duvet for the less-dusty option, then found fresh towels and a dressing gown in the bathroom closet. They’d been protected from the dust, and though the dressing gown was more suited to Poa’s style than my own, I wanted to wear something clean.

I laid out my loot on the little table in the bathroom, then climbed into the tiny shower once it had heated up. The old toiletries on the edge of the bath did the job, even though they made me smell like an out-of-date rose.

The hot water ran out far quicker than I’d expected it to, and I squealed as the cold blasted onto my head. I leapt out of the shower, grateful that I’d rinsed the last of the shampoo from my hair. The mirror revealed that my eye makeup was still running down my face, and I winced. As I was turning on the tap to wash the black streaks away, I heard something from downstairs.

I stiffened, heart racing.

The thumping noise came again.

Was someone down there? It had been dead silent when I’d arrived.

Adrenaline raced through my veins, and I threw on the dressing gown, which billowed around me as I crept from the bathroom toward the door. A cricket bat painted with countryside scenes hung on the wall near the door, and I pulled it off. It might be art, but I could still whack an intruder with it if I needed to.

You could just use your magic, you know.

I looked over at Poa, then whispered, “Do you hear someone?”

She nodded. Downstairs.

Damn it. I gripped the bat more tightly. She was right about the magic, but I’d bring the bat, just in case. I was so out of practice with my power that I was as likely to blow myself up as send an intruder packing.

Carefully, I opened the door to the stairs, trying not to make as sound. It swung silently on its hinges, and I began to creep downstairs, hesitating halfway. Because of the walls on either side of me, I could only see the narrowest strip of the floor below. I’d need to get to the bottom to see who was there.

Heart pounding, I moved as silently and swiftly as I could. Reaching the bottom and turning the corner with the bat raised, I nearly slammed into another person and shrieked as I stumbled backward.

A half-naked man stood in front of me, one hand gripping the towel wrapped around his hips. I stared at him, stunned. The golden light from the fixture overhead gilded his body. He was built like a god, with a face to match. I’d never seen someone so fit in my whole life, and I was suddenly very aware of how much of my own body was distinctly not fit. One might go so far as to say squishy.