Stacking the Deck (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 2)(101)

She hadn’t wanted to go through the trouble of flying again, didn’t want the crowds or the hassle or to put Eddie through the whole ordeal, so she’d gone to work, requested an extension on their offer, told them the sad news that her Great Aunt Claire had suddenly passed away (a small fib in the scheme of things but totally believable given the tear-streaked state of her make-up,) rented an SUV and gotten the heck out of Dodge.

It was a Monday, so as she figured it, she had two days of bereavement, two days of personal time, one sick day, a weekend, and she’d have bought herself a week.

And, if she couldn’t straighten her life out and fix what she’d broken in that time, she could tell herself she’d at least tried.

It was close to three in the morning when she rolled into her parents’ driveway, shut off the engine… and remembered she didn’t have a key.

Liz let her head fall to the steering wheel in bleary-eyed defeat, too tired to even cry, but then remembered where her dad used to keep a spare. With any luck… She stumbled up the front walkway in the dark to the garden gnome, fished way up inside with her hand and pulled out the bubble-wrapped key to the front door he’d wedged there.

She gratefully pushed the door open and flicked on the coach lights. Somehow, seeing them at this hour, when she was so incredibly tired in so many ways, made them seem all the more welcoming. To think her brother was now a bona fide electrician.

The thought brought a smile to her lips.

Then she remembered who his fiancé was.

Good Lord, life was unpredictable.

Liz turned on more lights as she made her way through the house. She’d worked in such a frenzy before, patching and painting and fending off suitors, she hadn’t had a chance to take it all in before now. But now, she saw the house with new eyes.

What she saw was lovely. Truly lovely. The living room, with its soft birch walls and bright white trim, set off the warm woodwork around the fireplace beautifully. And, she’d rearranged a little, creating a cozy seating area by the fireplace, a reading nook by the window. Someone had set up the chess set on the little side table, as if there was a game in progress.

She pushed through to the dining room, its wainscot and trim were freshened with more birch white paint, but then she’d done the walls and ceiling a sky blue, causing the small plaster medallion over the light fixture to pop.

And the kitchen. She walked in, remembering how it had felt to see it for the first time. She’d never gotten around to repainting the cabinets, so they were still that peaceful celery green.

Surely a new buyer would see how charming it was and make an offer soon no matter what the state of the side yard.

After getting a drink of water, Liz unloaded the SUV, set Eddie up in the spare room and fell into bed.

She was awake again three hours later, staring at the ceiling. Thinking.

It was strange how life came full circle sometimes. She’d lain in this very bed, staring at this very ceiling, crying over the same man a decade ago.

When would she learn to stop believing in fantasy? Those stolen moments in Jenny Whitmeyer’s pantry were just that—a fantasy.

Reality was the mess in the side yard, an ex-vampire as a future sister-in-law and a promotion hanging over her head like a guillotine.

Ugh. And the sooner she faced it all, the sooner she’d be able to move past it.

Liz sat up, desperately wanting a cup of coffee, but she didn’t even have half and half. It’d be better to work a couple of hours, shower and go into town for food and a break.

Pulling on her ugliest sweats, she stepped out into the cool morning and stared at where the shed used to be.

Oh, my.

There wasn’t much left of the shed except for the charred remains of what looked like an oversized camp fire. A handful of metal tools sat in a jumble, their handles turned to ash. The wheelbarrow was nothing but a dented black bowl. Pieces of wood and debris were scattered around, dark with soot, from where firefighters obviously worked to get to any remaining embers. All in all, a thorough disaster.

Liz pulled on her work gloves and started hauling metal recycling into a pile. Once she got that out of the way, she could buy a new shovel in town and scoop the charred wood and ashes onto a tarp and drag it all to the back lot.

Forty-five minutes into the job, covered in soot from head to toe, she needed a drink. And a shower. Liz swiped her brow, uncaring of the smears she was surely leaving behind, and stumbled. She looked down.

She’d caught her toe on the corner of what looked like an old metal toolbox under some half-charred timbers. Dragging the box out, she stepped over the charcoal and mess and was about to throw it in with the other metal recycling when she stopped. The shape was familiar.

Very familiar.

The box sat heavy in her arms, a small bit of red paint showing on the lower corner. She brushed off the top with her sleeve and stared at it. Oh, my God. She’d forgotten all about it.

She tried the latch, but it stuck, so with shaking hands, she grabbed the head of an axe and smacked the latch until it popped open. She sat back on the damp lawn.

It was still there. Everything she’d tucked away was all there—somehow, miraculously, protected from the flames and the fire hoses.

The little ceramic kitten knick-knack Uncle Marv had given her. The lucky bottle cap from the Black Cherry soda bottle she’d saved from her sixth birthday party. A real French Franc from the old woman down the hill whose husband had fought in Normandy.