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I instantly rose to my feet, my pulse racing. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
I wasn’t sure why, but I was already grabbing my keys.
“It’s been an awful day. God, this house is trying to kill me.”
I exhaled a little. She wasn’t hurt.
“There are bees in the attic.”
“Bees?” My eyes widened. “Like, actual live bees? Why the hell were you up in the attic?”
“I couldn’t remember what was up there,” she explained, sounding embarrassed. “And then I tried to use the stove and?—”
“You haven’t used the stove?” This story was getting more complex with every word.
“Um, no,” she said. “I don’t really like to cook, and when I do…” Her voice drifted off.
The corner of my mouth curved upward. “What’s wrong with the stove?”
“I don’t know. It won’t light. I’ve tried and tried, but all it does is make that stupid clicking noise.”
Shit.
“How long?” I asked, the humor I’d felt from her words dying instantly.
“What?” She sounded confused.
“How long have you been trying to light that pilot, Marin?”
“Um—”
I headed for the door. “Get out of the house,” I ordered. “Get out of the house and don’t go back in until I get there.”
“But—”
“Do it, Marin.”
And then I hung up and headed back to the one place I shouldn’t—again.
* * *
When I arrived just a few minutes later, I found her standing outside her door, waiting for me.
Thankfully, that stubborn streak of hers seemed to be lying dormant today.
“You know, I don’t appreciate being yelled at over the phone,” she said with an exasperated huff the second I stepped out of my truck.
Never mind.
“Do you appreciate your house not blowing up?” I asked.
Her eyes widened. “What?”
I didn’t bother answering her. If there was a leak, I didn’t want to waste any time. So, I just headed toward the front door.
“You know, I do know what gas smells like,” she said confidently as she trailed behind me.
Why is the woman always doing the opposite of what I want her to?
