When Trouble Comes Knocking..

~~Indigo~~

My alarm beeped continuously but I didn't make an effort to get up from the bed. Morning light filtered in through the blinds and I groaned, forcing myself to sit up, my hair ruffled and messy from tossing and turning overnight.

Sleep hadn’t been kind — my brain had spent the entire night replaying those four lines from the mystery client’s note.

Every forever deserves its colors…The blush of first glances… The ivory of promises made…The wine of love shared…

What was I supposed to do with that? Paint a wall with a rainbow? Throw a party themed after a box of crayons?

Forcing myself up, I shuffled to the kitchen, my limbs aching. I groaned, rubbing at my eyes as I poured steaming coffee into my favorite mug that was chipped at the edge. “Clues and fucking poetry do not go hand in hand,” I muttered, stirring in way too much sugar. “Thought this was going to be fun but it's messing me the fuck up.”

Leaning against the counter, I sipped and stared blankly out of the kitchen window.

Wait. Something was off.

The neighborhood was unusually busy for a weekday morning, the distant rumble of a truck engine caught my attention. I usually went into work late and by then, my neighbors were out so who was that? No one even had a fucking truck around me.

Setting my mug down, I frowned and grabbed my hoodie from the chair. If Mrs. Spencer was having something delivered again, it was likely to be those stupid floral chairs that matched with her signature apron.

“Let’s see what’s going on,” I sighed, slipping my feet into sneakers before stepping outside.

The sun wasn't too high up in the sky as I stepped out, feeling the cool air brush against my face as I walked down the small path to the mailbox.

That’s when I saw it — a massive moving truck parked right in front of the Spencer’s house.

Not a delivery. A move-in. Um…

Two men in dark overalls hauled out luxury furniture — a black leather couch, glass tables, sleek décor that screamed expensive and definitely not the Spencers.

I blinked, confused. “Uh… what?”

They were even bringing in what looked like a wine cooler. Mrs. Spencer didn’t even drink wine. I knew that much.

Curiosity got the better of me and I jogged forward a few steps, calling out, “Excuse me?”

One of the movers looked up, wiping sweat from his brow, his eyes squinting to look at me well.

“Hey, uh—sorry to bother you. Where’s Mrs. Spencer?”

He blinked, brow furrowing. “Who?”

“Mrs. Spencer. The lady who lives here? Grey hair, floral apron, smells like cinnamon?”

The man shook his head, glancing toward the house. “Ma’am, I don’t know any Mrs. Spencer. We were just hired to move stuff in.”

I frowned. “By who?”

He shrugged, hefting a box. “Not my place to say. The owner, I guess.”

The owner?

My heart skipped. “Wait—what owner? Mrs. Spencer is the owner!”

Before the man could answer, a familiar voice drifted from behind me — smooth, teasing, and way too recognizable.

“Looking for me, princess?”

I froze.

No. No way.

With a racing heart, I turned around slowly.

And there he was.

Slade. No fucking way. He was standing on the sidewalk in a black t-shirt, hands tucked into his pockets, a lazy grin on his face, a sharp contrast to the frown I had seen on his face when I had last seen him.

My jaw dropped. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Morning to you too,” he drawled, taking a lazy stride forward.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I demanded, crossing my arms. “Don’t tell me—wait, did you buy this place?”

He cocked a brow. “You sound shocked.”

“Shocked? Try the word alarmed.” I gestured wildly at the house. “You live here now? Like next door here?”

He tilted his head, amusement in his eyes. “Last I checked, this was a free neighborhood.”

“Oh my God, you’re stalking me.”

His grin widened. “Funny. I was going to say the same thing. I move in, and you’re already waiting outside for me? If anyone’s stalking anyone…”

My heart raced in my chest and I could only stare at him with wide eyes. “Oh my god. You're impossible”

He smirked, stepping closer. “And you’re predictable. Come on, admit it — you’re thrilled.”

“I’m not thrilled.”

“Mmh. Sure, princess.”

His smugness made me want to scream, but the little flutter in my chest betrayed me. Great. Somehow, my idea of a quiet life was slowly beginning to fall apart again.

I huffed, spinning around. “Enjoy your luxury furniture. I’ve got actual work to do.”

“Wait.” His voice followed me. “You’re not going to be a hospitable neighbor? Invite me in for coffee or something? My place is a mess. Half my stuff’s still in boxes.”

I turned slowly, eyes narrowing. “You do realize I know you’re just fishing for an invitation, right?”

He shrugged. “You caught me. Still waiting, though.”

God help me.

“Fine.” I sighed, shoving my hands into my pockets. “One coffee. No funny business.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, following me toward my front door like he hadn’t just upended my entire morning.

Inside, the air became heavy with a familiar tension — the kind that always seemed to settle between us no matter what room we were in.

I poured two mugs of coffee, sliding one across the table before sitting on the chair opposite him.

He took a slow sip, his eyes darting around my apartment — the open boxes that I had not touched yet and the folded note on my dining table.

“What’s that?” he asked, nodding toward the paper. “Love letter?”

“What? No.” I grabbed it before he could. “It’s work.”

He leaned back, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Work that comes with pink wrapping paper?”

I shot him a glare. “It’s from a client. A mystery one. Wants me to plan some event called A Forever in the Making. Left this poem as a clue.”

“Let me guess.” He stretched his hand out. “You spent all night trying to solve it?”

I didn’t answer, which was answer enough.

He chuckled. “Didn’t figure it out, huh?”

“Not yet.” I passed the letter over anyway, watching his eyes scan the lines.

His brow arched slightly. “Blush, ivory, wine…”

He looked back at me, a smile curling slow on his lips, teasing and knowing.

“What?” I asked suspiciously.

He set the note down and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Good thing you invited me in.”

“Why?”

He grinned. “Because I think I just helped you figure it out.”