Christmas Romance Bundle

Most people don’t have a nemesis, but I do. His name is Rafe Archibald.

On the first day of kindergarten, he stole my chocolate cupcake. In sixth grade, he won the big essay contest while I ended as the runner-up. All through high school, he was my academic rival, and in college he dated all my friends.

After graduation, I hoped to be rid of him at last, and I had two blissfully Rafe-free years while he was in graduate school in Durham. But then he got an environmental engineering job just outside Green Valley, and he moved into the apartment across the hall from me.

For the past four years, he’s been inescapable. I see him in the hallway. At the coffee shop down the block. At Millhouse, our favorite bar. The only people you normally encounter so often are family, coworkers, romantic partners, or close friends. He’s none of those things. Still, no matter how much I try to avoid Rafe, he’s always, always around.

Case in point, a Sunday morning at just before eight should be free from unwanted hallway encounters. Rafe usually sleeps in on the weekends, so if I get going early, I don’t worry about his making an appearance. Those morning hours on Saturdays and Sundays are usually safe.

Today, however, things go wrong.

I’m planning to go sailing with the guy I’ve been dating for the past month. His name is Ted, and he’s exactly my kind of person. Cute and smart and serious and not prone to obnoxious comments or sarcastic expressions or constant teasing. He’s walked to my apartment door to pick me up instead of texting me to come down, and we’re stepping into the hallway when Rafe’s door opens.

It’s directly across from mine. Eight feet away. When he comes out, I have no choice but to lay eyes on him.

When I see him in the mornings on weekdays—which is woefully often—we’re both on our way into work, so at least we’re dressed and ready for the day. Today is different.

He’s clearly just rolled out of bed. He’s got chin-length, wavy, dark brown hair, and it currently looks like he went to sleep with it damp. It’s kinked and tangled and sticking out in all directions. His startlingly blue eyes are heavy-lidded, making him look sleepy and sexy both. He’s got a dark five-o’clock shadow, and he’s wearing nothing but a pair of ten-year-old sweats.

The sweats are from our high school football team, and I know for sure he’s had them since he was seventeen because there’s a stain on one thigh from where one of my pens accidentally exploded on him in calculus class.

I maintain to this day it was an accident, although he has a different story.

His wide, mobile mouth quirks up into a pleased half smile when he sees me. “Julianna.” He speaks in his characteristic drawl. Everyone in the world calls me Jules—everyone except him. He always uses my full name, no doubt because he (mistakenly) believes it annoys me. The truth is I like my full name better than my nickname and always have. “You’re up early today.”

To anyone else, that might come across as a friendly greeting, but I know better. He’s got an amused, slightly mocking expression on his face, like he’s secretly laughing at me. “I’m always up this early. You’re the one who’s out of bed several hours earlier than normal.”

“Ah. Yes. Sadly true. But fortunately I’m not planning to stay out of bed for long.”