Emersyn

I pull the laundry basket closer to my hip as I make my way down the hallway. It's been two days since the incident at the bar, and I've been mostly hiding in my room, nursing a hangover, and grappling with the embarrassment of having Marx undress me while I was drunk.

I'd like to say it's the hangover that's kept me hidden away, but it's more the mortification and the way Marx's gaze seemed to linger on me that night. And what I did once he left my room.

Most of the guys are working or sleeping today, so I feel like it's safe to venture out of my room. It's my turn to do my laundry. I've finally been added to the chore chart and it makes me kind of giddy.

I reach the laundry room and my steps falter as I see a note taped to the washer. I set the basket down and pluck the note from the machine. Cruz's handwriting sprawls across the page:

"Washer's broken. Sorry for the inconvenience. Probably won't be able to fix it until the weekend when I have a day off. - Cruz"

I sigh, frustration bubbling up. Of course, it's broken. Just when I've worked up the courage to leave my room and feel like a normal person again, this happens. My eyes scan the room, taking in the piles of laundry that are already starting to accumulate.

I'm not a handy person, not like Cruz, but maybe I can find a temporary solution until he can fix it. I glance at my phone on the counter, considering whether to call Cruz for advice, but I decide against it. He's probably at work, and I don't want to bother him.

I turn to the washer, examining it for any obvious signs of damage. I've never fixed anything in my life, but I've watched my dad tinker with appliances enough times to have a basic idea of what to look for.

I pull the washer away from the wall, grimacing at the effort. I unplug it and start to inspect the hoses and connections, searching for anything obviously amiss. My fingers probe and prod, but everything seems to be in place.

What are you doing, Emersyn? Cruz should be handling this. You'll probably make it worse, I berate myself.

Feeling more frustrated and lost, I realize that maybe this is a task best left to Cruz. I've never felt so inept. Resigned to failure, I push the washer back into place and plug it back in.

My phone suddenly rings, slicing through my frustration, and I grab it from the counter, relieved for the distraction. Seeing Valarie's name on the screen, my heart leaps, and I swipe to answer.

"Hey, Val!" I gush, unable to hide the excitement in my voice.

"Emmie!" she trills back. "Guess what? I have the whole day off! Want to hang out?"

I feel a burst of joy at her words. I've missed my best friend so much, and the timing couldn't be more perfect.

"Yes! Oh my God, yes!" I exclaim. "Where should we meet? I'm in desperate need of some girl time."

Valarie laughs, her happiness infectious. "How about that cute little café downtown? The one with the really good bagels. We can have brunch, shop around, and just catch up."

"That sounds perfect," I agree, my mind already racing with the possibilities.

"We can meet in an hour?" she suggests.

"An hour it is!" I confirm, already feeling lighter. "See you soon!"

We exchange quick goodbyes, and I hang up, my frustration over the broken washer forgotten. I rush back to my room, excitement bubbling through me.

I pick out a casual but cute outfit, something perfect for a day out with my best friend. I glance at myself in the mirror, liking what I see.

I look good. I'm moving on. I'm more than what Lyle made me feel, I reassure myself, trying to shove the pain of his betrayal aside.

The sun shines brightly as I step outside, a perfect match for my mood. With a spring in my step, I head towards my car.

As I slide into my seat at the café, Valarie's green eyes sparkle with mischief, her deep shade of auburn hair catching the sunlight. I can see she's dying to ask about my new living arrangement.

"So, spill it, girl!" she grins, leaning across the table. "How's living with four gorgeous men? I bet it's a lot better than living with Lyle."

I flush at her probing question, a surge of embarrassment at the mention of my ex-boyfriend. I nervously play with a lock of my hair, buying time to find the right words.

I've told Valarie very little about the guys, but somehow, she managed to get me to admit that they're each attractive in their own ways. I know she wants to come over and meet them herself, but for some unknown reason, I'm not ready for that yet. I kind of want to keep them to myself for a little bit longer.

"It's... different," I finally say, trying to balance honesty with discretion. "They're nice, all of them. But it's been an adjustment."

Valarie's eyes narrow, and she leans closer. "Different how? Come on, Em, don't hold back on me! I need all the details. Let me live vicariously through you."

Sighing, I decide to share a bit.

"Well, there's Cruz, the handyman, always tinkering with something. Then there's Marx..." I trail off, feeling a warmth spreading through me as I remember the other night, his white hair, dark beard, and the way he protected me at the bar. "He's, um, very calm and collected."

Valarie's eyes widen, and she leans closer. "Calm and collected? That's all I get?"

Valarie's probing questions about my housemates make me squirm. How can I explain what it's like, living with them? How can I put into words what I'm feeling, especially about Marx? I wonder, feeling a warmth spreading through me at the thought of Marx.

I shake my head, fighting back the image of Marx's intense gaze. "I don't really know much about him. He's just, you know, brooding and quiet. Then there's Fowler, the nurse. He's got this manic energy. You would like him. And lastly, there's Locke, chaotic but friendly. They're all so different from each other but they work well together."

Valarie's laughter fills the air, and she teases, "Sounds like you've got quite the variety! A handyman, a mysterious bar owner, a manic nurse, and a chaotic journalist. You must be living a cheesy romance novel!"

Her words hit closer to home than she realizes, and I can't help but laugh with her. But as I do, images flash through my mind: Cruz's gentle smile, Marx's brooding presence, Fowler's playful grin, Locke's wild energy.

I suddenly feel flustered, and Valarie's voice brings me back to the present. "Emmie? Are you okay?" she asks, concern in her voice.

I shake myself, snapping out of that train of thought. "I'm fine," I assure her, forcing a smile. "Just lost in thought, I guess."

Valarie eyes me for a moment, her nurse's intuition sensing something. But she lets it go. "Alright, if you say so. Let's order, I'm starving!"

As we dive into our meal, I'm grateful for the distraction.

Soon enough, Valarie is probing into my life again, her curiosity as insatiable as ever. We talk about her job and my search for one, but it's clear she's itching to get back to the topic of the men I'm living with.

After a while, she leans back, her eyes twinkling, and says, "So, I actually have some good news."

I perk up, my curiosity piqued. "Oh? What is it?"

Valarie leans in, her voice dropping conspiratorially. "You know, it's actually quite a story. There was this woman at the hospital who fell and fractured her wrist. Poor thing, she was in so much pain, and I ended up taking care of her. She's this tiny little lady, with a huge personality, and she owns a bakery!"

I listen intently, mesmerized by Valarie's storytelling. It's so like her to get caught up in a patient's life. But I'm not sure where the good news part comes in.

"So, she's looking for someone to help her at the bakery while she heals," Valarie continues, her eyes wide with excitement. "And I just so happened to mention that I have a friend who's very talented when it comes to baking."

My eyes widen, and I feel a surge of excitement. "Really? You told her about me?"

Valarie nods, her grin infectious. "I did! And guess what? She wants to meet you! She's in desperate need of some assistance, and I think you'd be perfect for it."

I can't help but feel a thrill at the prospect. I love baking, and the idea of working in a bakery is like a dream come true. But a nagging doubt holds me back, and I frown. "Val, that's a wonderful offer, but are you sure she'd want someone like me? I mean, I don't have any professional experience."

Valarie waves away my concern. "Em, she doesn't care about professional experience. She just needs someone who loves to bake and can help her keep the business running. She's got this amazing old-fashioned oven, and her pastries are to die for. You'll fit right in."

I can't contain my excitement any longer, the prospect of working at the bakery is too good to resist. "Val, that's amazing! Thank you so much! When can I meet her?"

Valarie's smile widens, her excitement matching mine. "I'll set it up. She's eager to meet you, and I think you two will hit it off."

We spend the rest of our brunch chatting about the bakery, Valarie describing the woman and her passion for baking. I'm filled with a sense of purpose and excitement, something I haven't felt in a while.

Finally, we part ways, Valarie promising to call me later with more details. I drive home, my mind buzzing with anticipation.

**

The sun is already streaming through the curtains, casting a soft glow in the room when I wake up. My heart is pounding, the reality of what's about to happen finally hitting me. Today's the day I'm meeting with the woman from the bakery, the one Valarie took care of at the hospital. My friend's excitement when she called me yesterday about the potential job opportunity was contagious, and now, the nervous energy is taking over.

I slowly crawl out of bed and make my way to the bathroom, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes are wide, filled with a mixture of hope and uncertainty. I've always loved baking, but the idea of working in a professional bakery? It's both thrilling and terrifying.

I take a deep breath and begin the process of getting ready. I select a nice, but not too formal outfit from my wardrobe: a light, flowy blouse paired with a knee-length skirt and comfortable flats. It's casual enough for the bakery but still professional and put-together.

The shower is my next stop, and as the warm water rushes over me, I try to calm my racing thoughts. This is an incredible opportunity, a chance to pursue something I love. And yet, I can't shake the fear that I'm not good enough, that the woman will see through me and recognize that I'm just an amateur.

I dress carefully, paying attention to every little detail. I want to look my best but not overdone. I put on a touch of makeup, enhancing my features without going overboard.

With every movement, the butterflies in my stomach flutter a bit more, and my hands tremble slightly as I tie my hair back into a loose bun. The nerves are getting to me, but I remind myself that Valarie wouldn't have recommended me if she didn't think I was capable.

I gather my things, slipping my resume and a small portfolio of my baking creations into a neat folder. I've spent hours preparing this, documenting my baking experiments, adding pictures, and writing descriptions of my techniques. I hope it's enough to impress the bakery owner.

As I head out of my room, I catch a glimpse of Marx in the living room, looking up from a book as I pass by. Our eyes meet, and I feel a sudden jolt of awareness, a connection that sends a wave of warmth through me.

"You look nice," he says, his voice gentle, the briefest hint of a smile on his lips.

"Thank you," I manage to stammer, taken aback by the compliment. "I have an interview at a bakery today."

His eyes brighten with interest. "That's great! Good luck."

His encouragement is genuine, and I feel a surge of confidence. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

With a final smile, I head out the door, feeling a bit more grounded. The drive to the bakery is a blur, my thoughts a tangled mess of excitement, anticipation, and fear.

When I finally park in front of the quaint little bakery, its windows filled with delectable treats, my heart is in my throat. This is it. This is my chance to take control of my life, to pursue my passion.

I glance at myself in the rearview mirror, taking one last look to make sure everything is perfect. Then, with a deep breath and a determined smile, I step out of the car.