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Seven
Nova
The damned manhas stolen my dog again.
Just plucked Steve out of my hold like my little pupper wouldn’t try to bite him again, then had looked nonplussed when Steve had made the attempt.
Tucking my dog under one strong arm.
Walking away.
Walking into the house I am supposed to stay at for the foreseeable future.
With a man who clearly despises me.
And I can’t even leave.
Because apparently, it’s fucking Snowmageddon.
This is the point where I really wish my powers of letting things slide off my back hadn’t been damaged, maybe permanently.
No problem that this man hates me for no reason.
No problem that my best friend arranged for me to stay in his house.
No problem that he’s stolen my dog and my car slid off the road and…
I drop my chin to my chest, suck in a breath, then get out of his SUV, straightening my shoulders, marching into the house.
There’s a storm outside. My car is stuck in a snowbank.
There’s nothing I can do about either of those things.
At least I’m warm and safe—so long as Ella hasn’t arranged for me to be temporarily staying with an ax murderer.
I take the two stairs that lead up into the house, turn the handle, and push inside, warmth immediately surrounding me like a cozy blanket. I exhale, something settling in my belly after the unnerving drive up into these mountains, just because I’m safe and warm and have a roof over my head.
Knowing that I’m not going to walk into the other room and find Ashley and George—
“Woof!”
I blink, shake the image that’s burned into the backs of my eyelids out of my head, and move toward the sound, hustling through the narrow mudroom with deep green cabinets built into the walls. Hooks and drawers and shelves and solid front doors are pretty much a blur as I hurry into the other room.
If he’s hurting my baby…
The kitchen has me halting for a heartbeat—it’s huge with rich people appliances, as my friend Ella and I always joke—the fridge and dishwasher hidden behind wooden cabinet fronts. It’s the type of space where I have to search to find the trash can because it’s not white plastic—or, if you arereallyfancy—a stainless steel can shoved into the corner.
He even has one of those microwaves that’s mounted into the bottom cabinets like a drawer instead of sitting on the counter, andalsoshoved into a corner, usually surrounded by half-eaten bags of chips and dog treats.
Or maybe that’s just my life.
Because everything in this space is…pristine.
Expensive.
Way too fancy for me.
I reach for the stone countertop, run my fingers across the surface. It’s sleek, clean, a crisp white that contrasts with the navy-blue cabinets. But then Steve barks again and I’m startled out of my stupor, tearing my eyes away from the large swathe of shining stone and hurrying out from the massive room.
