She actually said she wanted to borrow myhammer.
My dick twitches, and I adjust my trousers and focus on finishing up the storm prep now that I’ve patched up the roof.
So much for Chloe’s hope that the storm would change course and leave us all in peace.That red smudge on the radar map is still making a beeline for Inner Shores.
A sigh leaves my lips as I trail my gaze over the house.
Apart from fixing the roof, I’ve spent the last couple of days making sure Mom and Dad’s retirement plan doesn’t turn into a tragedy.There’s still a chance the storm could escalate, and I want this house ready if that happens.
Has Chloe even considered that possibility?I’ve caught glimpses of her dad hanging around her place, so I’ve been keeping my distance.
She’s not my problem.
The sentiment doesn’t stick like it should.Probably because the longer I’m here, the more it feels like she has become my problem, whether I like it or not.
Not that it matters.
I’m leaving, she’s staying.Simple as that.
The last thing I want is for her to resent me for being… me.
Then, when I eventually come back to visit my parents, it’ll be awkward.She’ll permanently ban me from Mugs, and since nowhere else on this island has decent coffee, I’ll turn into even more of an asshole and?—
No.Just no.
I have a job to do, and that’s it.
Lose focus, and things start to go sideways.
My gaze slides over to Chloe’s house.
But sometimes, when you ignore shit, things can get a whole lot worse.
Like those gutters on her house that are full of leaves, the missing shingles on the roof, those damn wires…
My fingers slide into my hair, pressing against my skull.What about flooding—has she secured against that?
The pressure in my chest feels like it’s about to explode.
I turn away and head down the slope of sand leading to the beach, angling my face from the wind to keep it from being whipped by mini sandstorms.The combination of pale sand and an overcast sky is like staring into a fluorescent lightbulb.I cup a hand over my eyes, scanning Mom and Dad’s downstairs level.Everything looks good.The sandbags I lined up along the dune should hold if the sandy banks give way.
The same can’t be said for Chloe’s place.
No sandbags.No shutters.Just dead branches and stuff strewn around that’ll become flying missiles in the wind.
If they do, they’ll definitely become my problem.
There’s really only one thing to do.No point pretending I don’t know how to fix this.
I climb back up to the road and grab some more sandbags from my truck.
By the time I’ve got the back of Chloe’s house looking more prepared, my forehead is dripping with sweat, and I’m hungrier than a bear on the first day of spring.As long as Chloe’s roof holds up, her shack should live to see another day.I also moved a few things out of the wind, but decided not to touch her favorite surfboard.
What the hell did she call the shack again?Sherry?Shelby?Dorothy?
That girl’s on another planet.
I head back inside and grab a quick snack before changing into a fresh T-shirt.My arms feel like lead balloons, and my eyes are burning.My Mandela autobiography is still sitting on the kitchen counter with a bookmark poking out of the first chapter.
