The salty breeze should have been calming, but it only made me more irritable. My suitcases dragged behind me like reluctant pets, and the soft roar of the ocean mocked my carefully planned summer. After months of anticipation, I was finally here: my very own beach-house apartment for the entire summer.
Except… it wasn't.
I jiggled the key in the lock, frowning. It refused to turn.
"Great," I muttered. "Nothing says 'relaxing summer' like a broken door."
A smooth, amused voice answered from behind me.
"Or maybe you're just using the wrong key."
I froze. Slowly, I turned around. There he was—a tall guy with sand-tousled hair and a grin that looked way too pleased with itself. He was leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, as if he owned the place
"Who… are you?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
"I live here," he said, perfectly calm. "Apparently, the universe—or your landlord—forgot to mention it."
My jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"
He pushed off the frame and strolled closer, like he had all the time in the world. "You know, minor clerical error. Two tenants, one apartment. Welcome to 4B."
I blinked. Then laughed nervously, which quickly turned to outrage. "You're joking. This is my summer. I booked this apartment months ago!"
"Ah, yes," he said with mock solemnity. "But technically, I booked it first. So… tough luck."
I stared at him. I wanted to scream, cry, or both. Instead, I sank onto my suitcase and groaned. "This is unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable."
He crouched to help with a fallen bag. "Relax. It could be fun."
I glared at him. "Fun? You think being trapped in a tiny apartment with a stranger for twelve weeks is fun?"
He grinned. "Depends on the stranger. Some are entertaining. Some… well, let's see which category you fall into."
I opened my mouth to retort, but my suitcase protested loudly as another bag toppled over. He didn't even flinch. Instead, he glanced at my scattered belongings, smirked, and said, "You're organized… kind of. But you overpack."
"I do not overpack!" I snapped. "I'm prepared."
"You're prepared for what? A natural disaster? A zombie apocalypse?"
"I'm prepared for life!" I shot back.
He laughed. A low, teasing laugh that somehow made my blood boil faster. "Life at the beach is unpredictable, you know. You might even have to share space with someone who doesn't alphabetize their books."
I froze. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," he said, standing and brushing sand off his shorts. "I don't alphabetize. I just… live."
I stood, crossing my arms, unwilling to back down. "Well, this summer, you'll follow my rules. No exceptions."
He raised both eyebrows in mock horror. "Rules? Summer is for freedom, sand in your toes, and absolutely zero regulations. This could be… a problem."
I rolled my eyes, muttering, "This will be a problem."
He laughed again. "You sound fun already."
I wanted to slap him. Instead, I grabbed the nearest box and shoved it toward him. "Fine. If you're going to be here, at least help me unpack. But know this—I don't do lazy, I don't do messes, and I definitely don't do nonsense."
He caught the box effortlessly, tilting his head as he studied me. "Lazy? Maybe. Messes? Occasionally. Nonsense? Never."
I groaned, dropping onto a chair and hiding my face in my hands. "I'm doomed."
"Not doomed," he said, plopping next to me on the couch with a grin. "Entertained. Definitely entertained."
I lifted my head, meeting his smirk. "You're insufferable."
"And you," he said, leaning back with a lazy stretch, "are exhausting."
The sunlight glinted off the waves outside, warm and inviting. The beach called, promising carefree fun—but inside Apartment 4B, chaos had arrived first. And judging by this guy, it wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.
I sighed. Twelve weeks. Twelve weeks trapped here. With him.
The ocean might have been calm, but inside, storms were brewing.