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I need to check in with Reagan and see how the market went, though I realize it could still be going on. I have no idea what time it is.
My hair is still damp from the shower, but that means nothing when it comes to measuring time. This thick mane can take hours to dry.
I grab my phone and plod downstairs, taking each step carefully because at any second, I know the sickness could make me stumble. I’m almost to the bottom when I slide open my phone, open my contacts, and find my last message to Reagan.
Looks like I missed a text from her when I was sleeping.
Reagan
Loverboy was just here looking for you.
I’m not a fan of older dudes, but the firefighter is hot.
Just sayin’.
I would roll my eyes if they hadn’t snagged on the first part of her message.
Owen came looking for me?
Why?
I step off the stairs and make the turn toward the kitchen when I hear something or someone in the next room. I freeze.
My parents would’ve told me if they’d come back early.
Maybe a chipmunk got in—it wouldn’t be the first time.
I’m about to take another step when I hear the undeniable sound of a metal kitchen utensil in a metal pot. Frozen, I draw in a breath.
Is someone. . .cooking?
I think back on every scary movie I’ve ever seen and know that my first mistake was leaving the door unlocked. My second mistake is one I haven’t made yet but am about to—walking straight toward the sound of an intruder.
Who cooks.
This is how I die. Death by spatula.
At least I’m showered and wearing clean underwear.
I take a step, and the floor underneath my foot lets out an angry, traitorous creak. The sounds in the kitchen come to a halt.
I’m about to dial 9-1-1 when I hear footsteps.
“Hello?” My voice is weak, from either fear or exhaustion.
And then I see a shadow moving toward the door. “Emmy? You up?”
The familiar voice doesn’t unfreeze me. Instead, every single nerve ending in my body goes on high alert.
It’s Owen.
It’s Owen, and I didn’t dream it, he’s not shirtless in some bamboo forest, he’s in my house.
Wait. Is he shirtless?
Stop it, Emmy.
My hair is loose and wet in spots and unkempt, plus I spent the morning throwing up, so I’m likely two shades paler than Casper. No makeup. No bra. Bunny slippers. Pajamas.
