"What? Flooded? How bad?"
"I don't know the details, but I called as soon as I hung up with the studio. Your neighbor called the fire department, then the studio. The studio called me."
"I'll head there now. Thanks, Jamie."
As I hang up, panic claws its way up my chest. What if everything is ruined?
"Everything ok?" Grant's voice is gentle, his concern clear.
"I don't know," I admit. "My house flooded. The fire department's there."
"Let's go. We'll figure it out."
When we turn onto my street, my worst fears feel real. A trail of water snakes along the curb, reflecting the late afternoon sun like some cruel spotlight.
Isit up straighter in my seat, and my breath catches when the gate leading to my driveway comes into view—wide open, likely opened by the fire department. My house sits a little further back from the street, surrounded by a low security fence and lush hedges that usually make it feel private.
"Oh, no," I whisper, gripping the center console.
The scene grows worse as we approach my driveway. Firetrucks and a plumbing van haphazardly block the street and my yard. Several firefighters are milling around the lawn. But it's not just the vehicles that make my heart sink—it's the sight of my furniture.
Half of it is scattered across the front yard. My plush armchairs, my vintage coffee table, even the rug I spent months searching for—it's all out there.
"What the hell happened?" Grant mutters beside me.
I step out, my legs shaky beneath me, and head toward the group of firefighters near my porch. Grant stays close, and his steady presence grounds me.
"Hello, I'm Sophia, the homeowner. Can someone tell me what's going on?" I ask, my voice trembling.
The fire chief steps forward. "Miss, it appears the upstairs bathroom has been leaking for some time. Water has been collecting between the floor and ceiling, and it finally gave out. I'm afraid most of the bathroom is now in your kitchen."
His words hit me like a punch to the gut. My eyes widen as I step inside. Pieces of my tub sit on my breakfast table, now half-collapsed. Chunks of the ceiling cover the counters, and water pools at my feet. The scene is surreal, like a nightmare I can't wake from.
Tears sting my eyes as I take it all in, and my arms wraparound my middle as I try to hold myself together. This was my first real home, something I owned, invested in, made mine, and now it's destroyed.
Grant's hands settle gently on my shoulders. "Hey. We'll figure this out," he says softly.
I glance back at him, my tears threatening to spill. "I don't know what to do."
"Well, for starters, you can't stay here," the fire chief interjects. "I'm going to guess there is probably going to be mold, and this being an old house, there's a good chance of asbestos. You'll need to get water remediation in here and an adjuster to do a thorough inspection, and they can tell you what kind of damage and repairs you're facing."
I think I'm in shock.
Grant steps in and speaks to the fire chief and plumber, arranging for cleanup crews and an adjuster. Meanwhile, I sit in his car, staring blankly at my phone, trying to figure out where I'll stay tonight. The thought of dealing with more decisions feels impossible.
When Grant climbs back into the car, his determined expression softens as he looks at me. "I called someone to manage the logistics. They'll keep you updated."
"Thanks, Grant."
"I'm so sorry, Sophia. I know this is a lot, but the good news is that it's all fixable. Inconvenient, but fixable."
He's right. The destruction didn't hurt anyone, and although it damaged some of my favorite things, I don't seem to have lost anything sentimental. I can't go upstairs to grab anything until an engineer looks at the stability of the second floor, so I'm stuck in these clothes for the foreseeable future.I'll raid wardrobe back at the studio until I can get into my closet here.
"I have a guest house," he says, his tone casual. "You're welcome to crash there for a few days. It's off to the side of my house and totally private. The driveway is shared, but other than that, you'd have the place to yourself."
I glance at him and catch the way his jaw tightens slightly, as if he surprised himself by making the offer. His fingers grip the steering wheel just a bit too hard, and there's something in his expression—hesitation? Uncertainty? It's not that he doesn't mean it, but I can sense he's not entirely sure he should have said it out loud.
"Oh, um, I can just grab a hotel. It's no big deal," I say, giving him an easy out.
