Relief washes over me. “Definitely.”
For the rest of the drive, Wren catches me up on school and the ongoing saga with her roommate.
“Can I still come visit for a weekend at the start of holiday break?” she asks.
“Of course.”
“Do you need to run it by your new hubby?”
“I hate you,” I say as I pull into the driveway.
She laughs, the noise filtering off as the background noise on her end gets noisier. “I just got to the library. Talk to you tomorrow?”
“Yep.”
“Promise you won’t ghost me again?”
“I promise.” I roll my eyes. Little sisters. So cute and so annoying.
“Bye,” she chirps happily.
I shut off the engine and let my head fall back against the headrest. That went…as good as I think it could have.
The first burst of optimism I’ve felt in weeks flits around me, batting away the remaining anxiety. The situation isn’t ideal (gross understatement), but we’ll get through it.
I manage to hold on to those good vibes until I enter the house. I sniff the air. This house still doesn’t smell like home to me, but today there’s something else. Something that smells a lot like…I can’t quite pinpoint it but it’s familiar.
Making my way past the living room and toward the kitchen, I keep sniffing the air and trying to place the source. I took the trash out yesterday and there isn’t enough food in the fridge for something to have spoiled and me not have noticed.
Still… it’s strongest in the kitchen. I take another big inhale. Rotten eggs. That’s the smell! Except I can’t remember the last time I bought eggs. Have you seen the prices lately?
My gaze falls on the stove at the same time my head feels a little woozy. Oh god. Idoknow that smell.
I make it outside and walk away from the house, sucking in clean air. I text the rental agent and then call the gas company. They have someone out within minutes to confirm what I already know: There’s a leak.
Travis arrives while they’re giving me the rundown. His brow furrows and he carries himself with an air of authority and concern.
“What’s going on?” he asks, looking at me.
“Gas leak.”
His brows lift. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say at the same time the guy suggests (again) that it might not be a bad idea to get checked out at the hospital.
“I’ll take you.”
I thank the guy as I shake my head. “That won’t be necessary. I was inside for only a couple minutes. How long before it’s fixed?”
“We turned off the gas line so the house should air out in a few hours, but we weren’t able to find the leak yet. We’ll need to do some investigating.”
I stare at him in that way people do, willing him to take a guess so I can have some idea of the plan.
He shrugs one shoulder. “A couple days, maybe weeks. The gas line runs under the floor so we may have to take it up. We won’t know until we get in there.”
I note Travis has his phone pulled out and is tapping away on it, but I focus on where the hell I’m going to stay. I hate to ask Kinsley and Skylar, but I’d say this deems itself a true emergency.
The rental agent calls as the guy from the gas company heads back to his truck to confer with his team.
