Where would I even get plastic wrap and Vaseline on such short notice?
I slowly dragged my gaze to the window, feeling every deep punch of my heart against my chest.
There, shrouded in shadow, was a tall figure, hooded and glaring at me through the glass.
I screamed. Ripley barked.
Somewhere, there was muffled cursing.
Chapter 7
Levi
“For fuck’s sake—”I held up my arms as a feminine startled scream cut off.
Ripley barked as though she’d never seen me before in her life. Acting, quite frankly, much tougher than she had any right to. She was the reason I was in this predicament, to begin with. “It’s my house—I’m Levi Carmichael. That’s my dog!” I shouted through the window, but the woman showed no signs of hearing me over Ripley’s cacophony.
I had knocked. I had shouted through the door. I’d tried every other way to get her attention, to no avail. My dog was missing, and I was panicked.
Ripley, for all the lore of her prestigiousAliennamesake, was not equipped to be on her own, especially at night, in thedropping temperatures, and in a forest where even owls were potential predators. She resented when I left the house, and I hadn’t been able to take her on my errand into town today. She tended to pout by hiding in various places to prove a point. It was because I was so distracted by that strange interaction that it took me a minute to realize that Ripley wasn’t tucked into her bed when I got in the house.
I had noticed the tenant’s new car as I came up the drive, searching for the spiraling woman I met at the shop. She made no signs of life, and I thought it best to give her some space before I introduced myself officially.
It was meant to be a quick trip to help Betsy, but then everything went downhill from there.
I spent too long going through what I bought for the guest, debating if I should stop being such a weirdo and bring the stuff down there or leave it be because any interaction would go directly against the expectations I set and might imply a friendliness I didn’t want to encourage.
No. More. Talking.
Not that I had talked much earlier. It was clear that she just needed someone to talk at. Would she be embarrassed to find out it was me? Would she even remember being in such a state?
Also, how would I explain going to the house but notinthe house? When Pace graciously offered to change the guesthouse sheets, I accepted with only mild humiliation. I entertained leaving the food on the porch and dashing away like the well-adjusted adult man that I obviously was.
I might not necessarily want guests here, but I didn’t want them to starve or freeze to death on my watch either. I kept going to the window to peek through the blinds and see if anything was amiss. So that by the time I realized Ripley was gone, it was well after dark, and I felt like shit for being that distracted.
I raced over to the guesthouse. If I knew Ripley—and clearly, I did—she would try to worm her way in. I tried all the aforementioned attempts to get the attention of someone inside before finally spotting the glowing blue light of the renter’s computer and ventured to the side of the house. She was hunched over her keyboard, a blanket covering them both. Ripley noticed me first and wiggled her way out, barking and startling the guest.
This all led me to this moment—the potential trauma of my first, and hopefully only, tenant.
Not much of her was visible behind large, highly reflective glasses and the blanket. But the abject horror on her face was clear. Crystal clear.
And, of course, she was. Even I’d be startled to find a large, fumbling man knocking on my window in the middle of the night.
“Who are you?” she called after pushing her headphones down. I waited to speak in hopes that Ripley would quiet. The woman looked down with a stern expression at Ripley and said something when she finally ceased her barking.
“I’m Levi,” I repeated and held up a palm in what I hoped was a universal gesture ofI come in peace to get my dog despite looking like a creep. “Levi Carmichael. This is my house. And my dog,” Iadded, pointing at Ripley.
The woman, this C.L. Wells, looked at Ripley and mumbled something I couldn’t make out. Ripley blinked back at her and shivered. They both turned back to me.
“Prove it,” she said.
My jaw dropped. My hackles rose. Not an auspicious start to demand respect and set up clear boundaries. If this?—
“Listen. Before you get upset.” I stilled. She said, “I can see you’re already getting your boxers in a bunch. If you really own this place, then it should be no big deal to prove it. You could understand how a lone woman may not be so quick to trust the large, hairy man standing outside her window. Guard dog aside.”Hairy man?Was that what Ruth’s comments referred to? “I’m not about to risk my literal neck for the sake of being polite.” She leaned back, crossed her arms, and pursed her lips to the side.
My own mouth snapped shut. She was right. I scratched my hair under my beanie. Ruth and Pace commented about needing to tidy up for the tenant. My shaggy brown hair was almost to my shoulders now and stuck out all around my hat. My beard was a little past woodsman and venturing into vagabond. I wore Ripley’s HuggieHoodie, which normally provided nonthreatening vibes, but she probably couldn’t see that with the low lighting and glass.
“Okay. Fair enough,” I said and tugged out my wallet.
