For some unknown reason, his gruff voice brought a smile to my face. “Nice to know you’re grumpy even over the phone.”
“Trouble…” he said, his tone making it clear his minimal patience was gone altogether.
I blew out a heavy sigh. “The cottage is flooded.”
“What do you mean flooded? Is there a burst pipe?”
“No, I meanflooded. The entire house. Our clothes and shoes are floating around.”
“You’re at the cottage? I thought you were at work.”
“I am. Laurel just got home from school and let me know. We’re absolutely buried here, and I can’t?—”
“I’ll take care of it,” he said without hesitation, even as shouts and the distant sound of a whistle carried over the line.
“But you have practice?—”
“I said I’ll handle it,” he cut in, his tone brooking no argument. “Take care of your patients. I’ll take care of Laurel and find out what’s going on.”
“Are you sure? I can?—”
“See you at home.”
The line went dead before I could respond. Though, with what, I had no idea. Thankfully, there was enough activity in the clinic to keep me busy. Because I definitely didn’t need to analyze the hum of contentment that had settled over me at those handful of gruff words coming from him.
It wasour late night at the clinic, which meant I didn’t pull into the driveway until almost seven thirty. The cottage was dark, not even the porch light shining, but the first floor of Atlas’s home glowed brightly.
I didn’t know how long it took to drain an entire house, but I didn’t think the zero activity coming from the cottage was a good sign. I grabbed my bag and climbed out of my car, intent on heading toward the cottage, when Atlas’s voice stopped me in my tracks.
“Trouble.” He stood at his back door, the light from inside illuminating his intimidating silhouette. His features were cloaked in shadow, but somehow I knew he was tracing his gaze over me from head to toe, that quick check of me he always seemed to do. “Laurel’s in here.”
That didn’t bode well. If Laurel was at Atlas’s, that probably meant the cottage was uninhabitable. Though I could haveguessed as much from that single picture Laurel had sent me. But I’d spent the past several hours hoping beyond hope that she was overexaggerating things. That the camera angle had made it seem worse than it was or she was leaning into that drama she loved so much.
Blowing out a sigh, I changed direction and headed toward him. “How bad is it?”
Instead of answering, he asked, “Have you eaten?”
“What? No, I— Atlas, how bad is it?”
He grabbed my bag as soon as I was close enough and tipped his head toward the kitchen. “Eat first. I ordered pizza. I thought your daughter was fucking with me when she said I needed to order three.”
That startled a laugh out of me, my shoulders relaxing for the first time in hours. “She has a hollow leg when it comes to pizza.”
“More like a hollow body. She ate more than I did. Called me a lightweight.”
“Youarea lightweight,” Laurel said from the couch in the family room.
“No one’s ever dared to call me that in my life.”
“Everyone else was probably just scared to tell you the truth, but I’m immune to your scowls,” she shot back.
Either I was delirious from exhaustion and seeing things, or…had the corner of his mouth actually twitched?
He turned to me, lowering his voice. “Is she always like this?”
“Pretty much.”
“Quit pretending you don’t like it,” she said. “Also, how about Cleo?”
