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“Flood.”
He slanted her a sardonic look. “No shit, Sherlock.”
Olivia stopped mopping and leaned her weight against the mop handle. “Washing machine flood,” she clarified. “The washer wasn’t on, but I called my landlord and he said floods can happen even if it isn’t running. Something about a burst water supply line.”
“Is he on his way?”
“He said it’s too late and he’ll come in the morning.”
Annoyance blasted through Sammy’s system. “What the hell? What are you supposed to do until then? Where are you going to sleep?”
Olivia lifted one shoulder. “I’ll clean up as much of the mess as possible and rent a hotel room for the night.” Her lower lip disappeared between her teeth, and pale pink stained her cheeks. “Like I said earlier, I called you because I panicked and wasn’t thinking clearly, but I got it under control, so you can enjoy the rest of your night. Sorry for making you come all the way out here.”
“It’s almost eleven p.m. Not a lot of ‘night’ left to enjoy,” Sammy said dryly.
The pale pink darkened into a dusky rose. “I said I was sorry.” Olivia patted her hair, keeping her gaze averted from his. “Thank you for coming. I’ll reimburse your gas or cab fare, but you don’t need to stay. I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Half your stuff is ruined, you look like you’re about to collapse from exhaustion, and do you even know where the closest hotel is? Or whether they have any rooms available?”
“That’s what Google is for.”
Irritation curled through Sammy’s stomach. Seriously? He’d gone out of his way to help her—aftershecalledhim—just to get snipped at and told his help wasn’t needed?
Screw that.
He should’ve never come. Hell, he should’ve blocked her number and erased her from his life a long time ago, mutual friends be damned.
“Fine. Don’t bother with the gas money—I’ll consider that my charity donation for the month.” Sammy’s jaw clenched. “Good luck with this mess, not that you’ll need it. After all, you always figure your shit out. You’re perfect.”
He turned and stalked toward the door, silently cursing himself for his stupidity. He already had one foot in the hallway when he heard a soft sniffle.
Sammy froze and clenched his jaw harder.
Don’t do it, man. Just don’t.
He did.
He looked over his shoulder and saw Olivia had resumed mopping. She wasn’t crying, but her eyes shone suspiciously bright.
She really did look exhausted. Her movements were sluggish, and her eyes drooped as she pushed the mop across the same spot for what must have been the dozenth time. It was close to midnight; knowing her, she’d been up and going nonstop since five or six in the morning.
Sammy also knew with dead certainty that Olivia would’ve never called him or anyone else if she didn’t need help. She was the one people ran to when they had problems, not the other way around. It must’ve stung her pride that she’d had to reach out to someone else for support—and that her only option had been Sammy, hence why she’d pushed him away when he’d showed up. She didn’t like appearing weak.
Their relationship had died a long time ago, but he still knew her like the back of his hand.
God. Damn. It.
His anger fizzled as fast as it came. Sammy exhaled a sharp breath and raked a hand through his hair, already hating himself for what he was about to do.
“Leave it,” he said roughly. “The place is as dry as it’s gonna get, and there’s not much else you can do till the morning.”
“It could use another go-over with the mop.” Olivia wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Go.I got it.”
“Liv, I swear to God.” Sammy flinched the instant the words left his mouth. He hadn’t used her nickname in years, but it fell out as easily as if they were still together. It tasted bittersweet, like memories of a bygone era.
