The first thing I see is Brett’s red BMW. Then I see Brett. He’s talking to one of the firefighters, but when he spots me, he jogs over.
“Blake, oh my God!”
Before I know what’s happening, he pulls me into a tight hug. A hug that’s as unwelcome as it’s uncomfortable. I squirm in his arms until he releases me, and then I take a big step back.
Talking to him is just about the last thing I want to be doing right now.
“Jesus Christ, B. How did this happen?”
“The fireplace, most likely.”
“Did you go to bed without putting it out?”
The obvious judgment in his voice makes me bristle. “I thought I did, but I guess I didn’t.”
His jaw hardens. “This is why you shouldn’t be living alone. You can’t take care of yourself.”
I blink at him, unsure I heard him right.
He stares back, as if he said something completely reasonable.
“What is that supposed to mean?” I demand, not caring the least bit that my voice is raised and some of the firefighters might overhear. “I took care of myself and my mom just fine for years, Brett.”
He raises his palms. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just saying that staying alone in that house was always a bad idea. Maybe this is for the best.”
Anger coils around my lungs. “Are you saying it’s a good thing my house caught on fire?”
“I’m saying it could be a sign.” He points at the sky. “Maybe someone up there doesn’t want us apart.”
Did he really just say God wants us back together? How delusional can he be?
And how the hell did I date this guy for three years? I must have had a brain-altering parasite.
“You think God burned down my house so that I would come running back to you?”
He nods. “Something like that. Let me help you.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“Look, I don’t know why you’re isolating yourself and pushing me away. Everyone knows we’re going through a rough patch, but we’ll get back together.”
My throat thickens with fury. “Brett, this is not a rough patch.”
He frowns. “You’re acting like a child, B. Enough already. Come stay with me.”
There’s no chance in hell I’m doing that.
Quickly, I run through my options. There’s that old manor that got turned into an upscale hotel—a hundred dollars might get me a broom closet for the night.
There’s also the Birchwood Motel, popular among the biker crowd and known for its seedy reputation. I could probably afford to stay there for a few weeks, but word of my whereabouts would likely get to Uncle Lyle. Last thing I need is my dad’s old buddy coming around to offer his “help.”
There are other hotels, but they’re farther from here, and I want to stay close to keep an eye on the house.
There’s nothing closer than Rowan’s place. I should at least consider his offer. A few weeks of pretending to be his girlfriend in exchange for staying next door to my house? How bad could it be?
I grimace. Bad. Very bad.
It’s hard to reconcile the guy who volunteered to drive me home in a blizzard and carried me out of a burning building with the guy who kissed me with no warning and slept with another man’swife.
