One More Time (Ruby Falls #2) - Aurora Rose Reynolds Page 0,3

I can’t even reach the things on the top shelf at the grocery store without help. I definitely can’t see over the top of the washer with the lid open. I listen to him bang around then a moment later he reappears.

“The hose wasn’t attached to the drain. Looks like someone planned on taking the machine with them then had second thoughts.”

“Really?” I look at the washer. “It was included in the sale of the house, along with the dryer and the appliances in the kitchen.”

He studies me for a moment, then asks, “Was the sale attached to a foreclosure?” He drags a hand through his long dark-blonde hair, pushing it back from his face. “Sometimes when that happens, people get pissed and fuck shit up for the next buyer.”

“No,” I deny while wrapping my arms around my middle. “The house was put on the market by a couple getting a divorce.”

“That’d do it too. People can be assholes when things are going to shit for them. Sometimes they want to spread that joy around.”

“Great.” I bite my lower lip, looking to the side, and mumble, “Should I have someone come out to check the gas stove? I really don’t relish the idea of blowing up because of marital problems and a gas leak.”

He starts to laugh, and I turn just in time to experience the beauty of his head thrown back, seeing the contours of his jaw and the muscles of his neck. The laughter coming from deep in his chest does something strange to my insides, causing them to twist and turn. When his clear blue eyes meet mine, the breath inside my lungs feels odd, almost painful. I’m pretty sure he has no idea who I am, but still I feel like he just gave me something he doesn’t share with many people.

“I’ll check out the gas line.” He slams the lid on the washer closed, causing the water to start back up, then pushes it back into place while muttering, “You’re too beautiful to go up in smoke.”

Did he just call me beautiful?

He did. I know he did, but part of me still thinks I heard him wrong. After years with my parents and more years with my ex, I see what they saw when I look at myself in the mirror. A woman with great hair that’s not quite red and not really blonde. Fair skin and too many freckles. Overly large blue eyes and full lips, and a body that would have been the norm if I lived in the era of Marilyn Monroe. Unfortunately a size ten/ twelve nowadays is considered unacceptable and unattractive, and stupidly for years and years I starved myself and worked out like crazy, attempting to try to make myself fit in.

Not that it ever happened. I’ve never been smaller than a size eight, and since my divorce, I’ve been wearing a size twelve, sometimes even a fourteen. I don’t think I’m ugly; I consider myself passably pretty, but definitely not beautiful. Thinking about it, I don’t think anyone has ever called me beautiful before.

I dig my nails into my palms and push those thoughts and everything else about my past into the back of my mind, when Tide speaks again. “I’ll take a look at the damage downstairs and make sure everything is hooked up properly before I go.”

“Okay,” I agree quietly, focusing on him.

His eyes hold mine for a moment, the look within their crystal-blue depths making me feel like he sees more than he should be able to. Like he knows exactly what I’m feeling and thinking. The moment is broken when he motions for me to move. I take my cue and head back down the stairs ahead of him, more aware now than before of my lack of clothing. When I reach the bottom, I walk past the kitchen, into the living room, and look up. The ceiling has crumbled further, leaving a large gaping hole and watermarks traveling across where the drywall was taped together.

“Shit,” he hisses.

I turn and look at him. “What?”

“Babe, the whole ceiling in here is gonna have to be replaced.” His eyes dip toward the floor. “The carpet too. Maybe even the floor under it.”

“How much?”

“Pardon?”

“How much is it going to cost to have all that done?”

“A few grand,” he says, studying me and seeming a little surprised by my question.

“Great,” I groan. I mean, I have a little money set aside for emergencies and a little more tucked