The first thing Julie learned about Rosefield was that the men here held doors, smiled too easily, and fell in love like fools.
Perfect.
The red convertible hummed into the town like a slow, sinful promise. Her lips, glossed and dangerous, curled as she lowered her sunglasses and took in the scenery—a diner with a plastic pie sign, a dog grooming salon with "Pawfection" painted in pink, and a town square that looked like it hadn't been touched since 1974.
"Great," she muttered. "Just enough peace and boredom for me to self-destruct politely."
The summer heat pressed against her honeyed skin as she parked in front of the two-bedroom rental she'd booked online. White picket fence, wrap-around porch, flower boxes hanging like hopeful dreams. It was adorable in a suffocating, marry-me-and-have-twins kind of way.
Julie, of course, was the opposite of adorable.
She stepped out of the car like she was gliding onto a runway—curves in all the right places, legs long and deliberate, a floral sundress clinging to her hourglass figure like it had signed a contract with her body. And that face—soft, innocent, and entirely misleading. Her baby cheeks, big brown eyes, and pouty lips screamed angel.
But make no mistake. Julie West was a sinner wrapped in satin.
As she grabbed her suitcase, she noticed a set of blinds twitch across the street. Then a second. A third. Old women peering from windows like they were watching a Netflix special unfold in real time.
"Oh yeah," Julie smirked. "They're definitely clutching pearls right now."
---
Inside the House
The house was too quiet, too wholesome. Framed inspirational quotes hung crookedly on the living room walls. She'd barely dropped her bags before she stripped off her heels and replaced them with fuzzy pink slippers.
The first thing she unpacked? Her wine glass.
The second? Her lace lingerie.
Julie had priorities.
She danced through the living room to an old Doja Cat track, twirling with a wine bottle in one hand and flipping her curls in the other. She'd only been in Rosefield fifteen minutes and already missed the sound of traffic, bad decisions, and rich men lying to her face.
But she needed the break.
She'd come here to forget the city, the heartbreak, and the man who taught her how dangerous it was to believe in love.
So now?
Now she played.
The next morning, Julie was out front, watering her lawn with an iced coffee in hand, wearing a silk robe that swished against her thighs every time she moved. The robe—barely holding on—was daring in the way all her outfits were. A whisper of lace peeked through underneath. Her golden skin glowed under the sun, and her curls tumbled freely down her shoulders.
That's when she saw him.
Tall. Tan. Toolbelt on his waist. A hammer in one hand and a clipboard in the other.
And absolutely, unfairly, good-looking.
He had soft curls pushed back under a cap, forearms that could break hearts, and a jawline that looked like it had been sculpted in a Greek tragedy. He moved like someone who had no idea how hot he was, and that made it worse.
Julie paused, smiled, and tilted her head.
He was inspecting the fence between their homes when she walked up with a teasing sway.
"You know, you should really warn a girl before doing that."
Elias turned, surprised. "Doing what?"
"Looking like sin before noon."
He blinked. Flushed. Stammered. "Oh—I—I was just fixing the post. It's leaning."
Julie took a slow sip of her coffee. "A man with a hammer and manners? You must be some kind of unicorn."
He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Name's Elias. I live next door."
"Julie." She offered her hand, and he took it—strong grip, but gentle. "Just moved in yesterday."
"Well, welcome to Rosefield. Need help settling in?"
Julie gave him a look. "Unless you know how to unpack broken dreams and trust issues, I think I've got it covered."
He smiled—shy but curious. "I fix fences, not hearts."
She stepped closer, just enough to make him shift. "Good. Mine's not available for renovation."
---
Later That Night
Julie sat on the porch steps, legs curled beneath her as the crickets sang. The sky was a swirl of oranges and soft violets, the kind of sunset that made people believe in peace. She, however, was focused on deleting photos.
One tap at a time.
Him holding her waist.
Gone.
Him kissing her forehead like she was fragile.
Gone.
That video of them dancing at 2 a.m. in the kitchen, wine-drunk and barefoot.
Deleted.
When the last one vanished, she whispered, "Love was the mistake. Men are just the therapy."
A soft buzz at her gate pulled her from the moment.
It was Elias.
Holding a box.
"Hey," he said, voice lower than before. "Brought over some lemon pie. My sister baked too much."
Julie arched a brow. "You sure it's not poisoned? Rosefield seems like the type of place to kill its sirens."
He laughed. "I'd never hurt a siren."
She walked over slowly, robe once again betraying her modesty, and accepted the pie. "Thanks, Neighbor. What's your catch?"
"No catch." He looked down at her, studying her closely. "You're… different."
"Oh honey," she cooed. "You have no idea."
There was a pause.
A heat.
Julie didn't break eye contact. Neither did he.
Then—she smiled sweetly and shut the gate.
"Goodnight, Elias."
---
Back Inside
She leaned against the door and let out a slow breath.
Damn.
She'd come to this town expecting easy marks and harmless flings.
But Elias?
Elias wasn't harmless.
He might just be the first problem worth having.
Julie's mornings didn't usually start with church bells.
But then again, she wasn't in the city anymore.
She blinked into the sunlight pouring through gauzy curtains and let out a long, unapologetic groan. Her silk robe had tangled around her waist during the night, and one leg was kicked out from under the sheets like it had a mind of its own.
She stretched like a cat—slow, seductive, and completely alone.
Unfortunately.
Her phone buzzed.
Missed call: MOM 🙄
Text from: Tasha
> "How's small town Barbie life? Got anyone crying over you yet?"
Julie grinned.
> "Give me until lunch."
Downstairs, she tossed on matching activewear—tight, black leggings and a sports bra that offered absolutely no support but maximum attention. Her curves did their own marketing, and today, she was in the mood to cause problems on purpose.
She pulled her curls into a high puff, added a little gloss, and tied a hoodie around her waist. When she stepped outside, a jogger across the street slowed down, did a double take, and almost hit a mailbox.
Julie winked.
Still got it.
At the Gym:
"Is it just me, or is the air thicker in here?" Julie said aloud as she stepped into Iron Fuel, the town's only gym, instantly drawing eyes.
Her hips swayed as she strolled to the front desk where a bored teenage girl in glasses barely looked up.
"New member?" she asked.
Julie leaned on the counter. "Just visiting. I need somewhere to break a sweat… and maybe a few hearts."
The girl blinked slowly. "Cool. That's $10 for a day pass."
Paid. Wristband on. Chaos mode activated.
Julie headed straight for the mirrored wall, grabbed a pair of five-pound dumbbells—not because she needed them, but because the squat rack next to her was currently home to one of the most unfairly built men she'd ever seen.
And she'd seen a lot.
Shirtless. Glowing. Every muscle defined like he came from a Marvel origin story. He wore grey sweats slung low on his hips, headphones in, and a towel over his neck. His arms bulged with every curl.
Julie tilted her head, watching him in the mirror like he was art.
He caught her staring.
Took out one earbud.
"Need something?" he asked, voice low and teasing.
"Yeah," she said, setting her weights down dramatically. "A warning before people like you walk around looking like sex."
Tariq smirked. "And you think you're innocent?"
"I look innocent," she said, stepping closer. "That's the trick."
He scanned her—slowly, like he was trying to memorize every dip and curve.
"You new in town?"
"I'm Julie."
"I'm trouble."
"Oh honey," she purred. "You're late."
---
They flirted between sets.
She stretched slowly.
He kept adjusting his waistband.
They both knew what they were doing.
"You're staring," he said.
"You're sweating," she replied.
"Wanna go for coffee after this?"
Julie paused, lips parted, then smiled. "Are you flirting with me?"
"I'm trying to keep up."
"I don't do dates."
"I didn't say it was a date."
She narrowed her eyes. "Then what is it?"
He leaned in. "An invitation… to test your stamina."
Julie licked her lips. "I'm not easily impressed."
Tariq wiped his brow. "Good. I like a challenge."
She left the gym with his number, but not before giving him a parting line:
> "Don't fall too hard. I don't do rescue missions."
Tariq laughed, standing at the door shirtless, watching her walk away.
"Wasn't planning to," he called out.
But he was already smiling like someone who'd just met his favorite problem.
Back Home – Later That Day
Julie tossed her gym bag on the floor and turned on the shower. Steam filled the room, and as she stripped down, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.
Beautiful.
Untouched.
Unbothered.
Until she noticed it—on her nightstand.
A slice of lemon pie.
A note.
"In case you skipped breakfast. —E"
Julie stared at the note for a long time.
Her smirk faltered.
Just a little.
"Sweet men are dangerous," she whispered.
Then she took a bite.
And moaned.
Later that night, she lay on her couch in satin shorts and a tank top, texting Tasha.
> Tasha: "Girl. Tell me you found a snack already." Julie: "Found the whole grocery store. A hot handyman and a sweaty demigod." Tasha: "Oooh. Who's the frontrunner?" Julie: "Neither. I'm just here to break things."
But even as she typed the words, her eyes drifted to the pie box again.
That damn pie.
That damn Elias.
He wasn't flirting.
He wasn't chasing.
And somehow… that made him the most dangerous one of all.