Page 4 of Let You Love Me

“You’re sure you can’t stay for brunch?” my mother asks, hovering by the door. “Chance will be here any minute.”

All the more reason to get the hell out of here.

“Can’t. Sorry,” I say, feigning disappointment. “I promised Gabby I’d help her with a psych paper while Sophie plays at the park.”

Mom crosses her arm over her chest and watches me. “You’re always so busy. It would be nice to see you relax a little.”

Right. Because sitting across from Chance Lockhart at brunch is the epitome of relaxation.

I glance back to Sophie and my lips quirk as I watch her struggle to peer around the large pink ball in her arms. It’snearly half the size of her squat frame, and all I can see while she’s holding it are two stubby legs and the halo of light brown curls that fall in wild tangles down her back and around her face.

While she may have gotten the shade of her ocher locks from her father—mine are a vibrant auburn—she certainly got her waves from me, along with all her other prominent features like her thick lashes, bright blue eyes, and full lips.

“Maybe next time, Mom,” I say, already heading out the door while I take one of Sophie’s little hands in mine.

I ignore the answering sigh behind me and guide Sophie toward the edge of the yard to the mailbox where the roof contractor was supposed to drop off my estimate earlier that morning.

I raise my head and lift a hand in a wave to Mrs. Miller, our neighbor and Sophie’s babysitter, then once we reach the end of the yard, I flip open the mailbox and find the envelope tucked inside.

“Come on, Mom,” Sophie wines, tugging on my arm.

My brow creases as I glance down at her, then back to the envelope in my hands. “Yeah, okay, we’re going.”

The emblem for Redd’s Roofing is stamped in the corner, and I say a little prayer as I open it, keeping Sophie to my right and away from the road while we walk.

Please don’t be high.

Please don’t be high.

Please don’t be high.

I remove the estimate for the new roof on the lake house and unfold it, my gaze homing in on the numbers and the amount totaled on the bottom of the page. As I read the amount, my stomach sinks.

It’s high.

“Shit,” I hiss before I remember myself and slap the paper over my mouth. “Sorry,” I mumble, “Mommy said a bad word.”

“Mom,” Sophie singsongs.

She drops the ball on the sidewalk, watching it bounce, then runs to catch up with it while my heart leaps into my throat as I envision her stumbling onto the road. “Soph! Wait until we get to the park, okay? It’s too hard to bounce it and walk. It’ll roll out into traffic.”

“I can do it.”

I sigh, not in the mood for an argument as I clutch the letter, the estimated total heavy in my hands. “I said no. You can wait a few more minutes.”

If I have to walk the two blocks to the park with her bobbing the ball the entire way, it’ll take us years to get there, and I want to be as far away as possible when Chance shows up.

When I shoot her a sharp look, Sophie once again hugs the ball.

As we walk I wonder how I’m going to manage to come up with fifteen thousand dollars for a new roof when I was lucky enough to afford the house in the first place.

It was a foreclosure. I’d fallen in love with it years ago, and when it went for sale more than six months ago, I jumped. Luckily for me, I saved every dime I received after I graduated high school, including my parent’s gift, as well as money working from home doing data entry, so I’d been able to afford the down payment.

To be fair, I knew the lake house was a fixer upper when I bought it, but because it was a foreclosure I couldn’t inspect it or go inside, so I had no idea the roof was leaking in several places. All of the wood will need replacing, along with some of the plasterboard on the ceiling, which means I can’t move in until it’s fixed, not with Sophie.

But unless they’re willing to accept Monopoly money, I don’t have extra to spare. Any money I had in my savings is long gone, and between a full course load at college, working from homepart-time, and being a full-time mom to Soph, I’m spread thin as it is. If I worked more hours, I’d never see her, and on top of that the burden of childcare would lie on my mother’s shoulders because I sure as hell can’t afford to pay anyone to look after my daughter.

I groan, feeling discouraged.

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