Page 16 of When She Needs Them Most
Lincoln and I make quick work of carrying in the heavy stuff. We get most of the smaller boxes stacked in the formal dining room, but we need tools to start assembling everything.
A quick text to Kase handles that. He brings over the small toolbox while Chelsea showers.
“The bedrooms upstairs need some work,” Linc says, jogging down the stairs. “How did we miss so many things?”
“We weren’t expecting a single woman to rent it, and it’s technically Mrs. Wilson’s responsibility to handle any necessary repairs.” I frown, shaking my head. “I’m sure sitting vacant for six months didn’t help, either.”
It’s a lot of house for a single individual with a baby. It’s two stories, with three bedrooms and a decent-sized yard. The upkeep will be much more than she experienced in an apartment. It doesn’t sit well with me, but there’s very little I can do at the moment.
“Let’s get started assembling her bed and the crib.” My head swivels, glancing around at all the items. I don’t recall seeing a crib box, nor do I see the pieces of a disassembled crib. “She does have a crib, right?”
“She could’ve been waiting to move, so she didn’t have to carry it from one place to another,” Linc says, shrugging.
“We should have had this place professionally cleaned prior to her coming.”
“You’re losing your shit.” Linc chuckles, looking smug. “Mrs. Wilson had it cleaned after it was emptied. These old places always seem kind of dingy and dirty, but it is technically clean.” He frowns, scratching his beard. “Or it was before sitting for those few months. Whatever happened to the contractor who renovated our house?”
“I’m not sure, but I do wonder if it’s safe to perform construction while Chelsea is expecting.” My gaze darts around, taking inventory of the issues that might be safety concerns.
“That, I have no idea about, but if we don’t get to work, then she’s going to show up and feel obligated to help,” Linc points out.
He’s right.
I give a nod, grab the toolbox, and aim for Chelsea’s room.
Lincoln and I are able to assemble the bed, place her dressers in the room, and tote all the boxes labeledclothingto her closet before Chelsea comes over with Kase at her side. His brown hair is a bit messy, like he spent all morning and half the night running his hands through it.
“Wow, you two are way more efficient than the team of three guys from the moving company,” Chelsea says, walking around the edge of the bed.
Those assholes were inept and likely milking every additional minute they could for billing purposes.
“We can move it if you don’t like where we put it,” Linc offers. “We can also make the bed, if you happen to know which box your sheets are in. I deflated the air mattress and shoved it in the hall closet, but I’m pretty sure it has a hole in it somewhere, so you might want to toss it. I plan to hook up your washer and dryer next.”
“Okay, thank you. I can manage making the bed, but would someone help put the dining room table together before you go?” she asks, glancing between us.
“I’m excellent with a screwdriver. Lead the way,” Lincoln says, slinging an arm around her shoulder.
Kase leans against the wall near the attached bathroom. He’s quiet until they’re out the door. Their voices follow them down the hall as I grab a box labeledcurtains. There’s a set of ancient blinds covering the windows, but they’ve seen better days. There are no curtain rods. I’m guessing Mrs. Wilson had those disposed of because they were also ancient.
“We’re going to need to make a trip to the hardware store. Probably a home goods store too,” I say absently.
“I did a little research last night.” Kase shrugs. “On top of some light guest watching.”
I snort. “You mean stalking.”
He takes the few steps separating us. “I was just checking that she was okay. Sky was on her rounds. She blamed the noises on the dog.”
Discouraging his behavior would only cause his obsession to grow. “Be careful. There’s a line betweenhelpful neighborandcreep who won’t mind his own business.”
“Do you want to hear what I learned or not?”
“Of course, but keep your voice down,” I say, glancing toward the open doorway.
“Chelsea’s ex-boyfriend died of complications from a brain tumor a little over five months ago. His name was Clark. He had some mid-level success with tech and computers. They hadn’t been together long, based on my calculations. The majority of the information came from court records. He left most of what he had to Chelsea.” Kase finally takes a break, and the look he shoots my way says there’s more.
God, assuming Clark is her daughter’s father…that woman has been through hell, on top of whatever else Kase is about to tell me.
“Get on with it, then.” I plant my hands on my hips to prevent myself from adjusting my sleeves. It’s a tell I don’t wish to provide.
