I shake it out, pacing in a tight circle like that’s going to help.
It does not.
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter. “It’s a nail.”
I glare at the wall like it personally offended me.
I try again because I’mnotlosing to drywall.
No way.
THWACK.
“Son of a?—”
The hammer clatters to the floor.
Again.
I press my forehead to the wall, eyes closed.
“Get it together,” I mutter. “You’re a grown man.”
A grown man who can't hammer a nail.
Fantastic.
I straighten, flexing my throbbing thumb, and reach for the hammer again?—
A knock sounds at the door.
Then the panic begins.
“Please don’t let that be my brother. Or Ivy,” I mutter. “I can’t handle their judgment right now.”
I cross the room, pulling the door open?—
And freeze.
Violet stands there, a smile on her face. A bag over her shoulder and a white plastic bag in her hand.
“I thought you might need help,” she says calmly.
I stare at her.
“How did you know I was here?”
She shrugs. “I had a meeting. Happened to drive past and saw your car.”
I stare at her… then down at her jeans and t-shirt.
She’s not dressed for a meeting.
But that doesn’t mean anything.
Right?
I glance down at my ratty old sweatpants and faded T-shirt. I’m not dressed for company. I thought I was going to be alone.
