“Oh please,” she says. “That candy cane wouldn’t survive round two.”
I grin and hold out my hand. “Sutton.”
“Heaven.” Her grip is firm, confident, annoyingly so.
“Heaven?” I echo, raising a brow. “That’s… ironic.” The last word slips out under my breath.
Her eyes flick to the candy cane still lying on the floor, then back to me. “So. Explain before I actually call the cops.”
“I told you,” I say, still catching my breath. “I’m house-sitting. For the Oakleys. Ms. Greta hired me, background check and everything. I’ve got the paperwork somewhere if you wanna see it.”
“House-sitting?” She scans me from head to toe, unimpressed, then laughs. “Of course my brother would hire someone to turn on his Christmas lights.”
“Wait, your brother? Christmas lights?”
“Ezra Oakley,” she says, rolling her eyes. “He’s the biggest sore loser you’ll ever meet. Couldn’t leave for vacation without trying to win the neighborhood Christmas light show.”
I blink. Hold up. Her brother paid me five grand to flip a light switch? “How often does this holiday showdown happen?”
Her gaze sharpens. “You sure you’re supposed to be here?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I lift both hands. “Look, my phone’s dead, my ice cream’s melting, and honestly, this has been the longest day of my life. I’m not a criminal, I swear. So, back to the lights, what exactly does he need me to do?”
Her mouth twitches; for the first time, something soft crosses her face. “Where’s the folder Greta gave you?”
“In the kitchen.” I start walking that way.
She grabs the grocery bags from the floor and follows. Setting them on the counter, she leans back with one eyebrow raised. “So… do house-sitters usually attack family members, or am I just lucky?”
I laugh, still a little breathless, and slide the folder across the counter. “Just lucky. Pretty sure this is my first felony in someone else’s house.”
Her lips twitch, almost a smile. She flips through the papers until she finds what she wants, pulls one out, and slides it toward me. “Here. All the info you need for the Christmas lights.”
I pick it up and read aloud:
“Rule 1: Turn on the lights at 6:32 pm exactly. Not a minute early, not a minute late.
Rule 2: If the power goes out, start the backup generator.
Rule 3: If possible, cut Joan Evergreen’s power line.”
I blink. “Who is Joan Evergreen?”
Heaven pulls out my now-melted ice cream from one of the bags, gives me a look, and says, “The old lady next door, my brother’s sworn enemy. One-sided beef.”
“One-sided?” I ask, grinning. “Please tell me more.”
She smirks while I start unpacking another bag. “Oh, it’s very one-sided. But harmless. Just a neighborhood competition. They try to one-up each other every year.” She eyes the carton in her hand. “Do you mind if I throw this ice cream out? It’s basically soup. I can buy us some more.”
“Us?” I blink. “As in… you’re staying?”
I wasn’t planning on company. I wanted a stress-free mini-vacay, not to be shacked up with Jill the Beanstalk. When she was on the ground earlier, I hadn’t realized how tall she was. Great. Now I’m sharing a house with a supermodel who could probably bench-press me.
“Yep,” she says.
Still, one question nags at me, why is she even here? And why didn’t Greta mention it? That little piece of information could’ve saved me from committing assault.
What if she’s injured and doesn’t even know it yet?
