Mistletoe in the City

Chapter One

Welcome to the Oak Landing Apartments, unit seven.

Krista Hartley breathed through her nerves at the landlady’s announcement. Please let this be the one. She crossed the threshold into the second-story apartment and stepped aside so the older, petite woman could shut the door on the pervasive cold.

At least it rarely snowed in her home of Seattle, Washington, but the low temperatures and wind were nothing to balk at. Huddling into her red leather jacket, she eyed the baseboard heater as though it would kick on and warm her up with just a look. No such luck.

Does that dining table, bookcase, and armchair come with the place? Krista nodded at the worn pieces of furniture in the cramped living-and-dining room combo.

Eileen Weston pushed the fur-lined hood of her parka off her head. The last tenants left it. If you lease the apartment, it’s yours to keep or toss.

Though Krista didn’t want to keep them, she needed as many hand-me-downs as possible since the only furniture she owned was her bedroom suite. After Eileen drew back the vertical blinds from the glass balcony doors, sunlight washed over Krista and highlighted the dust particles in the air. She twitched her nose.

Sorry it’s so cold. The electricity is off. Eileen stuffed her clipboard under her arm and rubbed her gloved hands together. Rent is eight hundred dollars, due at the first of the month. Utilities are included but only the basics—heat, lights, and water. Feel free to call up a cable or Internet provider. All the units are wired for those services. She pointed toward the cable hook-up on the side wall. What do you do for a living? How many people will live with you? The apartment is a one-bedroom-only starter home, so fire codes regulate only two people can stay here full time.

I’m a bank teller, and I don’t plan to have anyone live with me. I shared an apartment with a friend a few months ago, but things didn’t work out, so I moved back in with my parents. Though her friend was her cheating boyfriend who’d kicked her out, she wasn’t about to go into all that drama. May I see the kitchen? I love to bake, so decent counter space is a plus.

The older woman arched her eyebrow, probably at the baking bit.

Krista was only twenty-one, but her aunt Sarah had always called her an old soul. From whipping up a batch of fudge to knitting sweaters and beading her own jewelry, she’d lost many an hour to cooking and the arts.

Eileen hiked her thumb over her shoulder. Our definition of decent might be different, but all the appliances were updated four years ago, and the light fixtures the year before that.

Krista headed into the U-shaped kitchen and grimaced. Damn. That minimal counter space would hinder her late-night baking sprees. After checking the fridge, oven, and cabinets for bugs, she smiled back at Eileen. Everything is pretty clean. Though she’d still give the counter and linoleum floor a good scrub if she moved in.

The maintenance man took care of it last week. He lives below in unit one, so if I’m not around, go to him if you need anything. His hours are listed on his door.

Don’t you live here?

No, but I come in every day or so to do paperwork in the office. Eileen drew her phone from her coat pocket. Feel free to look around. I have a few messages to check.

Sure. Relieved to be alone, Krista headed down the carpeted hall and pulled back a pair of louvered doors to find the stacked washer-and-dryer unit. Shadows cloaked the white-tiled bathroom, but the light streaming in from the bedroom doorway highlighted the standard cabinet sink, toilet, and glass shower stall. The surprisingly spacious bedroom with its baseboard heater and walk-in closet called to her like a gooey chocolate muffin after a long, hard day.

This is it, my new home. She hooked a lock of her dark, wavy hair behind her ear and trailed her fingers across the drab beige wall.

She’d make do with the cramped living room and kitchen for the rest of the place. Besides, if she had to live with her overbearing parents for another month, she’d go mad.

She returned to the dining area where Eileen waited. I’m definitely interested. Compared to the other apartments I’ve seen over the past few days, this one is the nicest and in the safest neighborhood. Best of all, Eileen Weston hadn’t flirted with her or stared at her breasts as some of the male managers she’d met had done.

Wonderful. Eileen handed over the clipboard with her business card, an application form, and a pen attached. I require a fifty-dollar application fee upfront for a background, criminal, and credit check. The fee is non-refundable. If that checks out, I’ll call you Sunday or Monday to set up a meeting and go over the contract. The deposit is five hundred, but I’ll refund it if the apartment is in good shape when you move out. I accept cash, card, check, and money order, whichever is easier for you.

Krista smoothed her sweaty palm down her slacks. That’s fine, but I attend a craft fair on the weekends, and I’m at the bank on Monday. I’ll probably miss your call. Would it be okay if I called you back?

Sure. The office number and my cell phone number are on the card. If I don’t pick up at the office, call the cell. She patted at her chest as though she felt for something beneath her clothes.

Which craft fair?

The Farmers’ Christmas Market at the McLaren Center. Have you heard of it?

Oh, yes. I stopped there a few weeks ago. You never know what you’ll find.

So true. Krista pulled a crisp manila folder from her oversized purse. I don’t know if you need this, but I have copies of my W-2s from the past two years, six months’ worth of current pay stubs from the bank, and my most recent drug test results that the bank requires every year.

I like it when potential renters are prepared. Eileen accepted the folder and flipped through a few pages.

Krista filled out the application and paid the fee, more than grateful that she didn’t need to ask her parents for a loan like she was a kid playing at being a grown-up. Other than keeping on top of her car and student loan payments, she’d saved a bunch of money since she moved back in with Mom and Dad. All the rules and the ten o’clock curfew that came with her rent-free room, however, soured the deal. As Eileen read over the application, Krista stared out the balcony door at the front yard and parking lot.

A man carried a large plastic tote as he exited the side door of Eileen’s small, one-story office and headed toward the apartments. Dressed in a denim jacket covered with patches, faded jeans, and boots, he dropped the tote by the row of trimmed bushes that bordered the building and pulled out several strands of tangled Christmas lights. Locks of brown hair poked out from beneath his beanie and swiped across his whiskered cheeks.

Oh my God. Is that Derek Weston? She pressed her face to the glass for a better look.

You know my son? Eileen peered out the door beside her.

Y-your son? Krista sputtered, lurching back. She knew Derek’s parents owned an apartment building somewhere in the suburbs, so why in the world did she not link Derek to Eileen’s last name? Yes, Derek and I went to school together. I last saw him at graduation.

He’s the maintenance man, groundskeeper, and assistant manager all rolled into one. Why don’t we go down and say hi?

Her cheeks heated. She fervently shook her head. I doubt he’ll remember me. We shared a few classes but didn’t talk much. As he untangled the lights, the same old hurt that always rushed through her when she thought about him now struck like a blast of wind. Her knees weakened, and she clasped the door handle for support.

Plain, invisible, not good enough, her inner bitch voice lashed at her.

Or rather, bad enough. Derek liked bad girls, and she was anything but.

He picked up the tote and headed around the building.

Do you have any questions about the apartment? Eileen asked.

Krista blinked several times to focus on the conversation. Questions? No, well, I’m sure I’ll think of something after I leave, but I don’t have any right now.

Okay. Eileen gestured toward the door. I’ll show you out.

Krista glanced around the apartment one last time. Should she tear up her application? Derek was the unrequited love of her young life, but he didn’t know she’d ever felt anything for him. That was her fault. She should have strutted her stuff in the school hallway, pushed him against the lockers, and kissed him for everyone to see. Unfortunately, cowardice had coursed in her veins back then. Did it still? Not that she should push him against the wall and kiss him with his mother at her side, but she could at least say hi to him. What would be the harm in that?

Ohh, she could list a dozen reasons to answer that question.

If only she could find another apartment in a nice, clean area and her price range. It was here or nowhere.

Krista followed Eileen down the creaky, corrugated metal staircase that divided the three-story building and then shook the landlady’s hand. It was great to meet you, ma’am. I look forward to your call. She forced a smile and hurried to her car before she did something she’d regret, like coming face-to-face with Derek and melting at his feet.

Her pride didn’t need another blow, and after Clint’s betrayal, Derek’s inevitable rejection would crush her. She better keep her distance from the bad boy in U1, but only time would tell if she could.

****

Derek Weston pulled out his headphone buds and turned off his iPod as his mother circled the rear of the building. Her ridiculously large, puffed parka engulfed her, and if not for her head, arms, and legs, he’d swear she was a gigantic marshmallow. Why she couldn’t stand the cold was beyond him. Derek loved it, just as his dad had before his stroke.

Guess who I met?

Eileen’s sing-song voice grated on his nerves.

Because of her, he’d spent the past half hour digging through boxes of junk in the storage room. She didn’t see a point in wasting company money to buy new Christmas lights since they already had some, but she wasn’t the one who’d tripped over a damn box, shattered a lamp, and banged up her knee in pursuit of them.

Nope, that was all Derek.

He would’ve stomped into the office to tell her he’d buy the damn lights with his own cash, but Lord forbid he interrupt a meeting with a potential renter. His mom would then force him to take over the interview to learn how to conduct one.

Who tangled this stuff? He clutched a knotted string of colored lights in a tight fist and then tossed it back in the tote. Why did you ask all the renters if they wanted the shrubs and trees decorated? Why did my opinion not matter?

She rolled her eyes. "I put it to a vote. All the renters said yes to decorations except