Chapter 1

Trent stared at the stain on the nicotine yellow wall. Whoever had lived in the house before him must have been a pack a day kinda person by the tint. Just another thing he’d have to fix in the run-down disaster he’d recently bought. Trent got up from the bed, feeling the worn-out boards of the floor shift under his weight. As much of a disaster the house was, Trent didn’t regret a single minute he spent in the place. The freedom it gave him was worth so much more than the money he was going to have to put in to it to make it livable.

“Silver lining,” Trent told himself and left the large bedroom. He walked down the hall to the decrepit staircase. Coming from money, Trent’s first twenty-five years was run by his mother and the girl she decided he should marry. At first, Trent didn’t mind. Nickie was elegant and sexy. She also was an entitled elitist that didn’t care who she hurt or stepped on to get her way. He broke up with her after two months, but neither Nickie nor his mother accepted it was over.

For three years both of them ensured to ruin any attempt he made to move on. The last woman, Elisa, was so humiliated, she lost her job, apartment, and left town. It had been the last straw. He had sold everything he could, cut off any ties to his family and their money, and disappeared.

Trent grunted and stumbled, barely catching himself on the banister when he stubbed his toe on a raised board. “Okay, got to get that fixed, first.” Freedom was no good if he broke his neck on the stairs. Shaking his head, Trent headed into the kitchen to brew coffee. Pouring in the grounds and water, he pressed the button to start the brew. With a yawn, he walked back into the living room to get the paper from the porch. The small, sleepy town of Maplewood still did things like that. Trent liked it, gave the town charm.

Opening the door, he bent down but stopped halfway. There was an orange packet lying on top of the paper. What was that? He wondered, picking it up and the newspaper. Trent stepped out on the porch, glancing up and down the street. He didn’t see anyone other than an elderly woman across the street watering her flowers and a man walking his dog. Nothing out of the normal. The elderly woman saw him and waved with a “Good Morning!”

Offering her a smile and wave, he returned her good morning before going back inside. He tossed the paper onto the coffee table and looked at the packet. There was nothing written on it. If he had been back in L.A. he would’ve called the police, fearing it might be a bomb or something, but a place like this? He doubted it was anything dangerous. Sitting on the couch, Trent opened it. Inside was a large stack of papers with a yellow sticky note on the top

-Mel will kill me if she knew I was giving you this, but I think you should know!-

Trent frowned as he read it again. What in the world was this? Who was Mel? He took off the sticky note. The first page was blank, but the next was a page filled with typed writing. At a glance, it didn’t look threatening so he went to the top and started to read:

-The Johnson home has been empty for nearly ten years now. They were great, loving good honest people. I used to sneak over to Mrs. Johnson’s blackberry bush and steal blackberries. I remember when she caught me one day. She scolded me for picking them because they weren’t ripe yet, then turned around and gave me a whole bowl full of plump delicious berries. I think the bush is dead now or strangled by weeds that have long choked the yard.

I remember Mr. Johnson well, too. He acted all tough but was a big softy. I remember being so amazed by how his gnarled arthritic hands were able to carve the most beautiful things out of wood. I still have the pony he made me for my tenth birthday. Even though I never knew my grandparents, the Johnsons next door made me feel like I didn’t miss out on anything, but nothing ever lasts… especially the good things.

I remember looking out of my bedroom window one day and seeing Mrs. Johnson, thin, pale, and bald as Mr. Johnson wheeled her out one morning to enjoy the sun. I remember thinking about how much she looked like a skeleton from the cartoons. She died the next day… Mr. Johnson soon followed her. He loved his wife too much to keep on living without her. I don’t like to think about those days. I much rather think about the wooden ponies and blackberries.

The house grew desolate and the yard wild, no one wanted that house…until yesterday. I had seen the movers but didn’t pay much attention. In this town, I’d know everything about the new person or family from the diner. I wonder if they’ll find the blackberry bush…if they do, will they cut it down thinking it’s a thorny weed. I really hope not, those were the best blackberries ever!

I was right…the diner was buzzing with news of the new neighbor. It’s some man from California or around there. The men talk about what kind of person would buy a dump like that and all the women talk about if he is single or not…the consensus is he is alone so he must be single…I hope he’s got a big refrigerator…he’ll have enough food to feed an army by the end of the week!-

Trent smiled when he read that. Whoever wrote this was right. Since he moved in, women had brought him all a variety of dishes, welcoming him to town. Some were just being friendly and neighborly, others he could tell were just checking out the fresh meat. Though his smile fell as he looked at the paper again. Why had someone given this to him? This seemed personal… like a journal or something. It didn’t feel right to be reading it, but he found himself continuing.

-I got my first look at my new neighbor when he went out to get his mail. He’s…not exactly what I had expected. As soon as I saw him from the window, I was stuck in place. He’s like one of those guys you see on the cover of romance books. He was…well, okay, he was hot! Wild dark hair, a face that, despite not having a beard, just looked manly, and built…boy was he built! I couldn’t see what color his eyes were, but I bet they were as good as the rest.-

Trent shifted a little in the chair, feeling flattered, yet a little uncomfortable with what he was reading. Did he want to read any more of this? Again he asked why someone had given him this. Despite all of this, Trent continued reading.

—I told Christie and Harry about my neighbor. Harry absurdly ran to the window to see if he could get a glimpse. I had to practically drag him from there, reminding him he already was with Adam. I also reminded him that being a peeping tom was a gross invasion of privacy. I don’t think he listened to me too much. Christie said I should go over and say hello, but I can’t do that.

It’s only been three days, and the constant ringing of the doorbell is driving me nuts! I can’t imagine what it must be doing to his nerves. Women here are so desperate for a fresh face, and the fact he’s attractive is like adding blood in a tank of hungry sharks. I don’t want to be like them, Marcy and the rest. I’d like to think I have more dignity than that. Though, Christie says that way of thinking will never get me anywhere…

Christie insisted I go out with her tonight. We went to The Dive again. Between Christie and Harry, I don’t think I’ve been in a “normal” bar for years. Maybe that’s why guys don’t like me. They think I’m gay since my two friends are gay. I may not be beautiful like Christie, sexy like Marcy, or even pretty like Rachel, but I know I’m not ugly, either. Despite this, guys just don’t go for me. So either they think I’m gay or I’m quiet.

It’s got to be one of those two reasons because, at the Dive, I’m hit on constantly. I think women like a person who will listen to them, while men prefer women who are more forward.—

Trent found himself pulled in by his neighbor’s thoughts. It was nice to see how a woman really thought. He wondered if she was this frank in person. It would be nice after all the games and manipulations Nickie and his mother subjected him to. He glanced at the clock on the wall and nearly jumped out of his skin. Nearly an hour had passed since he had started reading the…whatever it was. He was going to be late for work. He placed the stack of papers on the table and ran to quickly get dressed.