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“This weekend, at the Town Square. You should definitely come if you can make it.”

I smile. “Thanks. That sounds great.”

By the time I’m back at my car, I feel a bit better. So what if I had a bumpy start? The server at the diner was friendly, and I even got invited to a town festival.

I punch the address of my new cottage into the GPS. The streets are lined with gorgeous golden-leaved trees, and the businesses here look extremely charming and cozy. When I turn onto Witchhazel Way, I spot a tattoo shop called Ink and Intent, as well as The Spellbound Shelf, which looks like a bookshop, and a shop with the cozy name of Hearth & Hollow. I can’t wait to get settled and explore the town.

After a short drive, my GPS notifies me of one last turn before arriving at my destination. I park on a gravel driveway and frown. Surely this can’t be right? I double-check the street name and number, but am still confused.

My cottagecore dream home looks like it barely survived an apocalyptic event. The once-lush garden with its colorful flowers has been overtaken by prickly brambles and weeds that reach as high as my hips.

The paint has faded, and the windows are so filthy I doubt they’ll let in enough light for me to paint.

After checking everything for the third time, I have to admit the obvious: this is the right spot, and this beaten-down cottage is my new home.

I should’ve known. It was dumb of me to buy a property just based on the online pictures. Not that the house looks completely different from the pictures. They were obviously real, but they must’ve been taken ten years ago.

I can already imagine how Bee’s going to react. Most likely a mixture of I told you so and Try to get your money back, as if refunding a house is even a possibility.

All I can do is make the best of it, I guess? And perhaps send an angry email to the previous owner. I knew buying a house without seeing it in person was a gamble, but I convinced myself the price was worth the risk. Now I’m not so sure.

But this place is mine now, so I might as well see what I’m actually dealing with before making angry phone calls.

I get out of the car and stretch my arms overhead while looking around. At least the view is great. The cottage is surrounded by tall trees and dense bushes. It’s not so secluded that you’re miles from town, but still secluded enough to feel as if you’re alone in the world, which is exactly what attracted me to this property in the first place.

I walk toward the front door. The path isn’t overgrown, so at least someone made an effort to stop nature from reclaiming the entire property.

I snap a quick picture of my key in the lock, intending to send it to Bee later, then step inside.

Huh. The previous owner left a pair of black boots behind. And a leather jacket. I step into the kitchen and run my hands over the countertops. Weird. There’s a coffeemaker, still plugged in, and the fridge is filled with food.

Did the previous owner forget to clear the place out? But that doesn’t explain the food in the fridge. Someone has been here recently.

A loud thud comes from somewhere outside. I glance through the kitchen window and see that the shed door is open.

Calling the police would probably be the sensible option, but I’m not about to let some stranger scare me out of my own house.

I grab a knife from the wooden holder on the counter and open the back door.

Music blasts from cheap speakers, confusing me. Why would a burglar blast music? To lure me into the shed and then cover up the sound of my screams?

I stand frozen to the spot.

Then I think about the food in the fridge. The well-trodden path to the front door. The boots in the hallway. The plugged-in coffee maker… Those are not signs of a burglar or serial killer. Someone has been living in my house!

I tighten my grip around the knife and march toward the shed. Whoever is in there better have a good explanation for why their stuff is all over my new home.

As I get closer, I hear the clank of metal on metal underneath the music. I slow down when I reach the shed door and peer inside, not sure what to expect. The first thing I see is a motorcycle.

I stare at it for a moment before shifting my attention to the massive man crouched beside it. His back is turned to me, but I recognize the horns and tattoos right away. He’s working on the rear wheel with a wrench. Several tools are scattered across the floor, and there are dark smudges of grease on his arms.

Of course. Of all the people who could be secretly living in my new house, it has to be the grumpy minotaur I almost killed this morning.

Why not? Things have been going sideways ever since I bought this cottage.

“Hello?”

He doesn’t hear me, or he’s very good at pretending he doesn’t. He hardly said a word to me this morning either, so he could be ignoring me deliberately.