All The Way (The Sarah Kinsely Story - Book #1) by C.J. Berry
Authors: C.J. Berry
Tags: New Adult/Erotic Romance
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Chapter 1
New job? Check. New place to live? Check. New life? Double check.
Standing in the front yard of the 1940’s remodeled bungalow that was now officially mine to call home, watching the movers huff and puff my things through the rain, I struggled to fight back the tears. No more planning, no more dreaming, no more hoping. There was only time for healing, growing, changing. There was only time for living now.
Living and doing .
“Excuse me ma’am,” One of the movers said, “We just have your couch left to move. Where would you like it?”
“Could you put it in the back living room please?” I said.
Now, before you get the wrong idea about me, you should know that I only hired movers because they came as part of my “relocation package”. I’m not the kind of girl who is afraid to lift a few heavy boxes of my own junk and admittedly it was a bit embarrassing having someone else pack up my underwear. True, I didn’t have to hire the College Hunks Moving Junk crew, but since it was my choice I thought I might enjoy the view while the job got done.
Frankly, I deserved it.
I don’t want to sound like a bitch but finding my ex boyfriend naked in the arms of another naked man does entitle me to at least not have to haul my own fridge out of our apartment by myself - even if he still does “want to be friends”.
I stood in the rain waiting for the last of my things to be hauled into my new place. It was going to be an adjustment living alone after spending 3 of my “prime” years living with someone else but I was ready. At least in this house there would be no more lies, no more deceit and no more drama. When I got the ‘thumbs up’ from Jake, one of the hunks moving my junk, I very ceremoniously turned the nob of my front door and entered the labyrinth of boxes and furniture.
This was my dream home on so many levels. The neighborhood was close-in to the downtown area. I could ride my bike to work if I wanted and just two blocks away was an entire parking lot full of food carts. The hipsters gathered just a few streets down on Hawthorne which meant prime people watching and the house itself was like one giant canvas waiting for me to decorate and adorn.
For a 25 year old woman like me it was more than I could have ever hoped for.
The remodeled hardwood floors felt cool and soothing on my sore feet as I stepped out of my rain boots and went sock footed through the place. The kitchen was my favorite part. It had been recently remodeled by a local company that specialized in sustainable design. The counter-tops were made from reclaimed wood that they pulled from an old barn and the kitchen sink was white ceramic. The cupboards alone held more square footage than my entire apartment in New York had and I didn’t have to share it with anyone. It was all mine.
But again, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about me. I may sound like this style of living is something normal for me - but it isn’t. If anything, I am shocked that I somehow landed upon such good fortune. If it wasn’t for a good friend who knew someone who knew someone, I never would have landed this new job. If I never would have landed this new job, they would never have given me such a nice “relocation package”. Without the “relocation package” I would still be back in New York living in my rat infested apartment paying three times what I could afford working at a job that payed half what I was worth. If I was still living in that rat infested dump that means I would still be living with Jason. If I was still living with Jason then that meant I was still living a lie. A twisted, hurtful lie that we both danced around for years.
For some reason the housing gods had decided to bless me with good fortune and a big enough check to make a down payment on my dream home. I guess sometimes the winds change and you get exactly what you want.
I only had two major items to check off my list that first day in Portland. The
New job? Check. New place to live? Check. New life? Double check.
Standing in the front yard of the 1940’s remodeled bungalow that was now officially mine to call home, watching the movers huff and puff my things through the rain, I struggled to fight back the tears. No more planning, no more dreaming, no more hoping. There was only time for healing, growing, changing. There was only time for living now.
Living and doing .
“Excuse me ma’am,” One of the movers said, “We just have your couch left to move. Where would you like it?”
“Could you put it in the back living room please?” I said.
Now, before you get the wrong idea about me, you should know that I only hired movers because they came as part of my “relocation package”. I’m not the kind of girl who is afraid to lift a few heavy boxes of my own junk and admittedly it was a bit embarrassing having someone else pack up my underwear. True, I didn’t have to hire the College Hunks Moving Junk crew, but since it was my choice I thought I might enjoy the view while the job got done.
Frankly, I deserved it.
I don’t want to sound like a bitch but finding my ex boyfriend naked in the arms of another naked man does entitle me to at least not have to haul my own fridge out of our apartment by myself - even if he still does “want to be friends”.
I stood in the rain waiting for the last of my things to be hauled into my new place. It was going to be an adjustment living alone after spending 3 of my “prime” years living with someone else but I was ready. At least in this house there would be no more lies, no more deceit and no more drama. When I got the ‘thumbs up’ from Jake, one of the hunks moving my junk, I very ceremoniously turned the nob of my front door and entered the labyrinth of boxes and furniture.
This was my dream home on so many levels. The neighborhood was close-in to the downtown area. I could ride my bike to work if I wanted and just two blocks away was an entire parking lot full of food carts. The hipsters gathered just a few streets down on Hawthorne which meant prime people watching and the house itself was like one giant canvas waiting for me to decorate and adorn.
For a 25 year old woman like me it was more than I could have ever hoped for.
The remodeled hardwood floors felt cool and soothing on my sore feet as I stepped out of my rain boots and went sock footed through the place. The kitchen was my favorite part. It had been recently remodeled by a local company that specialized in sustainable design. The counter-tops were made from reclaimed wood that they pulled from an old barn and the kitchen sink was white ceramic. The cupboards alone held more square footage than my entire apartment in New York had and I didn’t have to share it with anyone. It was all mine.
But again, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about me. I may sound like this style of living is something normal for me - but it isn’t. If anything, I am shocked that I somehow landed upon such good fortune. If it wasn’t for a good friend who knew someone who knew someone, I never would have landed this new job. If I never would have landed this new job, they would never have given me such a nice “relocation package”. Without the “relocation package” I would still be back in New York living in my rat infested apartment paying three times what I could afford working at a job that payed half what I was worth. If I was still living in that rat infested dump that means I would still be living with Jason. If I was still living with Jason then that meant I was still living a lie. A twisted, hurtful lie that we both danced around for years.
For some reason the housing gods had decided to bless me with good fortune and a big enough check to make a down payment on my dream home. I guess sometimes the winds change and you get exactly what you want.
I only had two major items to check off my list that first day in Portland. The
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