Page 46 of Set to Love

I head inside the pool house and shut the door as fast as possible, dropping the boxes to the ground. “Crap. Crap. Crap,” I mutter to myself. What have I just gotten myself into?

I pull out my phone and frantically start scrolling through every short-term rental app I can think of. Every affordable option seems to come with sketchy photos or reviews that mention things like black mold, broken locks, or hosts canceling on them at the last second.

Eventually, I give up and book the cheapest extended-stay motel I can find within driving distance of Orlando. It’s not exactly a home, but it has a front desk and a lock on the door. Then I reserve the smallest storage unit I can find nearby. By the time the confirmation emails hit my inbox, a painful chunk of my savings is gone.

“Future me is going to hate present me,” I mutter. “But at least she won’t be homeless.”

A few hours later, I’m sitting on the floor, distracted by a box of college mementos, when my phone chimes. Max’s name flashes across the screen.

I make myself ignore it and reach for another roll of packing tape. Then it chimes again.

So much for discipline. I grab my phone and swipe to unlock the screen.

Max

Cheers, Katie.

Max

How’s your day going?

I let out a humorless laugh and start typing.

Katie

It depends on how you define going.

Max

That bad?

I glance around the room at the boxes I’ve packed and the half-finished piles I still need to sort through.

Katie

Yes.

Katie

I’ve made some very questionable decisions today.

Max

Is it anything you want to talk about?

Katie

Not really.

Three dots dance across the screen.

Max

Anything I can help with?

My fingers hover above the keyboard as I seriously consider saying yes. Not because I need help packing—okay, that’s a lie, I could use help moving boxes and taking furniture apart—but the thought of spending an afternoon with Max also sounds infinitely better than what I’m doing now.

Katie