Page 10 of Fix Them Up
‘Alright. Talk to you later.’ The man hung up, and I could hear his footsteps approaching.
Any second, he would come around the corner and see me. What if he was armed? What if he was going to kidnap me and submit me to human trafficking? My thoughts spiralled. All the murders and kidnappings from my true crime podcasts eddied around in my brain.
It was fight or flight, and I chose both.
I let out a battle cry and held the lamp above my head, jumping out into the doorway.
‘Fucking ’ell!’
A notepad fell to the floor as the criminal caught the lamp I’d half-thrown in his direction with ease. He held it up, his eyes wide like it could explode any minute. In my hungover strategising, I’d thought I’d throw the lamp and run like some sort of grenade.
I saw the face in front of me – a familiar face.
‘You,’ I seethed.
Car park man. The man from the church car park was standing in my living room. The man who had callously stolen my space and then had the gall to attend my dad’s funeral.
‘What—I—’ the man sputtered. Confusion and shock crossed his features, one after the other in a comical display, like a cartoon character.
‘Come to steal something else?’ My hands went to my hips. ‘What do you need now? My kidney?’
His gaze travelled all over me, his face flickering through emotions I couldn’t read. Dark eyes caught on my bare legs, and I couldn’t help but notice the way they dragged up my body. I shifted my stance, crossing my arms, suddenly conscious I wasn’t wearing a bra.
‘Well? Cat got your tongue?’ Since when did I say old-timey shit like that? This house was clearly rubbing off on me.
His cheeks flushed at my question, and I felt a morsel of glee.
He held his hands up like he feared another lamp being thrown in his direction. ‘I – I didn’t know you were Jim’s daughter. I wouldn’t have—’
‘Wouldn’t have stolen a car parking space from his daughter at his funeral?’
The funeral. Cue full-body cringe. He’d seen me break down. He’d seen me flee the church. White-hot embarrassment flooded my body.
‘I didn’t know.’ He took a step closer. ‘I wouldn’t have – I would have given you the space.’
‘Mm-hmm.’ I nodded sarcastically.
As we stood closer, the juxtaposition of our clothes was even more apparent. My silky floral pyjamas, exposed legs, and probably questionable morning breath, while he wore a long-sleeved fitted black tee, utility trousers, and steel-capped boots. He ran his hands through his dark brown hair that curled at his temples. The scruff around his face was more like a beard than it was that day at the funeral. He had deep brown eyes that I couldn’t deny were inherently attractive.
He was totally out of his comfort zone.
It almost made me laugh.
I stepped back, tucking my hair behind my shoulder, attempting to make it look less dishevelled.
‘Next question. Do you want to explain why you’re committing domestic burglary?’ I said haughtily, a bit high from making a man about six foot three blush.
He frowned. ‘You called me.’
I huffed a laugh. ‘I certainly did not.’
He spoke slowly. ‘Yes, you did.’ He pointed to the front door. ‘Your door is broken. It was half open. I figured no daft sod is going to sleep in a house without a door that can at least shut closed.’
It was my turn to blush. I’d forgotten about the broken lock, and after the second bottle of prosecco, I hadn’t cared. After Lydia got an Uber home, I stomped upstairs, collapsed on my makeshift bed and went to sleep.
‘I –’ I opened my mouth, attempting to reclaim some ground, but came up with nothing.
The man raised a single dark eyebrow. ‘I got a voicemail from an unknown number at one thirty in the morning. Two women, sounding pissed as farts, asked if I’d come around and look at the house. As soon as possible. It sounded like an emergency –’
