Busy mornings are like a dopamine boost.
But that day? I was just pretending to be busy.

I couldn’t get him off my mind. That soft smile, those squinty eyes, the dome-shaped head.
Living rent-free in my brain — uninvited. 

Stillness became my enemy. If I stayed too quiet, they might hear it — the way my heart thumped louder than the boom box.

Then my sister goes,

“I need money to buy the gas for Mr. Rent Free.”

And I’m like —

“Wait — you gave him free gas?
For a whole month?”

“You said he could cook”, my sister said.

“Sure, he can cook, sis. But that doesn’t mean we supply the gas. Are we running a charity now?  I’m not paying for it. He needs to pay for that—not us!”

Janie laughed. My sister looked confused.  And I? I looked betrayed—right before he showed up.
A soft voice—enough to make your panties drop. 🤣

“Hello. These are empty. I cannot use these,” he said, as he handed me the gas canisters.

That accent.  I’m melting. Can I drop dead and let the ants take me? 

I glared at my sister with the kind of side-eye that said:
This is exactly why we don’t rent out to hotties. 

Because now I was shitting myself while also kind of… swooning.

Our beach house, although cozy and quaint, wasn’t even equipped with a stove, refrigerator, or chest drawer—it’s not set up for monthly rentals but—she said yes…because he’s cute?

Cute won’t pay the bills or put food on the table, sis.

But then I looked at him again. His face was so angelic, I felt like apologizing for not offering him free hugs or a foot massage after that long dead ass sleep.

So I softened — against my better judgment. 

“We’re sorry, we’re not used to month-long rentals. Let me get that — we’ll buy gas for you. How’s that?”

He nodded, then casually added, 

“Also… not to be rude, but it would be nice to have a refrigerator here. I’m looking to rent for few months, and I think any future tenant would appreciate it.”

HUH? Is he upset with our kitchen?
Also, a few months? Since when? I thought we agreed on one?

I blinked, channeling all my inner peace. 

“Oh, I’m very sorry — not sure if my sister told you — but my cousin already booked…and paid in advance to rent the whole house.  But I will think about that refrigerator.” 

I tried my hardest not to let my eye twitch like a malfunctioning robot.

What just happened? Did I just say “YES” to a fucking refrigerator? 

Why am I suddenly feeling sorry for this man?  Is he wearing that famous P. Diddy baby oil that makes women swoon and say “YES” to anything?   

I do not want to kick him out—but maybe I should.  Being this close to a walking thirst trap?
That’s the kind of chaos that requires divine intervention.  

Expectedly, I ended up buying the fridge.
A decent one too — cold enough to keep my feelings frozen next to leftover drama from my past soft-launch heartbreak.

Without asking, Janie, she ran to my room with her titillating voice, relayed to me that our tenant was pleased that day.  Pleased — like he just won a brand-new fridge from the Wheel of Thirst.

Later that afternoon, I tried to show him how to use it — the fridge, not feelings.

I sat down on the floor as I showed him the settings, I looked up from below, then my heart flipped.  And there it was—the jawline that would one day ruin me.