Page 4 of Villainous Summer

Cory waved, plastering on a customer-service grin. “No need, Mrs. Partridge. My guest is leaving.” He turned to me, the placating smile falling away. “Go now. Before this gets worse for you.”

A part of me wanted to call his bluff, to see how he would handle the police showing up. His fiancée would find out for sure. But then what? I’d be the crazy gal who threw wine at him? The jealous ex?

I was due to go back to work in days. This community was too small to be starting drama before I even began.

Turning on my heels, I stomped off. I was a block away before the rage simmered lower and the red faded from my vision.

The late spring wind nipped through my too-thin sweater. A glance at the darkening sky told me it would likely rain again in the next hour. Miles from my apartment, I was alone with nothing but my temper to warm me.

Another block down, the first icy drop fell on my cheek. Clouds above me were slate colored and then it was a barrage.

That was the moment the police car pulled onto the street. At first sight of the light bar, I started up the driveway of a small two-story white craftsman. Passing the rows of well-tended irises and hyacinths, I headed for the front porch.

I knocked three times, training myself not to look behind me as the cop car rolled past. No answer came from the other side of the white door, with its stained glass lily window.

I knocked again. No answer.

Rolling down the soaked road, the car’s engine faltered as it slowed.

“Fuck it,” I mumbled as I tried the doorknob.

It turned, welcoming me inside.

Framed watercolor paintings of bright flowers adorned the walls flanking an ornate gilded mirror. Coats hung under a bookshelf lining the doorway to the end of the peach-painted hall.

In a large frame on the table was a picture of an older woman in a wheelchair and a younger man crouched beside her. His dark locks blended with her salt-and-pepper hair as they leaned into each other. With matching wide smiles, their identical gray eyes sparkled with affection. Judging by the decorations, the woman must have been the owner of the house.

“Hello?” I called down the hall and waited for a response.

A rumbling dryer and a faint scraping filled the silence. As far as I could tell, the house was empty.

On my tiptoes, I peeked out the front window. It looked like the police car was gone.

Maybe waiting a minute or two inside this empty, unlocked house would do me some good. I could call for a ride and stay out of the rain.

As I unlocked my phone, the picture on my wallpaper of Cory and me assaulted my vision. Our hair was the same shade of brown, my blue eyes squinted in laughter as he nestled into my neck. It was blurry, candid, and I had thought it was so lovely in that postcoital moment.

“Foolish,” I mumbled to myself.

Some women would have been insulted by being called a bitch. Called crazy. That wasn’t what hurt me. It was being foolish.

Being so careless in what I wanted him to be, I missed the red flags. I was weakened by this man, and worst of all, I allowed it.

As if I could shake the thought away, I tossed my head.

Focus. Next step. Get out of this random elderly lady’s house and go home.

With the rideshare app pulled up, I tapped on the screen when a door clicked open somewhere in the house. Frozen, I looked up to find a hulking man a few feet away.

Tall and bulky, he took up half the hallway. His thin blue shirt had grease smeared on what I had to admit were amazing pectoral muscles. The shirt’s sleeves stretched taut over his wide shoulders and biceps. Dark hair fell in front of his steely gray eyes. A muscle ticked in his strong jaw as he stared at me. He held a dirty blue cloth, wiping his palm with it.

In a deep voice that made my stomach twist, he asked, “Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?”

No simpering would get me out of this. I never was good at playing at the damsel, and I certainly wouldn’t start.

As if I had every right to be dripping water on his blue floral rug, I put out my hand. “I’m Summer Townsend. I need a favor.”

Van

---