She sighs. “Dad and Noah are coming home later, and the rest didn't pick up,” she takes a break from talking so fast. “So…”
I snort before I can stop myself and step past her. “You’ve got sauce on your face.”
Her hand flies up immediately. “Still?!”
I laugh quietly as I move around her, heading toward the kitchen and then I stop. The beach house I’m used to—normally spotless, calm—is gone. Completely gone. In its place is absolute chaos. Water is everywhere. The floor is soaked, towels are scattered across the floor. The kitchen island looks like a disaster zone; empty containers, open jars, and half-used ingredients spread across the surface like someone tried to cook three different meals at once.
The sink is leaking. Badly. A steady stream of water drips down the cabinet doors, collecting on the floor before slowly creeping outward.
I stand there for a second, taking it all in.
Sheactuallyflooded the house.
“How…did you even manage this?” I say, almost impressed.
“Do not,” she says immediately. “Do not ask.”
I laugh as I shrug off my jacket, draping it over a chair and crouch in front of the sink, reaching under the cabinet until my fingers find the valve. Water is still running somewhere inside the pipes. I twist the handle, but nothing happens. I try another pipe, shifting my shoulder deeper under the cabinet, and the stream of water splashes harder against the metal, ricocheting straight onto me. Cold water soaks through my white shirt almost instantly, the fabric clinging to my skin.
“I gotta ask,” I say, letting out a short, disbelieving laugh as I glance back at her, “how did you manage this?”
“I… genuinely have no idea,” she admits, and a small laugh escapes her too. “I tried to cook.”
“Yeah, I can tell youtried,” I say, shaking my head, pushing damp hair back before reaching under the sink again. Another splash hits my sleeve, then my shoulder, and at this point the shirt is beyond saving.
I keep fumbling with the pipes, searching for the right angle, the right pressure—anything that might finally stop the water.
After another second, I pause and look back at her. “Do you maybe have tape? Or anything useful, really.”
She nods quickly. “Yes—wait.”
She disappears for a moment and comes back holding duct tape and a small wrench. “Will this help?”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “Thanks.”
I turn back to the sink, tighten the loose joint as much as I can, wrap the tape carefully around the seam, and test the valve again. This time there is silence.
I let out a careful breath and lean back on my heels. “Okay,” I say. “I think that’s it.”
Her shoulders drop in visible relief. “Thank God. I was afraid the house would sink and become one with the ocean.”
I laugh as I push myself to my feet, the wet fabric of my shirt cool against my skin. And when I look up, she’s staring, but not at my face.
Lower.
Her eyes are settled on my chest.
For a second she doesn’t even seem to realize she’s doing it, her gaze lingering too long before her eyes snap upward, cheeks flushing pink as she quickly looks away.
A slow smirk pulls at the corner of my mouth.
“Well,” she says quickly, words tripping over each other as she awkwardly leans back against the counter, “thank you. I’ll clean the rest up. You don’t have to—uh—stay.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” I say, standing.
She frowns. “What?”
I shrug, already grabbing a towel. “Come on, let's tackle this mess you made.”
