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  "How?" she demanded.

  "Well…" My face burned at the memory of me begging in the hallway, with my knees in the puddle and my face at his pelvis. "He could've expected, you know, 'services' while I was down there."

  "Oh, please," she scoffed. "How do you know he wasn't expecting that?"

  "Because," I said, "I wasn't down there long enough to do anything. Cripes, you should've seen him. He practically yanked me to my feet, like he was worried I'd try to convince him orally if you know what I mean."

  From start to finish, the whole thing had been beyond mortifying. Still, I'd gotten what I'd needed, so it was worth it, right?

  Cami muttered, "He's still a lunk-blaster."

  I didn’t even know what that meant. Looking to move on, I said, "But you haven't heard the rest of it."

  Sounding decidedly disgruntled, she asked, "Does it get better or worse?"

  "Better." I hesitated. "Mostly."

  As Cami listened, I went on to tell her that Brody had agreed not only to spare the house, but to fix it up, too.

  Sure, he hadn't looked too happy about it, but he had agreed.

  I finished by telling her, "And when you think about it, fixing it up is almost as important as not tearing it down."

  "How so?" she asked.

  "Well, let's say he only agreed to not demolish it. Yeah, that's good for now. But what happens if he sells it? If it's not even livable, the next person might demolish it anyway."

  "But I don't get it," Cami said. "If the house needs so much work, why would anyone want to buy it in the first place?"

  "For the land," I said. "It's right there on the beach and really valuable, by local standards anyway."

  Property values were relative, after all. If my grandparent's house had been located almost anywhere else, like in California for example, the land alone would've cost millions.

  But here in Michigan, it wasn't like that. Between the smaller economy and harsh winters, beachfront properties weren't completely out of reach for an average person – providing they had a great job or lots of savings, preferably both.

  Unfortunately, I had neither.

  On the phone Cami was saying, "But the way you always talked, I thought your grandparents didn't have a lot of money."

  "They didn't," I said. "But the house has been in our family for a long time, over a hundred years now."

  It almost hurt to say it. Thanks to my own personal failure, the line of custody had ended with Jason rather than continuing on with me.

  Still, I had to focus on the positive. "But now I don't need to worry, because it's going to be fixed up. See?"

  "Oh sure," Cami said. "By your arch enemy. I mean, come on. You seriously believe he'll do it?'

  Yes. I did. In spite of his many other flaws, Brody was the kind of guy who never went back on his word.

  I recalled that from high school, too.

  I replied, "Yeah. I do believe him, actually."

  She gave a snort of derision. "Like you believed Jason?"

  Her words found their mark, and my stomach twisted with new worry. Or maybe it was just hunger. For all kinds of reasons, I hadn't eaten a single thing yesterday.

  And now I was starving. In fact, I was so hungry, I was beginning to smell things – bacony things.

  I loved bacon. I swear, even now, I could smell it wafting through the walls. I poked my head out from under the covers and took a tentative sniff. Maybe that was bacon.

  On the phone, Cami said, "Well?"

  By now, I was so distracted, I could hardly think. "Well what?"

  "You were about to tell me what happened next."

  "Oh, right. So anyway, once he gave me back my phone—"

  "Wait, what? He took your phone?"

  "Uh, yeah. Didn't I tell you?"

  "No."

  "Oh. I guess that slipped through the cracks. Anyway, when I was in the shower, he swiped my cell phone."

  Her voice rose. "And you let him?"

  "I didn't know he swiped it until it turned up missing," I said. "And even if I had seen him take him take it, what was I supposed to do? Tackle him naked?"

  At the thought, something fluttered in my stomach. It wasn't hunger. Or at least, it wasn't hunger for food.

  The truth was, even though Brody was the last person I'd ever sleep with, I wasn't blind to his appeal. And, when it came to sex, let's just say it had been a while.

  For me.

  Not him.

  Obviously.

  On the phone, Cami said, "You could've yelled at him or something."

  "Right," I muttered. "As if that would stop him. But forget the phone. I haven't told you the rest. After he agrees to fix up the house, he tells me that he also owns the place across the street."

  "You mean across from your grandparent's place?"

  "Right," I said. "And he invites me – no orders me, actually – to stay the night over there, I mean, over here, in the guest bedroom, so we can work out the details in the morning, meaning today."

  Sounding more horrified than ever, she said, "And you agreed?"

  "What else was I gonna do?" I said. "You already know that Jason stood me up, which meant that I had no place to stay. And you remember what happened with my car."

  Just last month, I'd sold it to send Jason more money – payment for some sort of plumbing issue, something that according to Jason couldn't wait.

  Now, I wanted to kick myself. God, what a total waste.

  Thanks to my own stupidity, I had no house, no car, and maybe fifty bucks total in my purse.

  When Cami's only reply was a string of non-curses, I continued, "So really, whether he realized it or not, Brody was actually doing me a favor by making me stay here."

  "Oh yeah?" she shot back. "And what about him? Is he staying there, too?"

  "You mean Brody? Actually, I don't know. Maybe he is. Or maybe he went back to his condo."

  "Wait," Cami said. "He owns a condo, too?"

  "Supposedly. I mean, that's what he said." I sighed. "And I'm sure it's true. Cripes, he probably owns half the town."

  With obvious concern, Cami said, "So you don't even know if he's staying with you?"

  "No, I don't," I replied. "Last night, all I wanted was to be alone. What Brody was doing, I had no idea. And I sure as heck wasn't gonna ask him."

  The reason for this was obvious. By then, I'd had more than enough humiliation for one night.

  If I'd asked Brody anything about where he planned to sleep, he surely would've assumed that I was hitting on him or something – because yes, he was that arrogant.

  Cami said, "But you at least locked the door, right?"

  "To the bedroom?" I flopped over on the bed and gave the door a quick glance. Oh yeah, I'd locked it, alright. But probably, that was a waste, too. As I'd seen firsthand, a locked door would hardly keep Brody out.

  Still, I assured Cami that I was being careful and finished by promising her another update after Brody and I talked.

  After we ended the call, I got up, trudged into the small private bathroom, and prepared to face him.

  Using toiletries from my own duffle bag, I brushed my teeth and washed my face. I threw on fresh clothes and even a little makeup – not because I wanted to impress him, but rather because it's what I normally did before venturing out.

  Turns out, it was all for nothing.

  Other than myself, the house was empty.

  Standing in the modest kitchen, I took a quick look around.

  Thanks to the home's location – directly across the street from my grandparent's place – I'd seen this house plenty of times from the outside. It was a tidy ranch-style home with three bedrooms, maybe four.

  As far as the exact number, I wasn't sure. I mean, it's not like I started opening doors or anything.

  Still, I remained fairly certain that the house was empty. It felt empty, even if it did smell like bacon. My mouth watered at the mere thought, and I couldn't stop myself from opening the fridge, just
to check.

  No bacon.

  In fact, the fridge was completely empty, except for maybe a dozen bottles of water.

  Well, that was disappointing.

  With a sigh, I closed the fridge and turned away. As I did, I spotted a note taped to the oven. The note was written in big, bold handwriting. It said, "For Clara."

  I frowned. Clara? As in Clara Cooper, my fake name?

  Slowly, I walked to the oven and opened the door just a crack. The oven was slightly warm and smelled so bacony that my breath caught.

  On the oven's top rack, there was a silver takeout tray covered in foil. With primal longing, I stared at the thing. It could only be for me, right?

  Still, I didn't want to assume anything, especially when it came to Brody. Reluctantly, I closed the oven door and took another look at the note. At the very bottom, in the same hand-writing – only much smaller – there was a very tiny P.S.

  It said, "Yeah, I mean you. Don't overthink it."

  It was vintage Brody, and I fought a sudden, stupid urge to smile.

  Even when he did something nice, he managed to make me just a little bit crazy.

  But hey, I wasn't complaining. Bacon was bacon.

  With unseemly haste, I yanked open the oven and reached inside. The container was warm, but not hot. When I tore off the lid, I saw bacon, scrambled eggs, and even buttered toast.

  Oh, man.

  Without bothering to sit down or search for silverware, I devoured the breakfast in two minutes flat.

  When I finished, I felt a million times better. With renewed optimism, I wandered to the front window and opened the blinds.

  What I saw outside made my stomach sink, even in spite of the breakfast. My grandparent's house – it looked absolutely terrible.

  The blue paint was peeling and faded. The front porch was missing spindles. The grass was nearly knee-high. Even the shrubbery was a total overgrown mess, like it hadn't been trimmed in years.

  Sure, I'd noticed all of this when the ride-share had dropped me off just yesterday. But now, looking at the place with new, critical eyes, I realized just how neglected it had been.

  Still, I tried to look on the bright side. The situation wasn't all bad. Neglected or not, at least the house wasn't slated for destruction, not anymore.

  As relief coursed through me, I felt a surge of something that felt a lot like gratitude – to Brody Blastoviak of all people. He was going to save it. He hadn't wanted to. That much was obvious. But he'd agreed anyway – even though he had made me beg.

  Yes, it had totally sucked, but it could've been so much worse. He could've said no, whether I was on my knees or not.

  At the thought, I stifled a mortified shudder. How awful would've that been?

  But I refused to dwell on it. Instead, I squared my shoulders and focused on the positive. Begging wasn't all I could do. I could help. For starters, I could trim the hedges, and maybe even mow the lawn.

  In spite of last night's rain, the morning had dawned sunny and bright. The day was windy, too, judging from the rustling of the trees and the windswept motions of the overgrown grass.

  If the sun and wind cooperated, the grass – even as tall as it was – would almost surely be dry by this afternoon, which meant that I could get a decent start on the mowing.

  With growing excitement, I dashed back to the bedroom, made the bed, and then ventured into the attached garage in search of the things I'd need – a lawn mower, hedge trimmers, and maybe a rake or shovel.

  I found everything I needed in no time flat, including a gas-powered push-mower and a spare can of gas.

  It was a sign. It had to be.

  With a renewed sense of purpose, I hauled everything across the street and got to work. The work was hard, messy, and filled with all kinds of challenges I hadn't anticipated.

  By noon, I was a sweaty, bedraggled mess, but I hardly cared. I kept on working, fueled only by bottled water and raw determination.

  By late afternoon, the property was looking a whole lot better – or so I thought, until I was rudely informed otherwise.

  Chapter 9

  Arden

  I was in the final stages of mowing the front yard when a big, white SUV pulled into my grandparent's driveway.

  At the sight of it, I stopped mowing, but didn't cut the mower's engine.

  Bright sunlight reflected off the vehicle's windows, making it impossible for me to see who was driving.

  Was it Brody?

  It had to be. After all, I hadn't seen him all day, in spite of his claim – or should I say threat – that we'd be talking.

  For a long moment, nothing happened. But then, the passenger's side door flew open, and a sleek blonde in a tailored cream-colored business suit slammed out of the vehicle and began stalking toward me, in high heels no less.

  She looked like she wanted to kill someone – me in particular.

  With growing unease, I turned off the mower.

  I waited in confused silence as she stalked ever closer – using the front walkway and avoiding the grass entirely. I knew why, too. It was because of her cream-colored shoes. I was no fashion expert, but they looked very pricey, just like the rest of her.

  Without breaking stride, she hollered out, "Just what the hell are you doing?"

  I glanced around. The way she was acting, you'd almost think she'd caught me crapping on the front steps.

  I replied, "I'm, um, mowing actually."

  She stopped on the edge of the walkway, leaving a good fifteen feet between us. Through gritted teeth, she said, "I know you're mowing. What I want to know is why."

  I had no idea who she was or why she was flipping out. Still, I could tell by her clothing that she wasn't from around here. She looked too polished, too slick, and way too expensive for Bayside, Michigan.

  I couldn’t resist saying, "If you knew what I was doing, why'd you ask?"

  Ignoring my question, she extended her arm and pointed an elegant finger vaguely toward the mower. "And where did you get that?"

  She said "that" like it was a picture of her mother, naked with a goat.

  I wanted to tell her that it was none of her business. But the sad truth was, this wasn't my family's home, not anymore. And for all I knew, she was Brody's girlfriend or something.

  Normally, I wouldn't care who she was. But Brody was doing me a favor, a big one, too. And in spite of our longstanding grudges, I wasn't going to take his help for granted.

  So I sucked it up and tried to smile as I said, "If you mean the lawn mower, I found it in the garage across the street."

  She looked at me like I'd just confessed to grand-theft-mower. Her lipstick was very red, and her mouth twisted as she gritted out, "In the crew house?"

  I shook my head. "Crew house? What do you mean?"

  Again, she didn't answer. Instead, she looked toward my grandparent's front porch and literally gasped. "Oh, my God. The shrubs – what happened to them?"

  I turned to look. Wasn't it obvious? This morning, I'd spent nearly two hours trimming them. And hey, I wasn't a professional landscaper or anything, but even I knew that they looked a whole lot nicer than they had just yesterday.

  "I trimmed them," I explained. "And you've got to admit, they do look better." Or at least, I thought they looked better. What on Earth was I missing?

  She whirled to face me. Her nostrils, narrow as they were, literally flared as she said, "I know they look better." Her voice rose to a new crescendo. "What the hell were you thinking?"

  Huh?

  Now, I didn't know what to say. After a long moment, I managed to stammer out, "Well, I was thinking that better is good, right?"

  "Un-fucking-believable." She turned and hollered out toward the SUV. "Roy, get your ass out here!"

  Turns out, Roy was the SUV's driver. He was a big burly guy with wavy red hair and a matching red beard. Unlike the blonde, he was dressed in jeans and an oversized plaid shirt.

  When he lumbered over, she said to him, "You
speak yokel. Explain to this… " Her hands gave a little flutter. "…whatever she is, that she fucked up."

  I was still gripping the mower, and my fingers tightened around the handle. "Hey!" I said. "Just what's your problem, anyway?"

  She turned to sneer in my direction. "At the moment, you're my problem." She turned back to Roy and said, "The grass – can we put it back?"

  Roy frowned. "Uh…sorry. Come again?"

  She gave a loud sigh. "Can we rebuild it or something?"

  Roy looked at me. I looked at him. In unison, we both looked at the blonde.

  Finally, I said what needed saying. "Are you freaking nuts?'

  Her eyes narrowed to slits. "Of course I’m nuts," she practically spat. "You ruined everything!" She turned once again to Roy. "So we can't put it back? Is that what you're telling me?"

  Technically, Roy hadn't told her anything.

  I spoke up. "But why would you want to put it back?"

  "Because," she said, "we need the 'before' footage. And for that, worse is better."

  When I gave Roy a questioning look, he explained, "We're fixing the place up. Filming starts tomorrow."

  Filming?

  This could only mean one thing. Apparently, the house was going to be featured on Brody's TV show, the one he starred in with his two brothers.

  Probably I should've seen this coming, but for some reason, I hadn't. I mean, I was still grateful and all. It's just that I never envisioned Brody moving so quickly to turn a favor into an opportunity.

  I heard myself say, "Wow, that was fast."

  The blonde hissed, "And stop talking. I'm trying to think."

  And I was trying to keep from slapping her. But you didn't see me complaining, did you?

  When I looked once again to Roy, he gave me an apologetic smile.

  I could barely smile back. Maybe he was used to the blonde's rudeness, but I wasn't.

  It was all I could do to keep my mouth shut as she paced back and forth on the front walkway, looking from me to the house and back again – as if of both of us had personally wronged her.

  Finally, she reached into her designer purse and pulled out her cell phone. She tapped angrily at the screen and put the phone to her ear. Without so much as a goodbye, she turned and began stalking back toward the SUV.

  As she moved, I caught bits and pieces of her conversation. I heard lots of profanity, peppered with words of impending doom. The phrase "total fucking disaster" was said more than once.