Fine, that’s her right.
No skin off my nose.
Though it might make sharing this house awkward. On the other hand, awkward can be managed if we’re just sleeping here and having a few meals.
“I’ll just take whatever’s free. No worries,” she says once she’s partway up the stairs, looking like she’ll barely make it to the top.
Another section of the railing bends when she lays her hand on it, and I grit my teeth.
“Careful. Tomorrow, I’ll get that hammered back into place and something over the gap,” I tell her. “And I’ll do my own sweep through the house, if you don’t mind. Looks like nobody’s been living here for some time.”
“They haven’t,” she agrees. “PopPop wasn’t exactly coming around the last few years of his life, and we didn’t rent it out until recently. We’ve had a few people checking in and handling maintenance, but I guess they missed a few things. Sorry again for the crappy condition.”
She gives the railing a good shake to test it and glances over her shoulder at me. The entire structure wobbles like a licorice rope.
“Like I said, I’ll deal with it.”
Her shades are back on top of her head, threatening to fall down her nose. “No need. I’ll have someone drop by soon and patch it up.”
“Why bother? That could take days and I’m here.”
“Technically,you’re a tenant, and I’m the landlord. And I’ve already put you guys in danger.” She’s reached the landing now, and she rolls her shoulders as she sets the bag down. What does she have in there, bricks? “That makes it my responsibility. My house, my rules, Dadzilla.”
I snort.
Stubborn as hell and twice as infuriating.
“I mean it,” she calls.
Sure, she does.
Only, by the time she brings some handyman in, even if they’re local, I could’ve had this mess fixed.
Also, I’m pretty sure I saw a toolshed out back. Might not even have to go into town for supplies if there’s any surplus equipment in there.
That also reminds me to quit glowering and check on the kids.
Maybe I’ll stick my head in the old shed, too, assuming it isn’t locked, just to scope it out.
I head outside through the back and cross the large green lawn to the lake, following their excited yelps down the beach. They’re already skipping rocks on the lake.
When I glance up at the house, a curtain swishes over one of the second-floor windows.
Margot’s face disappears from view in a puff of beige, a split second ahead of her hand, making a pointed gesture.
I try not to grin, especially in front of the kids.
Was she seriously flipping me off?
I can’t believe my luck, and just when it seemed like it was turning around.
This is going to be a special kind of torture.
3
HAPPY HOUSEWARMING (MARGOT)
What a freakingday.
