And since, apparently, his weight bench was being used as a clothes hanger.

Jacob stared, slack-jawed, through the open door at what should be an unoccupied and organized sitting room. There were clothes on his equipment. There was makeup sitting on top of his old television, the one he never watched. And his battered pullout sofa was now a battered bed, strewn with his spare winter duvet and his cushions.

“What. The. Fuck.”

Eve flashed a nervous smile and waved her hands. “Surprise! I live here!”

Surprise. I live here.

Jacob turned slowly toward her. “I beg your pardon?”

Her smile faltered. “Oh my God, you look like you’re going to murder me. Don’t you dare murder me.”

“I have to confess,” he said faintly. “I’m considering it.”

“Well, don’t! My mother is a lawyer, you know.”

Was she, now? Interesting. He’d assumed, based on the accent, that Eve came from the kind of family where women didn’t work. He’d also wondered if she might be secretly pregnant, and therefore disgraced and cast out, which would account for her slumming it over here in his B&B. But now he looked at the room she’d apparently been squatting in, and he decided that whatever had brought this particular princess into his life must be far worse, because . . .

“What sentient human person would voluntarily sleep on that sofa bed? It’s practically springless.”

She ignored his question. “Mont told me to sleep in here. You know, to keep an eye on you—with the concussion—and also because I had nowhere to stay and the B&B is booked up to the eyeballs, which, well done, by the way. And really, it’s more convenient if I live here anyway, what with the early hours, and all, and clearly I’m no trouble since you didn’t even notice I was here, so—”

“Hang on,” Jacob said sharply, a thought occurring to him. “Have you been using my bathroom?”

“Only a little bit,” she said. “Like, the teeniest, tiniest bit. While you were asleep. And I cleaned up after myself so you wouldn’t even know I was there. But also because I’m a superconsiderate roommate.”

He looked at her. “Tell me the truth. Have you ever had a roommate before? Ever? Shared a bedroom with a sibling, bunked in college, anything?”

There was a pause. “Well, no,” she said. “But I do share a floor with my grandmother and her girlfriend.”

I share a floor with my grandmother and her girlfriend. I share a floor. With my grandmother. And her girlfriend. “Where did you come from?” Jacob demanded. “Some kind of palace? Some kind of elderly lesbian palace?”

“Gigi isn’t a lesbian. She’s pansexual.”

Jacob stared at Eve, then stared at the sitting room. “You know what? I’m too tired for this. I’m going to bed.”

She beamed. “So you don’t mind? I can stay?”

“Yes, I absolutely do mind, and no, you absolutely can’t stay. We’ll figure something out.” He wasn’t entirely sure what, but something. She couldn’t sleep next door to him, for Christ’s sake. That just . . . wasn’t right. Wasn’t safe. Or something. Somehow. “Christ, I can’t believe you’re on the sofa bed. I should’ve thrown that thing out ages ago. If it weren’t for—”