“Ah. Let me get my notepad since you know everything.”
She closed her eyes and rubbed her temple, making a strangled noise partway between a groan and a scream.
Shit.The longer I stared at her, the more I saw how exhaustion frayed at her edges. It was a feeling I’d grown accustomed to—when nights with no sleep bled into days where I lived off nothing but coffee and my temper. Sure, this little spitfire was made of strong stuff, but everyone had a breaking point, and it looked like she’d about reached hers.
“Wait a tick. I amend my previous statement. You don’t know everything, Cinnamon Roll. You forgot that the upstairs plumbing in my bathroom is on the fritz, but please, go on.”
She mimicked holding a pencil and scribbled into the air as I stepped backward.
“Between upending my life in Hilton Head and moving here, those measly renovations shouldn’t be an issue. It’s not like I’ve spent every waking moment at the hospital, driving him to appointments, or keeping track of every aspect of his daily life. I guess I should be glad there are twenty-four hours in a day, right? That way, I can put in my eight hours of work that actually result in a paycheck between midnight and eight in the morning.”
“Hey now, you’re taking my words out of context,” I said, gritting my teeth as I took another step back. She followed as if we were entwined in some debauched tango, and I glanced atCam, not surprised to see him watching us with barely contained amusement.
Glad I could provide your daily dose of comedy.
“No. No. Don’t think anything of it, Cinnamon Roll. Perhaps next you’d like to comment on the unwashed state of my hair or how the dead plants on the back deck will not blossom no matter how much water I use.”
“I think I should leave. It was a pleasure meeting you, Summer.”
“Ha,” Cam called from the living room as I passed him, desperate to get away and lick my wounds in peace. “Next time, you’ll think twice about talking out of turn or assuming things about my little firecracker, won’t you?”
Firecracker?I liked that better than spitfire, and it wasn’t often I gave any woman more than a passing glance. The thought made me smirk until I focused back on Cam and his continued rant.
“The last thing she needs is another guy arguing with her every damn day.”
He smirked before turning serious, a thoughtful look overtaking his features. “But those renovations aren’t a half-bad idea. Not that I want people traipsing in and out of my house at all hours. I’ll foot the bill, and you’ll do the work. I see you often enough at Bev’s house, so I know you have the time.”
I contemplated that idea, scratching my chin and taking a moment to glance around the space, already knowing what I would change. Perhaps I should have kept my mouth closed, but even as that thought flitted across my mind, I knew I had to help, had to take control since Summer was teetering on the edge of insanity, and it wouldn’t take that much to shuffle some things around at work.
There was nothing else I could say to make things better—or worse—so I nodded and continued my trek to the door.
“Great talk. Let’s do it again sometime,” Summer called, leaning against the wall and waving.
I shook my head, not responding, as I opened the screen and slunk back to Mom’s condo.
Chapter 4
Stupid dead plant.
Tears threatened to spill down my cheeks as I slammed my phone on the ground and hung my head. Two dropslanded on the wooden planks, and I wrinkled my brows, angry that something as simple as a photo could dig me down deeper into the Pit of Despair—at least the backyard didn’t have rodents of unusual size for me to battle. I wiped furiously at my face and grabbed the watering can before standing and dumping the remaining liquid onto a long-dead plant.
My vain attempt to revive the brown, shriveled twigs continued as I picked up the large pot and moved it to a sunnier spot on the porch. Staying clear of the water that had soaked through the flowerpot, I sat on the steps and rested my elbows on my knees. The Facebook picture mocked me as details flashed behind my closed eyes. I let the images come, knowing no amount of denial would stop the hurt.
Having my heart cut out with a spoon might be a more pleasant experience than dealing with theseemotions, but the quicker I acknowledged them, the sooner they could dissipate into the wind.
Guilt rose to the surface first. Guilt that this was somehow my fault. That I’d pushed Trey into the arms of his secretary. Perhaps my long hours, messy hair, and nagging disposition created the perfect cocktail that cultivated cheating.
This same guilt made way for anger.
Fiery, debilitating madness that bubbled from my stomach and burned my throat, causing me to gasp and suck in oxygen to make the feeling disappear. My heart raced, my cheeks flushed, and I fanned my face, trying to temper the emotion so I wouldn’t lift the dead plant into the air and hurl it through the nearest window.
Threatening violence toward an innocent—albeit lifeless—Ficus had the anger melting into sadness like a popsicle on a hot day. The hurt and hopelessness filled the gaping void the anger left, leaving me feeling…nothing.
There was no light at the end of the tunnel. No grand epiphany. Only a vast numbness spreading through my limbs, leaving my toes and fingers tingling and a blank expression across my features.
Perhaps the emptiness could be channeled into something productive, like getting Dad’s house renovated. Upgrade and install every available accommodation to help him recover faster. But now, I only wanted to sleep.
Sleep involved little thought. There were no meals to cook or deadlines to follow. I could let my mind drift, conjuring a blissful dream where a handsome stranger fed me Cheetos while I read a smutty historical romance about a colonel and the woman he had passionate, unrequited love for.
