Surviving Ice (Burying Water #4)(73)

He releases my arm and I march to my car, my mind spinning with possibilities. My insides filled with rage.

What did you get yourself into, Ned?

“We can’t put the house on the market like this,” Becca announces, peering down her nose at the pile of trash I’ve already swept up. “I just . . . I won’t do it.”

“We’ll get it cleaned up. I promise.”

She sighs. “Absolutely no insurance?”

“Nope.” I let the “p” pop in my mouth for emphasis. Becca—in her indigo pantsuit and white pearls and bleached blond hair pulled back in a professional bun—seems to know what she’s talking about, but she has still managed to irritate me in the fifteen minutes that she’s been here. I’m well aware of how bad this is, and yet she feels the need to keep telling me.

“When do you think it’ll be ready for my photographer?”

“When I call you to tell you that it’s ready.” I honestly don’t know how long it’s going to take to fix this mess. Weeks, maybe. And I don’t have weeks. The bills and mortgage payments on both the house and Black Rabbit need to be paid next week. Ian and I have pooled some money, but he has his own bills, and if I don’t work, I can’t make more money. And I can’t work if I’m here every day trying to fix all this.

Becca turns to Sebastian, her drawn-on brows raised in question, as if he may have a more suitable answer for her.

“We’ll see,” is all he says.

Sebastian hasn’t said a word to me since we parked outside the house and he snatched my house keys out of my hand. He led the way in through the front door and then disappeared, checking rooms and closets, climbing the steps, his giant frame somehow avoiding each creak, as if he already knows the house’s quirks.

“Fine. Let me know.” Dried macaroni crunches beneath her pumps as she picks her way along the floor and out the front door.

“She’s something else,” I mutter.

His eyes flicker to me but it’s still radio silence. This isn’t the passionate guy who took me in the bathroom last night. But it’s also not the cold, protective bodyguard.

He’s genuinely upset.

And now that he isn’t wearing sunglasses anymore, I can see the dark circles lining his eyes. I don’t think he slept last night. So where the hell did he go? Maybe he actually did have to leave.

I shove the last of the burgundy leather couch stuffing into a trash bag and knot the top. I’ve already filled two extra-large bags. Fez’s cousin runs a trash pickup service—basically, an old beat-up cube van that will haul anything to the local transfer station for a fee—and he and Fez will be here in a couple of hours to take whatever I have ready to go for the cost of gas and dumping rates, plus some ink on his shoulder.

Wiping the layer of sweat from my brow with the bottom of my tank top, I take a moment to survey the place. Aside from the devastating mess, the dated walls and furniture, it’s actually a nice house, with good bones. Ian’s right—spending a bit of time and money here could be worth it. I could probably borrow enough to update the kitchen and bathroom, do some landscaping, replace the roof. All the kinds of things a responsible adult who had just inherited an old house would do.

If only I had a compelling reason to stay . . .

I shake my head. Who am I trying to fool? Sebastian is the sole reason I’m even entertaining the idea. Before Sebastian walked in, I was ready to pack my bags. Now he’s got me thinking about home renovations.

I can’t believe I’ve let a guy get under my skin, and so fast.

And I’ve been a complete * to him.

“I’m sorry,” I finally offer, dragging my trash bag across the tile floor to toss it onto the front porch.

He picks up the broom that is lying on the floor and begins sweeping the loose macaroni into piles. “Don’t do it again.” His dark eyes flicker up to me as he adds, “Please.”

I want to ask him why he cares, why he came back, why he doesn’t have anything better to do, anyone else to see. Why he’d stick around if I’m being so difficult.

Instead, I quietly pile the magazines and newspapers together and tie them for easy removal.

Because right now, I’m just happy he’s here.

I groan, slumping against the doorframe to Ned’s office. Every file on every customer that Ned has kept over the years—I’m sure he shredded the oldest ones, at least—was neatly organized in the row of cabinets.

Now, every file on every customer that Ned has kept over the years covers the floor. You can’t even see the faded beige rug because of the paper.

“What do you want to do with all that?” Sebastian asks. I feel him standing close behind me.

“Shred it.” I sigh. “Except for any customers I worked on while I was here, I guess. They can’t take Ned’s license away, but they can still take mine.”

“And where are yours?”

“They should be in that pile over there, next to the upturned boxes. I just brought those in the other day.” And the *s dumped those, too.

“How will you know which ones are yours?”

Paper crunches beneath my boots as I step through the mess and stoop down to pick up a sheet, pointing out my name in Ned’s scrawl on the top of the form. A twinge of sadness stirs in my stomach at the sight of it. “They’ll all say my name like that, on the top.”