This Just In.... Jennifer McKenzie

it had taken her days of hard labor, one of those scoring tools, fabric softener and finally the rental of a steamer to get it off.

      There was one lonely rug that the previous tenant had left behind. A fringed circle of lemon yellow—and not the cute and sexy fringe like her lamp. No, this was the thick yarn type. She didn’t bother to disguise her shudder.

      But the wood floors appeared to be in good shape and the fireplace was nice. A simple, traditional wood frame that just needed a fresh coat of white paint to bring it back to life. The kitchen was all right, too, if she avoided looking at the walls, which had been sponge painted.

      The appliances were standard white, but clean and carried no leftover odors. She’d once moved into a place where the previous tenant hadn’t bothered cleaning out anything ever. After scrubbing the fridge and scrubbing and scrubbing and scrubbing some more, Sabrina had insisted her landlord replace it. He’d been irritated and pissy. Apparently, he’d hoped she’d just grow used to the stench. The counters were a neutral beige. Nothing to get excited about but most definitely livable. The pink ruffled curtains, not so much. They would be coming down first thing.

      “It needs some upgrades,” she said.

      “Now, Sabrina. Don’t go getting any ideas about granite and marble and stainless-steel appliances. I’m already covering the costs of shipping your furniture from Vancouver. Why did you ever put it in storage? Waste of money when we can store it for you in our basement.”

      “Because I’m going back.” She’d already explained this, but her father chose not to hear it.

      He waved off her statement as he’d done the previous two times she’d told him. “Or you could stay.”

      “Now you sound like Mom.” Sabrina sloughed off the idea without another thought because she wasn’t staying any longer than necessary. But until that day arrived, getting the apartment into the new millennium would be a good project for her. Something to fill the long evening hours when Wheaton shut down for the night. Her current obsession of checking email, text and social networking sites was not working for her. At all.

      “Don’t you want to come back home?” her dad asked. For the hundredth time, she considered telling him the truth. That she wasn’t back to write a book about her experiences interviewing celebrities, filling the pages with all the tidbits that hadn’t fit into her articles. That she’d been fired and that it wasn’t looking like she’d ever get her job back.

      Once again, she swallowed the words and smiled. “It doesn’t feel like home anymore, Dad. It’s been a long time since I lived here and I love the city.” With its late-night burger joints, extensive shoe stores and Opera Guy, a local gentleman who strolled around the neighborhood singing opera at the top of his lungs, Vancouver was the place she longed for. “But I promise to come and visit more, okay?”

      When she saw the downturn of her father’s lips, guilt snuck into her cheerful attitude. It had just been easier for her parents to come to her. First because she worked at the paper through the holidays. Low person in the chain of command. Then it had just become habit.

      “Oh, come on.” Sabrina elbowed him lightly. “Cheer up. I’m here now. You’ve got me doing slave labor at the coffee shop.” Even with what she hoped would be an increased workload at the local paper, she’d continue to work most mornings at the coffee shop. “And I’m going to fix up this place for free.”

      “Does this mean it’s not going to cost me anything?” The edges of his eyes crinkled.

      “My labor is free,” she clarified. “Which we all know is the majority of cost. I’m giving you a deal.”

      She could see the finished project in her mind. A pale pink on the walls, like the inside of a rose, to play up the reds and pinks in the large throw rug she had. Maybe she could search out an old wrought iron chandelier to hang over the coffee table. Antiques shops would just be opening for the summer season and would not yet be picked over. Her parents had a grandfather clock in their entryway that was too large for the space, but it would be perfect against the wall in here. Pillows on her oatmeal-colored couch, throws on her ivory chairs, flowers in crystal vases on the end table. She had a small series of sculptures that would look fabulous on the fireplace mantel.

      Sabrina was still thinking about it as they exited the suite. Until she saw the monstrosity of a potpourri bowl and hurried over to dispose of it. An act of compassion, really, putting the hideous thing out of its misery.

      She was sweeping some of the dried blooms that had fallen onto the table back into the bowl when the front door opened. Her senses went on high alert. If she was at the table and she could still hear her father locking up the apartment, then the front door could only be opened by one person.

      “Mr. Mayor.” Sabrina put down the bowl. And felt her insides wobble when she turned and got a look at him.

      Gone was the nerdy golf shirt and dress pants combo, exchanged for a pair of jeans and a plain white T-shirt that did wonderful things for the muscles in his arms. In his more casual attire and without that polished veneer, Noah didn’t look like the same man. She felt something warm unfurl in her. Her fingers itched, wanting to touch.

      “Hello.” Noah glanced from her to her father, a line of confusion between his eyes. “Just checking up on the place?”

      “Hi, Noah.” Her father turned from the door and handed the keys to Sabrina. “You won’t have this old place to yourself much longer. Sabrina is moving in.”

      “Moving in?” Noah’s eyes darted back to her.

      “Pretty soon you’ll be inundated with loud music and singing. Hope you have earplugs.”

      “Dad.” Sabrina rolled her eyes as she stuffed the keys into her pocket and focused on Noah. “I’m not that loud,” she told him.

      “You can be,” her dad said. “I’ll be outside.” He pulled the door closed with a click and silence filled the space.

      Sabrina smiled. “Hello, neighbor.”

      Noah rubbed the back of his neck as his eyes flicked over her. Were her eyes deceiving her or was he checking her out? She twirled a lock of hair around her finger before letting it slip and trail down her cleavage. Yes, she was a shameless hussy. She saw his gaze drop down, following that lock of hair, before shooting back up to her face and giving her a guilty glance. Yes, that’s right, her eyes were up there.

      He cleared his throat. “Neighbors. Welcome then.” He put on his fake politician smile. Sabrina was well-versed in that smile. Every celebrity, pseudo or otherwise, had their own version of it. Some were bright, others mysterious, but they all indicated the same thing: an unwillingness to share a person’s real self. She hated that smile.

      “Thanks, and for the record, I sing in key. No earplugs required.”

      Noah’s smile warmed, edging toward reality. “I’ll hold you to that.”

      She felt a flicker of heat waft through her. “Please do.” Or just hold her. Wait, what? Now she was having dirty fantasies about the mayor? Shameless, shameless hussy. No upstanding citizen would do such a thing. Luckily she was neither a citizen of Wheaton or particularly upstanding. “Well, I should be going. My dad’s waiting.” She picked up the bowl of dried flowers.

      “Sabrina.” She looked into his eyes, so soft and blue like the blanket she used to carry around as a toddler and that her mother still had stored in a box somewhere. Good ol’ wubbie. “When are you moving in?”

      “Tomorrow.” Just as soon as her furniture arrived. She’d considered sleeping on the floor of the apartment just to avoid accidentally overhearing her parents’ bedsprings again, but common sense won out. She had an iPod. And earbuds. “Why? You want to help?

      She didn’t expect him to say yes. No doubt he had better things to do than help her move. Particularly as he didn’t even seem to like her enough to give her that interview. Yet.

      “Sure.”