I return to the computer to check my email while they throw tantrums.
Trig shoots his crumpled paper sack into the trash can with a swoosh, then rests his arms on the counter beside me. “Soooo, are you going to finally tell us how the rest of the weekend went, or do we have to piss you off enough that you’ll reveal things in spurts of rage?”
“We just want to know how this afternoon should go! We want to help!” Wind hollers across the space.
It’s been five days since Sarah and the kids went home. She texted me on Monday evening to tell me the water was running and the basement was still dry. I haven’t heard anything since.
I’ve been working late and spending extra time at the gym, realizing I no longer want to go home to a quiet house. It’s been a great attemptto ignore all the feelings associated with that, or the fact that I could do something about it.
I’ve held my phone at least a dozen times, thinking about texting Sarah to see if Ollie and Grover wanted to play fetch or to offer to order pizza. Each time, I couldn’t do it. Memories of wanting what would never be mine drowned the urge to send the message.
Instead, I set up interviews, inventoried the parts room, and worked out until my muscles vibrated with fatigue.
“It was fine.” If these jokers think I’ll provide a play-by-play, they’ve got another thing coming.
Carson scoffs. “Fine, my ass. A beautiful woman and two amazing kids stayed in your house, and all you have to say is that it was fine.”
I click on an email and hit reply to inform another interviewee that I’ve hired someone. “Yep.” I start typing.
Trig sniffs. “We’ve been patient. Now, you’re going to make us do this the hard way?”
I stop typing, lifting my eyes to his. “We aren’t doing this any way. You all need to mind your own damn business. She stayed with us since she didn’t have water. That’s it.”
Trig twists, leaning his hip against the counter and facing the other guys, his arms crossing over his chest.
I click send and log off, deciding to finish in my office.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Carson asks.
“My office. I’ve got work to do. You’d be smart to get back to it.” I almost clear the hallway when—
“You’re scared shitless. Just admit it.” It’s that tone that makes me want to punch him in the face.
I stop, taking a second before I face him and his prattling cronies. When I do, Carson’s face dares me to say otherwise.
I squeeze my fists tight. “I’m not scared. There’s nothing to this. She’s my neighbor, and I was helping her out. That’s it.”
His chin lifts, testing me. “Bullshit.”
There’s nothing but the sound of my climbing pulse.
“Krissy said you all went to the park and had dinner together,” Wind says, crunching a carrot. “She said the food was—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” I run a hand over my face. “Do any of you ever just mind your own business?”
“Nope,” Trig says with a smile.
“Just spill it, man,” Carson demands. “It’s time to finally go after what you’ve always wanted but are too freaking scared to admit.”
I pull in air and let it out. “Nothing is going on. They stayed. Ollie wanted to go to the park, we had dinner, and they went home. That. Is. It.”
“Heard you made breakfast.” Wind drops his can in the trash, and he has no idea how close I am to dropping his ass to the floor. “You left that out.”
Carson crosses his arms. “So, you’re honestly trying to tell us that Sarah and those kids, the time y’all spent together, didn’t make you want more of that?”
I want to say no and laugh in his cocky face. But I can’t, and this jackass knows it.
“When’s the last time you’ve been with a woman?” Trig asks.
