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His jeans are faded, covered in paint and holes, and he’s wearing a white undershirt with a V-neck and black smudges on the side. He probably smells like armpit, but I don’t care.
“I’m sorry, I—uh,” I say, looking around the room and wishing with all my might that Marcus would hurry up and come inside to relieve me of looking like I’m guilty of breaking and entering. “Marcus let us in.”
“Cool. I saw him out back when I pulled up.”
“Oh. Okay. Cool.” God, did I just say that? The three most boring words in the English language? I am the worst conversationalist in the world. Hands down, it’s me. I’m even worse than that mute kid I went to school with who ended up not actually being a mute but faking it because he hated talking to people.
“So you like the place? It’s not done yet, but depending on when you’re looking to rent I could have it finished soon.”
“I love it,” I say. “I guess we’d like to move in as soon as possible. The inn is great but sharing a bed with a teenager isn’t.”
“I was thinking five hundred a month rent, is that acceptable?” Tyler’s face is totally serious, but I keep expecting him to laugh and say just kidding. Rent is two grand. But he doesn’t say any of that, and I’m forced to come up with a reply.
“Are you joking? That’s really cheap.”
He shakes his head. “Maybe for Houston, but not for Salt Gap. It’s the going rate.”
“Wow.” I give another look around the room. For five hundred dollars a month, it’d almost be worth it to commute to Houston from here.
Tyler wipes his hand on his jeans and holds it out to me. “Do we have a deal?”
“Don’t you need me to fill out an application, credit check or something?”
“Nah, I don’t need that. I trust a lady.”
How can a girl argue with that? I reach out and shake his hand. The very instant our hands touch, a jolt of energy hits my chest and radiates out through my entire body, ending in my fingertips.
Okay, maybe it’s not that powerful, but I do feel a surge of something flowing through my veins as I shake hands and secure my place to live for the immediate future. Maybe it’s anxiety, or fear, or adrenaline. Or maybe it’s just the feeling of fate.
Chapter 2
Marcus stays true to his promise to take us wherever we need to go and shuttles us back to the Inn where we grab our stuff, say goodbye to Sherry, and come back to the rental house. Our rental house. It feels really weird calling it that, since an hour ago I didn’t know it existed. After he helped Miranda carry in her backpack, which was unnecessary help if you ask me, Marcus offered to let us use his truck to buy some furniture, but it’s already mid-afternoon and I have no energy to go shopping.
The two of them hang out on the front porch for so long that I get bored of standing in the bare living room waiting for her to come back inside. It takes me five minutes of walking around the house with my phone outstretched until I find the best area for cell reception: the bay window in the dinette at the back of the house.
I order pizza delivery and get enough food for Marcus since I doubt he’ll leave any time soon. A knot forms in the pit of my stomach as I sit on the windowsill and stare at my brightly lit phone screen. Maggie needs to know what happened to Miranda.
I may not care to speak with my sister, but she needs to know that her kid is safe. I slide my thumb down the phone screen until it lands on Maggie’s number. This isn’t a call about me. I don’t have to say a single thing about how I’ve been or what I’m doing. Deep breaths don’t calm me, no matter how much I may want them to. Maggie will say something bitchy, there’s no doubt about it.
I make a preemptive eye roll and make the freaking call.
“Hi Robin,” Maggie answers, somehow making those two words sound condescending, like I’m back in junior high and she caught me padding my bra all over again.
“Hey,” I sigh. I am no longer in junior high, I remind myself. I’m also no longer her coworker and no longer a resident of the same town. So I can say whatever I want and then hang up the phone, reaping none of the consequences of my actions. Miranda’
s playful laugh filters in from outside. Something tells me she doesn’t laugh like that very often these days. I sit on the bay window that overlooks my new backyard, lean back and kick my feet up. “So what’s been up, Maggie?”
“Excuse me?”
“Just checking in,” I say. “I wanted to let you know that Miranda is safe and sound with me, just in case you were wondering.”
“She’s what?” Her shrill voice has me yank the phone away from my head so my eardrums won’t shatter. A moment later, Maggie’s voice is calm. “Why is she with you?”
“She showed up asking for help. I couldn’t say no.”
“Of course you could. She isn’t your problem. Send her away.”
My teeth grind together until I can’t hold in my thoughts anymore. “What kind of horrible person are you? You kicked your pregnant daughter out of the house at a time when she needed you the most. What the hell is wrong with you? How can you live with yourself?”
