Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 102754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
I grabbed my wrench and pointed it at him. “I would rather set my house on fire.”
His smirk deepened. “I give it a week before you break something else.”
I huffed. “Then you’ll be waiting a long time.”
Spoiler alert: He was right.
Chapter 4
Sayla
The blizzard hit like a freight train, burying the town under an unforgiving blanket of white and trapping everyone in their homes. It was fine by me, I’d stocked up, locked my doors, and was fully prepared to ride it out alone, wrapped in blankets and fueled by snacks and an unholy amount of coffee.
In fact, I’d just curled up on my couch under some blankets and was flicking through Netflix when disaster struck.
It started with a noise. A deep, ominous creak from above, the kind of sound that immediately makes your soul leave your body. I initially thought someone had broken in and was farting but, to be honest, if someone farted like that, they had bigger issues than I did, and that said something. I barely had time to register it before my bathroom ceiling gave up on life entirely.
With a deafening crash, my bathtub—my actual, literal bathtub—plunged through the floor like it was auditioning for a disaster movie, taking half my pipes with it. Water exploded everywhere, drenching my floors, walls, hopes, and dreams.
I just stood there for a second, stunned, watching my former bathroom turn into a rapidly expanding indoor swimming pool. Then I sprang into action, or at least what could generously be called action—mostly running around in circles, cursing, and trying to remember where the hell my main water shut-off valve was.
I’m lying. I didn’t know where it was because I hadn’t paid attention or put the effort into memorizing that fact. I’d call my “remembering where the main water shut-off valve was,” me technically screaming swear words, mainly fuck, and opening cupboard doors to see if there was anything labeled ‘water’ inside them.
Within minutes, water was spreading into my living room, and I was making frantic noises that didn’t resemble words so much as distressed animal sounds. Just as I contemplated whether abandoning my house entirely and living in my car was socially acceptable, a knock sounded at my front door.
Oh no.
Not now. If there was a god or any justice in the world, this wasn’t happening.
I flung open the door, and of course, there he was. Roque, standing in the middle of the blizzard, like he was some winter apocalypse rescue team, his arms crossed and his expression equal parts smug and concerned.
“You good?” he asked, peering past me.
At that exact moment, a massive, freezing splash of water lapped at my feet like a cruel punctuation mark.
I exhaled slowly through my nose, gripping the doorframe so I didn’t launch myself into the snow. “I’m fine.”
He lifted an eyebrow, gaze flicking to the disaster unfolding behind me. “Yeah, that’s convincing.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Look, unless you happen to be an expert in flood management, home repair, or time travel to stop this from ever happening, I don’t need—”
Roque brushed past me, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation, his boots squelching against my increasingly waterlogged floor. “Where’s your main shut-off?”
I hesitated, then admitted, “I have no idea.”
He sighed but, to his credit, didn’t say anything smug about it. Instead, he marched straight for the kitchen, heading to the basement door like he somehow had my house memorized.
“I—wait, how do you know where—”
“I helped Mrs. Hendricks with hers last year,” he called over his shoulder. “Same layout.”
I stared after him, torn between horror at my house falling apart and annoyance that Roque was swooping in again like a smug, know-it-all handyman.
A few minutes later, the gushing sound stopped, replaced by an eerie, waterlogged silence. Was it possible for silence to even be waterlogged, or was it just my home? Roque reappeared, shaking snow out of his hair like some kind of heroic lumberjack.
“Well,” he said, glancing at the wreckage of what used to be my bathroom. “On the bright side, you’ve always wanted an open floor plan.”
I picked up a soggy throw pillow and threw it at his head. The moment the pillow left my hand, I realized two things: one, my aim was worse than I thought, and two, Roque had reflexes like a damn cat. He barely moved, tilting just enough for the soggy missile to miss his face by an inch before it landed with a wet splat against the ruined floor.
He turned back to me, one eyebrow raised in amused challenge. “Feel better?”
I huffed, crossing my arms. “Not really.”
Roque glanced around at the disaster zone that was now my living room. “So, what’s the plan?” he asked, ever so casually, like I was about to whip out a five-step solution to survive my house actively trying to evict me. “Because, in case you haven’t noticed, the roads are shut down. Snow’s too deep, no one’s driving anywhere, and unless you’ve got an inflatable raft tucked away somewhere, you’re kinda up shit’s creek.” He cautiously peered up through the hole, seeing the toilet only feet away. “Almost literally with that one, too.”