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“Anytime, dearie,” she said, rocking Clara as the kids walked over to the coffee table, where they started to unpack their activities in unhappy silence.
“I will just be an hour,” I told them, walking over to rub Isaac’s head and squeeze Hazel’s shoulder.
With that, swallowing back my guilt, I went to my apartment to put Rodney in his carrier before I made my way out of the building, thanking my lucky stars that the super was busy talking to an irate tenant, and rushed into my car.
Seth lived toward the end of a winding neighborhood on a decently-sized lot that needed a little love.
The front bushes were overgrown and scraggly. There wasn’t a single flower in sight. He’d probably been too busy building his business to put that much attention on his home.
His house itself was a two-story, brick Georgian with black shutters and a matching front door with a brass knocker in the center.
Beautiful, but also homey. Sometimes, when houses got bigger, they kind of felt cold. There was none of that with his place.
I parked my car behind his bike in the driveway, and made my way up to the door.
Did I fluff my hair, run my tongue across my teeth to make sure there was no smudged gloss, and smooth my dress?
Yes, yes, I did.
But I tried to pretend it was so I looked presentable enough to rent a home from the man who clearly was rolling in it to not only have this house, but that big business property as well.
It would be a hard enough sell, I knew, when I had three kids and a dog.
I picked the dog carrier back up, putting it over my arm, then knocked.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
“Shit,” I heard a voice say from far away. “I’m coming,” he called, sounding flustered.
The door ripped open, revealing Seth, but a much less put-together version.
He was in jeans and a white tee, but it was wet right in the center of the chest.
“Sorry, I’ve got a… situation,” he said, turning to look back past the center staircase. “Come in,” he added before turning and running.
I didn’t hesitate, too curious about the man’s home.
The foyer was mostly empty, save for a bike helmet set on a table near the door.
To the left of the door was a living room with a dark gray sectional, a huge TV, and an oversized ottoman to put your feet up on. The walls were painted a lighter gray, and the floors were beautiful dark hardwood that spread out into the foyer, then across the hall into the dining room.
There was a long wooden table with seats for six, an empty sideboard, and a big rug under the table in a subtle neutral pattern.
I walked forward past the stairs, following the path Seth had walked, nothing wet footprints on the floor as I went.
The back of the house opened to a long kitchen with all white cabinets, marble counters, and a sink that was currently spraying water everywhere.
“Oh,” I said, stepping out of the way of the spray as Seth made his way under the sink cabinet.
Then, a moment later, the water stopped, and the man let out a deep sigh.
“Nothing like water spraying everywhere when you’re trying to make a pot of coffee,” he said as he emerged from the cabinets then stood, actually dripping water everywhere. “Fuck,” he said, seeing the puddle he was making, then reaching to yank off the soaked shirt.
I didn’t know what was wrong with the sink, but clearly there was something up with the ventilation of this house too, because all the air suddenly got sucked out of the room.
I’d like to claim that I didn’t look. Or that when I looked, because I was a human being, after all, that I was unaffected.
Both would be lies.
Because while I’d known that the man seemed reasonably in shape, I had no idea just how many muscles he was hiding under those casual tees of his.
Was that a six or eight-pack?
And what was that tattoo I saw creeping across from his back?
“Just give me two minutes,” Seth said, seemingly oblivious to my inspection of him as he turned and made his way toward the front of the house.
The stairs creaked as he made his way up, likely to get into something dry, and I took a slow, deep breath, trying to focus, to push all thoughts away of him flipping up my skirt and taking me from behind over his gorgeous freaking island.
“Okay,” I said, talking to myself and maybe to Rodney as I carefully set him down next to the back door.
Thankfully, his old, lazy butt didn’t mind being carried around from time to time, so he was just relaxing, thinking about a nap, as I opened a door I figured led into a closet, and was proved right as I found a collection of cleaning supplies gathered inside. Including the mop and bucket I was looking for.
