Mia Bennett was having one of 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 mornings.
The kind where the espresso machine sputtered in betrayal, a delivery of romance novels was mistakenly swapped for horror anthologies, and to top it all off, her cat–Sir Pounce–had used her favorite scarf as a litter box substitute. She wasn't even mad at him. Honestly, she respected the level of petty revenge he was capable of.
She shoved the scarf into the laundry bin behind the counter and sighed, blowing a stubborn strand of hair from her face. The chime above the front door jingled as a breeze slipped into the little bookshop.
"Turn the Page" had always been her escape. Tucked between a flower shop and an overpriced juice bar in downtown Brighton, it was the coziest, most chaotic corner of her world. Paperback towers teetered on the ends of shelves, handwritten staff picks peeked from between book spines, and the scent of old stories mixed with the faint aroma of cinnamon from her candles.
She should've been relaxing into the familiar comfort of it all. But today? Today was chaos. And it all began with a voice message.
"Okay," Mia mumbled to herself as she pulled her phone out of her back pocket, balancing a cup of coffee in the other hand. "One quick message, then back to stacking 'Haunting of Hill House' where 'Heartstopper' should've gone."
She opened the chat.
Her eyes blinked once, twice. Wait—𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘵.
Instead of Emily, her best friend, the screen displayed:
𝗟𝘂𝗰𝗮𝘀 𝗥𝗼𝘄𝗲 – New Landlord (Unsmiling, Probably A Vampire)
Why she saved his contact like that, she'd never explain. It had been a joke. Mostly. He had shown up two nights ago with zero expression, a black coat, and an energy that screamed "I hate small talk." Her brain had screamed "hot" and "danger," and she had promptly ignored both.
Unfortunately, fate had a sense of humor.
Mia's thumb brushed the record button before she even noticed.
Her voice came out sweet and teasing, laced with the lingering flirtation she'd meant 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 for Emily after their conversation the night before about how she hadn't flirted in nearly a year.
"If you keep looking at me like that, I'm going to assume you're into me," she said in a singsong voice. "And I'm not responsible for what happens next."
A giggle. A 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘨𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘦.
Then silence.
Realization dawned like a car crash.
"Wait—𝘯𝘰, 𝘯𝘰, 𝘯𝘰, 𝘕𝘖—"
She jabbed at the screen, but it was too late. The little gray checkmarks turned blue.
Message. Sent.
To 𝗟𝘂𝗰𝗮𝘀 𝗥𝗼𝘄𝗲.
To her 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘥.
Her 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘸, very 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴, and unfortunately 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 landlord who lived in the apartment directly above her bookshop and had likely heard her singing Disney ballads to her cat through the vents on more than one occasion.
Mia stared at her phone like it was a hand grenade.
"I have to move," she whispered to herself. "I need to sell the shop, fake my death, and move to a mountain. I'll raise goats. Goats don't judge."
Emily popped her head out from the back room, cradling a stack of incorrectly delivered horror books. "You good? You're talking to yourself like a Bond villain in meltdown."
Mia turned her screen toward her with a grimace. "I just accidentally sent a voice flirt to my 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘥."
Emily blinked. "Wait... you mean the hot one upstairs? Tall, scowly, with arms that say 'I lift bookshelves for fun'?"
"Yes, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 one!" Mia hissed. "The one who wears dark sweaters like he's the main character in a moody indie film! I called him 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 me."
Emily dropped the books on the counter with a thud. "Girl. That's not a mistake. That's manifestation."
Mia groaned and buried her face in the nearest stack of Jane Austen.
Just then, her phone buzzed.
She pulled it away from the books, bracing herself for a cease and desist notice or perhaps a very formal "Please refrain from sending seductive messages to your landlord."
Instead, she read:
𝗟𝘂𝗰𝗮𝘀 𝗥𝗼𝘄𝗲: 𝘚𝘰... 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵?
Mia stared at the message for a full fifteen seconds.
Then: "He replied."
Emily leaned over her shoulder. "He 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘥? Already?!"
Mia nodded slowly. "I think... he's into it?"
Emily gasped so dramatically you'd think Mia had just announced she was dating a prince. "This is it. This is the beginning of your enemies-to-lovers arc. Or your landlord-to-lover trope. We need popcorn."
Mia paced behind the counter, heart racing. "What do I even say to that? Do I pretend it was a joke? Do I confess and ask him to never bring it up again? Or do I just... disappear?"
Sir Pounce meowed from the mindow seat as if suggesting option three.
Emily snorted. "Text him back. Keep it cool. Be flirty. This is your romcom moment, Mia. You can't chicken out now!"
Mia groaned, typing out a response with shaking fingers.
𝗠𝗶𝗮: 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴... 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯?
She hit send before she could stop herself.
Seconds passed.
The came the three dots.
Then a reply.
𝗟𝘂𝗰𝗮𝘀 𝗥𝗼𝘄𝗲: 𝘊𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘦. 10 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘴. 𝘜𝘱𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘴.
Mia felt her soul detach from her body. "He invited me for 𝘤𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘦."
Emily practically squealed. "And in landlord speak, that's basically 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺!"
Mia smacked her on the arm, heart pounding. "What if this is a terrible idea? What if he's weird? What if he collects antique dolls or thinks astrology is a government conspiracy?"
Emily handed her a fresh cinnamon muffin and pushed her toward the stairs. "Then you'll have a good story. But what if he's not weird? What if he's the guy who laughs at your dumb jokes and lets you steal all the blankets?"
Mia paused.
Then she exhaled, squared her shoulders, and whispered to herself, "Okay. Fine. What's the worst that could happen?"
As she climbed the stairs to the apartment above her shop, Mia didn't yet know that her world was about to flip upside down. That the man waiting behind that door–quiet, unreadable, and totally unexpected–was going to change everything.
But she 𝘥𝘪𝘥 know one thing for sure.
Flirting by accident?
Might just have neen the best mistake she ever made.
