current—or former—building codes, the finishings had a DIY feel…and not in a creative, handmade, one-of-a-kind way, either. More in the “I have no idea what the hell I’m doing” kind of way.
“Liv?” Trent poked his head into the bedroom. His sister had flown out yesterday, texting the family’s WhatsApp group earlier to say she’d landed safely at JFK Airport.
Now that he looked closer, he saw a suitcase sitting by the bed. It wasn’t the one his sister used—which had been a hand-me-down from their mother, tied with a ratty red polka dot ribbon at the handle to distinguish it from the thousands of other beat-up black wheeled boxes that graced the airport’s luggage carousel.
This suitcase looked expensive.
But Trent’s concerns about figuring out who was showering in his sister’s house were suddenly overtaken by a much larger concern.
“Oh shit!”
Without giving a moment’s thought to what he might see in the bathroom, he rushed toward the door and yanked it back. Just as he thought, the place was entirely flooded.
Chapter Two
Cora held her hands over the open pipe, attempting to stem the aggressive flow of water into the bathroom. But she was failing miserably. And moistly.
“No, no, no!”
The water kept coming, like a tsunami of bad luck manifested. What else could possibly go wrong? She was soaked from head to toe, her hair dripping and hanging like a heavy sheet around her shoulders. Strands stuck to her arms and her cheeks as the water pounded her in the face.
Cora coughed and turned her face away, but the stream sprayed her ear and she winced. How the hell had she missed the gaping hole in the wall where the sink should have been? What else did she need, a giant flashing sign?
She’d been drawn zombie-like to the deep bathtub and the promise of feeling clean after her long flight. Nothing like being stuck in a flying tuna can for fourteen hours to make you crave running water and a bar of soap. That’s what she got for not stopping to freshen up at the airline’s lounge before the two-hour drive from the airport to Patterson’s Bluff.
Are you feeling fresh now?
“Stop already!” She squeezed her eyes shut as more water came, pushing past her fingertips and spilling onto the floor. It rose up to where her knees pressed into a soggy bathmat. Her dress would be ruined.
Everything would be ruined.
Cora hadn’t even stripped out of her clothing before disaster hit. She’d been here all of five freaking minutes and she’d ruined her friend’s house.
How can you be this much of a disaster with even the simplest thing?
The water kept coming, and now she had so much in her eyes that she couldn’t even open them to look around. She hadn’t been able to figure out how to make it stop, and no amount of twisting the bathtub’s taps had worked.
This was the end. She was going to flood the entire house, have nowhere to stay, and her only real friend was going to hate her forever.
RIP, Cora Cabot. She didn’t live long, but she owned a lot of pretty shoes.
“What the hell are you doing?” An angry voice boomed over the sound of rushing water, and Cora squeaked, surprise causing her to yank her hands back from the open pipe. Mistake! The water gushed out harder, and she immediately tried to cover it again.
“What are you doing?” she shouted, her voice shaking. Great, now, on top of being a complete hot mess, she was going to get murdered by some stranger while she looked like a drowned rat and smelled like a dead one. “Who are you?”
“Who are you?”
Cora could barely keep her eyes open long enough to see who was shouting at her because water droplets kept finding their way in. Should she run? How far would she get on this slippery floor? And where would she even run to? This place was in the middle of nowhere.
“You stay there—I’m going to shut the water main off.” The sound of footsteps sloshing through water faded.
Minutes later, as sheer helplessness almost overwhelmed her, the water mercifully stopped. She withdrew her hands and used her forearm to push her hair out of her face so she could survey the damage. The entire bathroom was soaked. Totally and thoroughly soaked. The fuzzy pink mat made a squelching sound as she stood, her feet sinking into the sodden material. Her suede ballet flats lay ruined next to where the door opened up into the bedroom, and beyond