“I’m turning over a new leaf. This is Theo 2.0, at your service.”
She rolls her eyes. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“Told them I had to run to an emergency. Garrett’s handling our first two appointments.”
She chews at her bottom lip, analyzing me. “Thank you for bringing what I needed. It was... nice of you.”
Thatis officially the most complimentary thing she has said to me in a long time, and I don’t want to push my luck. I’m walking a very thin tightrope right now, and one wrong step could get a door slammed in my face.
I point to the books lining the couch. “It wasThe Hobbit?”
Her lips curve down. “Yeah.”
My heart sinks. She loved that book growing up—carried a copy of it to school for an entire year.
“Can I see it? Tessa told me how to help.”
She thinks for a moment, glancing between me and the fan and paper towels, but finally, slowly, she opens the door wider. Igrab the supplies and step inside, where Knocks gives me a much warmer greeting than his owner, rushing to my feet.
I set down the fan and scoop him up, feeling Fable’s eyes on me as he curls into my neck. “You’re cute as hell, aren’t you?”
“He’s actually a menace.”
“Ah, so we’re a scoundrel and a menace. Two peas in a pod.” Knocks’s purr rumbles against my chest as I sit on the hardwood floors beside the couch.
“Except I actuallylikeone of you.”
I crack a smile and peer down at him. “Aw, she didn’t mean that. You’ll grow on her. Just give her time.”
“I’m going to kick you out now.”
“No, no. I’ll be serious.” Setting Knocks in my lap, I grab a copy ofThe Count of Monte Cristo. “From what I saw in the link Tessa sent, we’re going to put a few paper towels every ten to twenty pages and press them down to soak up the water. Then we’ll put them up in front of the fan for the rest of the day.”
Fable sits in front of me and setsThe Hobbiton the floor between us. Iwatch her carefully peel apart the pages. Her eyes are a little swollen, like she’s been crying this morning, and my chest pinches at the sight.
“Are you okay?” I ask gently.
“I’m fine.” She reaches out a hand and I tear off a few paper towels, helping her line the page. Lifting onto her knees, she applies pressure.
“You sure?”
Wordlessly, she nudgesThe Count of Monte Cristotoward me, and I get the message. Whatever is going on, I’m not in the club of people she wants to share it with. As usual.
We work quietly for a while, and when Fable reaches the end of her book, she starts over at the beginning. I’m really trying not to focus too much on the state of the cabin around me, but it’s hardnot to. It’s sparse, only a couch and boxes in the living room, along with random tools. My gaze snags on the pile of smoke detectors on the kitchen counter and... a couple broken stairs?What is happening here?She assured me yesterday that she could fix everything on her own, but judging by... all of this... I’m thinking there might be more to that story.
“How’d the books get wet?” I ask.
She blows out a sharp breath. “A minor bathroom leak.”
“How minor, exactly?” I nod toward the towels in the hallway. “Because those are soaked.”
“The house is unlevel,” she grumbles, locking her elbows and pressing down on the book. “All the water went straight to the bedroom.”
“Not very minor, then.”
“No, not very minor,” she concedes, emotion coating her voice.
Her gaze crashes with mine, and there’s no fire in their hazel depths. For a moment, I can see right through to the sadness underneath. “I’m sorry.”
