I also need to insulate and drywall the apartment upstairs. The summer was brutal in the heat, but at least I spent most of my time downstairs in the nicely air-conditioned restaurant. I even slept down there a few nights when the upstairs was sweltering.
Now, though, the weather is calming down, and there’s a nice breeze that blows through in the evenings. This morning, it was even a little chilly up there when I woke up, and it felt great. However, this winter could pose a problem if I don’t complete the walls.
The last owners used the upstairs for storage. It’s been framed in as an apartment, but no one ever needed to finish it.
Until now.
I’ve never been a DIY kind of girl, but I’m about to be. I can watch YouTube and figure it out. I bet I can even rent some tools somewhere. I’m going to make it work because I sank all of themoney I was comfortable taking from Justin into my business. I need to live above the restaurant.
And once it’s all fixed up, it’ll be so amazing.
It’s just going to be a process, and that’s okay. I’ve lived in far, far worse.
My car gets me home without any trouble, and I park it in the alley, in my spot behind the restaurant, then cross to the stairs to my place so I can change for work. It’s been raining pretty much constantly since last night, so the metal steps are a little slick. I slip, and my shin scrapes along the teeth on the metal steps, making me cry out in pain.
“Oh shit, that hurt.” I turn and sit my butt on the steps, not caring at all that I’m getting wet, so I can catch my breath and breathe through the pain.
When I pull up my jeans, I see blood running down my leg.
“Fuck.”
Do I have bandages? Probably not.
So rather than climb up the rest of the way, I return to my car and drive the few blocks over to the pharmacy.
I’m sure I’m a mess. Wet hair, wet ass, and the blood is soaking through the front of my jeans, which makes me panic a little.
I love these jeans. I don’t want to ruin them. There’s a little hole from my fall, but I can patch that.
I limp inside, make my way to the bandage aisle, grab the supplies I need, and take them to the checkout counter.
Just as I turn to walk out to my car, I see Brooks stride in, and my heart sinks.
Really? He has to see metoday? When I’m all bloody and limping and look like a drowned rat?
His eyes narrow and sweep down my body, and when he sees the blood, his hands fist, and he stomps over to me.
“What happened?”
He’s talking to me?Voluntarily?
My mouth falls open, but no noise comes out. He hasn’t started a conversation with me in more than fifteen years. My heart thumps, sending blood roaring through my ears.
“Juliet, what happened?”
His voice is hard. Deeper than it was all those years ago.
“I swear to God, Jules?—”
“I just fell on my stairs. They were slick. It’s fine.” I lick my lips and move to step around him, needing to get home to clean myself up and get to work. Plus, being near him makes me … sad.
But when I get to my car, I startle because he’s standing behind me.
“Uh, what?—”
“Let me see it.”
Shaking my head, I unlock the door and open it, toss the bag of bandages and antiseptic cream onto the passenger seat, and turn to face the man who broke my heart all those years ago. We’re standing in the rain, but neither of us seems to notice that we’re getting soaked to the bone.
