Her Possessive Bikers

Lily

LILY

"Four-twenty-one, four-twenty-one," I chant softly, peering down the even side of the street in search of the right number.

I cruise through the tree-lined streets of my new neighborhood, a mix of excitement and nerves coursing through my veins. It's a clean slate, a chance to leave the past behind and dive into something fresh. And damn, this place looks like a dream, peaceful and idyllic.

As I navigate the streets, I can't help but be captivated by the sheer beauty of it all. The trees canopy overhead, casting a natural shade that's straight out of a postcard. It's a neighborhood that promises tranquility, a far cry from the chaos I'm leaving behind.

But let's not forget the nerves that bubble beneath the surface. Starting fresh in a new place comes with its own set of challenges. Will I fit in? Will I find my groove? Those questions linger, keeping me on my toes as I navigate these unfamiliar roads.

"Four-twenty..." I squeal and hit the breaks, lurching to a stop in the middle of the road. "Four-twenty-one!"

The number belongs to one of the most adorable houses I've ever seen. Flowerboxes, a kept lawn, and a tiny garage off to the side. It's just like the pictures--if anything, it might even be a bit bigger!

I pull into the driveway, the crunch of gravel under my tires echoing through the quiet streets. The engine purrs to a stop, and I sit there for a moment, taking in the sight before me. The house stands tall and proud, its exterior painted a soft shade of blue that perfectly complements the cloudless sky above. The white trim around the windows and doors adds an elegant touch, while the flowering vines snaking up the porch pillars add a whimsical charm.

I step out of my car, my eyes still fixated on the house as if trying to engrave every detail into my memory. The front yard is a lush oasis of green, meticulously manicured and dotted with bursts of vibrant color from an array of flowers. Hydrangeas bloom in delicate shades of pink and blue, their petals dancing in the gentle breeze. Poppies sway gracefully, their fiery red heads creating a striking contrast against the emerald canvas.

As I make my way up the stone pathway to the little porch, I can feel the sting of tears in my eyes. "You are the most beautiful thing I've ever had the pleasure of almost owning," I whisper.

My phone rings in my pocket, and I answer my landlord with a grin. "Hi, Mr. Falkner!"

"Hello, Miss Goodman. Did you find the house okay?"

I nod, looking down both ends of the street. "I did. This is a really beautiful neighborhood."

He chuckles heartily. "I'm glad you like it. You have the key, don't you?"

"Yep!”

"Wonderful. Well, you just give me a call if you need anything," he says.

"I will. Thanks again for this." I don't know what I would have done without this little house.

"Go on and get settled in. We'll talk more later," he says, leaving us to end the call right after.

I take a deep breath, my hand trembling as I reach into my pocket and grasp the shiny key. It feels cool and solid in my palm, a symbol of the new chapter I'm about to embark on. Its weight, both physical and metaphorical, grounds me as I approach the front door.

"Here we go," I murmur with a nervous twinge.

I insert the key and turn it with care, feeling a surge of satisfaction as I hear the reassuring click. The door swings open, revealing an interior that is just as remarkable as the outside.

"Wow," I breathe, a wide grin spreading its way along my face.

Sunlight filters through large windows, casting warm beams onto hardwood floors that gleam like honey. The walls are painted in a beautiful cream and, despite the lack of furniture, I've never felt more at home anywhere in my life. I'd settled the deal over the phone before driving the fifteen-hundred miles to get here with my entire life packed into my little blue bug. Meaning, the only furniture I have is a beanbag and two foldable chairs. But, the landlord assured me that there's a bed and dresser in the bedroom.

"But... I should probably just make sure," I decide, making my way toward the stairs.

As I reach the top of the staircase, I pause for a moment to admire the view through the windowpane. The evening sun casts a golden glow over the neighborhood, bathing everything in a warm embrace. The houses on either side seem to smile at me, welcoming me into their fold. It's almost as if they're saying, "You belong here."

Snapping out of it, I approach the first door on the right. Turning the knob, I step into a room bathed in soft sunlight. The air holds a hint of freshness, as if whispering stories of peaceful nights and restful dreams. The mattress looks plush and inviting, dressed in perfectly pressed linens. A patchwork quilt rests at its foot, a tapestry of colors that seem to hold memories of comforting warmth. Beside the bed stands a wooden dresser, as promised.

I launch myself onto the mattress, bouncing as I giggle like a schoolgirl.

"Home, sweet home."

At least, it will be after I unpack.

With a renewed sense of excitement, I leap off the bed and practically sprint back downstairs. The thought of unloading my belongings and making this house truly my own fills me with a surge of energy. Each step I take seems lighter than the last, as if the mere act of stepping foot into this house has lifted an invisible weight off my shoulders.

As I reach the ground floor, I find myself standing in the center of the living room, where sunlight streams through the windows, casting ethereal patterns onto the pristine floors. The space feels vast and open, ready to embrace all my hopes and dreams. It's a blank canvas just waiting to be filled with memories and laughter.

Outside, I start unpacking my car, singing the lyrics to some song I heard on the radio.

"I'm coming home, I'm coming home, tell the world I'm coming home..."