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His dark eyes held mine. “I promise you; this isn’t about them.”
I blinked because his usually carefree and playful demeanor had been replaced by an intensity that wasn’t exactly scary, but surprising. And potent.
I swallowed, grabbed the brownies and put them on the conveyor belt.
“Seriously. Have dinner. I make a really great pasta dish and I want to share it with you.”
I turned my head and studied him. He wasn’t fooling around, and he seemed earnest.
Before I could answer, my cell rang. I pulled it from my purse, saw the name on the screen. “Hi, Mr. VanMeyer,” I responded in my usually bright voice when talking to the older man. He probably didn’t want me to forget the brownies.
I turned back to my cart to grab a carton of orange juice.
“There’s been a little accident with the tree,” he said in my ear.
I froze, stared at the magazine display without seeing any of the covers. “Oh my God, are you alright?”
“Yes. But your house isn’t.”
“What? What do you mean my house isn’t okay?”
The next thing I knew, Dex was standing beside me, really, really close and he had his hand on my hip. I had to tip my chin up to meet his gaze. His concerned gaze.
“You’ll see when you get here,” Mr. VanMeyer said vaguely. “You’ll have to park down the block since the fire truck’s in the way. Don’t forget the brownies!”
Before I could question him further, he hung up.
I stared at my phone hoping it would give me answers.
“What’s going on?” Dex asked. His voice was gentle, the playfulness gone.
“My neighbor was chopping a tree down before I left and now he’s saying my house isn’t okay. That a fire truck’s out front. Did he set the tree and then my house on fire?”
His fingers squeezed gently, then slid to the small of my back to usher me through the checkout, abandoning our carts. “Come on. I’ll get you home.”
5
DEX
* * *
There was a tree in Lindy’s house like her place was the film set for Jumanji.
I stood beside her on the sidewalk and stared because I couldn’t believe it any more than she could.
Her next door neighbor sat on his back deck with a chainsaw at his feet. He must not be the sharpest tack in the box because… fuck.
He’d cut the huge tree at the base like he was a lumberjack in the woods. It had tipped over right onto her house. The main trunk fell into the side of it and huge branches pierced the roof and the exterior of the second story in four or five places. A window was smashed in. Drywall and insulation dangled in the open gashes.
The fire department was here because a tree limb had also taken out her gas line right at the meter. The power company had shut off electricity and got the gas capped so it was no longer leaking.
Lindy had been on the phone with her insurance company for the past ten minutes.
I didn’t leave her side, not sure what someone needed in a situation like this. No one was hurt, thankfully. The neighbor’s pride was dented–because he’d come over to apologize to her–but he wasn’t my problem right now.
Lindy was.
She ended the call and sighed. I didn’t know what that sound meant in this case. Sure, I knew when a woman was frustrated or angry or just plain tired, but a sigh when your house had been damaged by a tree? I studied her closely to make sure she wasn’t about to cry. I didn’t blame her if she did. I had experience with women, but not crying ones.
