Mia Bennett was having one of ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ด๐ฆ 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 catโSir Pounceโhad 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. Waitโ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ด ๐ธ๐ข๐ด๐ฏ'๐ต ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ณ๐ช๐จ๐ฉ๐ต ๐ค๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ต๐ข๐ค๐ต.
Instead of Emily, her best friend, the screen displayed:
๐๐๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ ๐ฅ๐ผ๐๐ฒ โ 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 ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต๐ช๐ณ๐ฆ๐ญ๐บ 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 ๐ญ๐ช๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ๐ข๐ญ ๐จ๐ช๐จ๐จ๐ญ๐ฆ.
Then silence.
Realization dawned like a car crash.
"Waitโ๐ฏ๐ฐ, ๐ฏ๐ฐ, ๐ฏ๐ฐ, ๐๐โ"
She jabbed at the screen, but it was too late. The little gray checkmarks turned blue.
Message. Sent.
To ๐๐๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ ๐ฅ๐ผ๐๐ฒ.
To her ๐ญ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฅ.
Her ๐ท๐ฆ๐ณ๐บ ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ธ, very ๐ฎ๐บ๐ด๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ๐ช๐ฐ๐ถ๐ด, and unfortunately ๐ท๐ฆ๐ณ๐บ ๐ข๐ต๐ต๐ณ๐ข๐ค๐ต๐ช๐ท๐ฆ 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 ๐ญ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฅ."
Emily blinked. "Wait... you mean the hot one upstairs? Tall, scowly, with arms that say 'I lift bookshelves for fun'?"
"Yes, ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต one!" Mia hissed. "The one who wears dark sweaters like he's the main character in a moody indie film! I called him ๐ช๐ฏ๐ต๐ฐ 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:
๐๐๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ ๐ฅ๐ผ๐๐ฒ: ๐๐ฐ... ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ฉ๐ข๐ฑ๐ฑ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ด ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐น๐ต?
Mia stared at the message for a full fifteen seconds.
Then: "He replied."
Emily leaned over her shoulder. "He ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฑ๐ญ๐ช๐ฆ๐ฅ? 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.
๐ ๐ถ๐ฎ: ๐๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ฑ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ด... ๐ฅ๐ฐ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ฑ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ง๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ค๐ฐ๐ง๐ง๐ฆ๐ฆ ๐ง๐ช๐ณ๐ด๐ต ๐ฐ๐ณ ๐ข ๐ฅ๐ณ๐ข๐ฎ๐ข๐ต๐ช๐ค ๐ณ๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ง๐ต๐ฐ๐ฑ ๐ค๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ง๐ฆ๐ด๐ด๐ช๐ฐ๐ฏ?
She hit send before she could stop herself.
Seconds passed.
The came the three dots.
Then a reply.
๐๐๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ ๐ฅ๐ผ๐๐ฒ: ๐๐ฐ๐ง๐ง๐ฆ๐ฆ. 10 ๐ฎ๐ช๐ฏ๐ถ๐ต๐ฆ๐ด. ๐๐ฑ๐ด๐ต๐ข๐ช๐ณ๐ด.
Mia felt her soul detach from her body. "He invited me for ๐ค๐ฐ๐ง๐ง๐ฆ๐ฆ."
Emily practically squealed. "And in landlord speak, that's basically ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฑ๐ญ๐ข๐บ!"
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 doorโquiet, unreadable, and totally unexpectedโwas going to change everything.
But she ๐ฅ๐ช๐ฅ know one thing for sure.
Flirting by accident?
Might just have neen the best mistake she ever made.
