Late afternoon sun filtered through the maple and oak canopy lining Riverside Heights' pristine streets, casting long shadows across the sidewalks where joggers in designer athletic wear made their daily rounds. Noah's BMW M3 hummed as he navigated the familiar route from Princeton University, past the boutique coffee shops and upscale galleries that had transformed this corner of New Jersey into a playground for the wealthy. The gentrification had been swift and ruthless; what used to be working-class row houses were now million-dollar renovations with Tesla charging stations and security systems that cost more than most people's cars.
His house sat like a monument to his success on the corner of Elm and Riverside Drive, 4,200 square feet of red brick and white columns that whispered of old money. The colonial style had felt perfect when his Award from the Edinburgh Literary Festival catapulted him into the public eye, when publishers and movie studios were throwing six-figure offers at him. Now, one year into the worst writer's block of his life, the five bedrooms echoed with emptiness, filled mostly with expensive furniture that impressed no one but the occasional interviewer or colleague.
The irony wasn't lost on him that the only person who'd taken him up on his offer to stay was Rose, his twenty-two-year-old stepsister who'd shown up a year ago claiming she wanted to save money on dorm fees while starting her freshman year at The College of New Jersey.
Yeah, right. The girl who'd spent a year after high school backpacking through Europe, staying in boutique hostels and eating at Michelin-starred restaurants, suddenly worried about a few thousand in housing costs.
She'd been in Barcelona when she'd abruptly cut her trip short, telling him that she wanted to move in with barely two weeks' notice before the semester started. Noah had caught hints of something in her eyes during those first few weeks, a guardedness that hadn't been there before, the way she'd flinch slightly when her phone buzzed with notifications from the friends that she traveled with. She'd changed her Instagram to private and deleted most of her photos from Spain. Whatever had happened in Barcelona, she'd made it clear through her silence that it wasn't up for discussion.
There was definitely more to her story, but Noah had made a conscious decision not to push too hard into her motivations. Besides, having her around had been... unexpectedly pleasant.
The house was alive with light when he pulled into the circular driveway, and he could hear the bass line of some reggaeton song thumping from the kitchen. Rose had a habit of turning the place into her personal dance studio whenever she was home alone, which was most evenings since she'd apparently decided college parties weren't worth her time anymore. Another mystery he'd chosen not to investigate too deeply.
"Well, well, look what the cat dragged in," Rose called out as he hung his jacket in the front hall closet. She appeared in the doorway like she'd been waiting for him, her long curly black hair catching the overhead light in a way that reminded him of her mother. At twenty-two, she'd apparently grown out of her wild party-girl phase that had defined her late teens, but she still had that restless energy that made her seem as if she was always on the verge of either dancing or causing trouble. Tonight she was wearing an oversized Princeton sweatshirt, his, he realized, over leggings. The kind of comfortable clothes she favored when it was just the two of them at home.
"Looks like it's just you and me tonight, hermano," she said, that playful grin spreading across her face like she was sharing some private joke. Speaking Spanish was new, something she'd started doing since moving in. She claimed it helped her stay connected to her Puerto Rican roots now that she wasn't living with her mom anymore. "So what do you wanna do? Movie marathon? Order some Thai food?"
Noah loosened his tie and felt the weight of the day settling on his shoulders. His Advanced Fiction Workshop had been particularly brutal. Half the students seemed to think that writing meant stringing together meaningless metaphors about their feelings, while the other half had clearly never read anything published after Hemingway's death. Sometimes he missed the simplicity of just sitting alone with a blank page, back when words actually came to him.
"Why do you still talk like we're teenagers?" he asked, heading toward the kitchen because standing still felt too much like an invitation for one of her impromptu hug-tackles. "We're adults, Rose. And this is my house. Who else would be here?"
Her laugh, bright and slightly musical, followed him. "Old habits, I guess. But you're right, we should be more mature about this whole roommate situation." She hopped up onto the kitchen counter with the easy grace of someone who'd clearly been doing gymnastics or dance most of her life. "So... Professor," she said with her tone laced with sarcasm. "What do you think we should do? I was thinking we could cook something fancy, maybe practice our sophisticated adult conversation skills."
The kitchen was pristine except for Rose's breakfast dishes still sitting in the sink, a habit that drove him crazy but that he'd given up mentioning after the third week. The granite countertops and stainless steel appliances had been another symbol of success that now felt more like props in a play he'd forgotten his lines to. Too big, too expensive, too empty.
"Actually, I've got a date tonight," he said, opening the fridge more to avoid looking at her than because he was hungry. "I'm surprised you don't have plans. No parties? Study groups? Whatever it is, sophomores do on weeknights."
Her smile faltered for just a moment, revealing something more vulnerable underneath. "But I like hanging out with you. Besides, parties aren't really my thing anymore. All that drunk college drama and guys who think they're God's gift to women? Please." She recovered quickly, swinging her legs like a kid. "I'd rather stay in and catch up with my favorite novelist. So spill, tell me about this date? Is she cute? What's she like? Someone from the university?"
Grabbing a bottle of water, Noah finally turned to face her. The kitchen suddenly felt too small, charged with the kind of tension that had been building between them for months now. "Come on, cut it out, Rose."
The words hung in the air between them like a challenge. Rose's cheeks flushed pink, but her smile didn't waver.
"What? I'm just being curious," she said, but there was something in her voice now, something that made Noah's pulse pick up. "Fine, fine. But seriously, tell me about her. Is she pretty? What's she like? And more importantly..." She leaned forward like she was about to share state secrets. "Are you actually interested, or is this just another one of those dates where you spend the whole evening analyzing her personality?"
The observation hit closer to home than he wanted to admit. "She seems nice," he said carefully, unscrewing the cap on his water bottle. "We'll see what happens."
"Ooh, seems nice,'" Rose laughed, and there was something almost predatory in the sound. "That's definitely the kind of passionate enthusiasm every woman dreams of inspiring." Her expression softened, became more genuine. "Look, I know you've been in a weird place since the writing thing got hard. But maybe you should try actually connecting with someone… instead of just going through the motions?"
Her insights were uncomfortably accurate. For the past four years, ever since the end of his last real relationship, Noah hadn't been able to bring himself to open up or start a serious relationship with someone new. Whether consciously or not. He went through the motions of dating while picking apart each partner, finding every possible flaw or reason to close himself off.
"It's not that simple," he said, taking a long drink of water. "Some of us can't just flip a switch… connecting with someone is hard for me." he hesitated, hinting at a deeper meaning before shrugging, "Besides, I'm not all that interesting to begin with."
"Who the hell says you're not interesting?" Rose's voice got softer, more serious. "You won international awards, Noah. You've traveled the world, met incredible people, written books that made strangers cry, and you told me you were trying to start your own business. That's not just some boring sidenote. So just because you're having trouble with one project doesn't mean you've lost everything that made you amazing in the first place."
The sincerity in her voice caught him off guard. For a moment, he could see past the playful exterior to the young woman who'd been watching him struggle for months, who'd been trying in her own way to pull him out of his funk.
"Thanks," he said quietly. "But right now I need to get ready for this date. And you need to find something to do besides worrying about your hermano's love life."
Sliding off the counter with fluid grace, she stood close enough that he could smell her shampoo, something coconut and tropical that reminded him she was still so young, still figuring out who she wanted to be. "Have fun tonight, Noah. And remember..." She stretched up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, the gesture innocent except for the way her eyes lingered on his for just a moment too long. The way her hand rested on his chest. "If it doesn't work out, I'll be here when you get back."
The way she said it made Noah uncomfortable. Outside, the sound of a neighbor's lawn mower drifted through the kitchen window, mixing with the distant hum of traffic from the main road. Normal suburban sounds that felt completely at odds with the electricity crackling between them.
He watched her walk away, noting the way she moved with unconscious sensuality, and wondered for the hundredth time what he'd gotten himself into when he'd offered her a place to stay.
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The grandfather clock in the foyer had recently chimed ten o'clock as Noah pushed through the front door, the sound echoing through the empty house like a funeral bell. Three hours spent in a meeting with someone from his other life, the one that was rapidly consuming the current life that he'd built.
"Rose, you home?" he called out, dropping his keys on the antique console table with more force than necessary. The sound seemed to bounce off the vaulted ceilings, reminding him once again how ridiculously oversized this place was for two people.
Her voice drifted down from the second floor, bright and curious. "Ay, Dios mío. You're back already? Did you bring your nueva novia back for some fun? Should I put on my headphones and pretend I don't exist?"
Noah loosened his tie, shoulders sagging with exhaustion. "Nope. We weren't compatible. Not even close."
The sound of bare feet on hardwood preceded Rose's appearance at the top of the curved staircase. She was still wearing his old t-shirt and silk pajama shorts, her hair pulled back in a messy bun secured with what looked like a pencil. She had that fresh-faced look that made her seem younger than twenty-two, all wide dark eyes and genuine concern.
"Ay, that sucks," she said, padding down the stairs with the kind of unconscious grace that came from years of dance classes. "Want to talk about it? Or maybe do something else to cheer you up? I've got that expensive ice cream you bought hidden in the back of the freezer."
Heading toward the living room, Noah suddenly felt every one of his thirty years. The space was decorated in neutral tones, beige and cream, with touches of navy blue, chosen by an interior designer who'd promised it would be "timeless and sophisticated." Now it just felt like a magazine spread, beautiful and completely soulless.
"It's not a big deal," he said, collapsing onto the leather sectional that had cost more than his first car. "She was just... aggressively forward. Like, uncomfortably so."
Rose's eyebrows shot up. She settled beside him, tucking her legs under her in that boneless way young people had. "Aggressively forward? Okay, now I'm curious. What happened? Did she try to order for you at dinner or something?"
The living room's floor-to-ceiling windows looked out onto the manicured backyard, where the automatic sprinkler system was making its nightly rounds. Noah watched the water arc across the pristine lawn, everything so predictable, so sanitized. He hated it.
"For starters," he said, running his hands through his dark hair, "within five minutes of meeting up, she straight-up asked if I wanted to have sex. Not 'how was your day' or 'nice weather we're having.' Just straight to 'you're hot, you want to fuck?' "
"Mierda!" Rose gasped, her eyes going wide. The Spanish curse sounded almost musical in her accent. "And you said no? I mean, that's pretty direct, but some guys would be into that kind of thing."
Noah hesitated. "Well... I didn't say no right away. I figured maybe she was just playing, you know? Testing boundaries or whatever. But then she dragged me to this adult boutique downtown. Said she wanted to 'get properly equipped' for the evening."
The memory made him cringe. The place had been one of those sleazy shops that tried to disguise what it was with mood lighting and expensive packaging, but it was still basically a warehouse of dildos and leather restraints.
Rose leaned forward, genuinely curious now rather than just amused. "A sex shop? Damn, she doesn't mess around. What kind of stuff was she looking at? Please tell me you at least got something good out of this disaster."
"I didn't get anything," Noah said, his voice tightened with embarrassment. "When I saw her seriously considering a set of male butt-plugs and asking the clerk about 'beginner-friendly options,' I got the hell out of there so fast I probably left skid marks in the parking lot."
Rose burst out laughing, the sound filling the cavernous living room like music. "¡Por favor! She really went full throttle, didn't she? I mean, everyone's got their preferences, but that's pretty intense for a first date. I can see why you bailed. That's like going from zero to a hundred in half a second."
She wiped tears from her eyes, still chuckling. "Although I have to admit, there's something kind of impressive about a woman who knows what she wants and goes for it. Most people spend months dancing around that kind of stuff."
Slumping deeper into the couch cushions, Noah sighed. "Seriously, when did dating become like this...? Whatever happened to dinner, conversation, actually getting to know someone before discussing your kink preferences?"
Rose's expression softened, and she shifted closer to him on the couch. Without thinking, she reached out and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. The gesture was simple, but Noah was very conscious of the warmth of her palm through his shirt, the way her thumb unconsciously stroked the fabric.
"Hey, we're not all like that," she said, her voice gentler now. "Some of us actually like to take things slow, build up to stuff. There's nothing wrong with wanting connection before... going further. Timing and chemistry matter."
The sincerity in her voice, combined with her touch, sent an unwelcome jolt through Noah's system. "I know. And, I'm not some prude," he said, immediately regretting bringing up the intimate topic, despite their... history. "But there's something to be said for subtlety."
Rose's cheeks flushed that telltale pink again, and suddenly the air between them felt charged with electricity. Their drunken kiss at their parents' Christmas party three years ago hung between them like a third person in the room. It was something they'd both agreed to forget, but neither of them actually had.
"Yeah," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Subtlety definitely has its place." She cleared her throat and shifted slightly, but didn't remove her hand from his shoulder. "So... what now? You swearing off dating entirely? Joining a monastery?"
Noah studied her face, looking for hidden meanings in her question. At twenty-two, Rose still had that earnest quality that made every conversation feel like it might be leading somewhere important.
To avoid that possibility, Noah abruptly changed the subject, "It's Thursday night," he pointed out. "You should really be out with friends."
Something sad flickered across Rose's features before she could hide it. "Friends are overrated," she said, accepting the abrupt segue while still maintaining her usual playful tone, but not quite managing it. "I'd rather spend time with someone who actually loves me instead of just trying to get in my pants." She paused, realizing what she'd just said. "I mean... You know what I mean."
Do I? The vulnerability in her admission made Noah's chest tighten. There was something she wasn't telling him, something about why she'd really moved in, why she wasn't out living the typical college life.
"Yeah," he said finally. "I think I do know what you mean."
He looked at her carefully, sensing something deeper in what she was saying, but not wanting to dig into it. Rose had always been good at deflecting serious conversations with jokes, but tonight she seemed different. More real.
"You know what?" he said finally. "I don't have anything planned tomorrow, so we can hang out. But right now I need a long, hot bath to wash this shitty evening off me. Maybe soak in enough bubbles to forget that anal plugs exist."
Rose smiled warmly, and for a moment, she looked like the kid he remembered from when their parents first got married, all enthusiasm and uncomplicated affection. "Sounds perfect. Take your time and relax, you deserve it after dealing with that crazy punta." She started toward the stairs, then paused at the bottom step. "And hey, if you need anything while you're in there, just yell, okay?"
Noah watched her go upstairs, admiring the way the silk shorts caught the light as she moved. When she disappeared around the corner, he let out a long breath and shook his head. "What the hell am I gonna do with that girl?" he muttered to the empty room.
From her room came Rose's muffled laugh, proving she'd heard every word. "If I knew the answer to that, life would be way simpler."
[ Thank you for reading. If you'd like to continue this story, all future chapters are available on my official reading platform here: www.reamstories.com/cdsagebooks ]