Page 11 of Holding Ground

My nostrils flare at the reminder of how long she’ll be staying.

“C’mon, where’s that small-town hospitality you’re so eager to preserve?” She arches an eyebrow.

Fucking Roy.

“Fine. Let me grab the key. Wait here.”

“Happy to.” She gives me a smug smile that reads, I won and fuck you.

I slam the screen door and stalk off into the kitchen. The key for the bunkie hangs on the hook beside the sliding glass door that leads to the deck. After I grab it, I close my fist around it and head back to the door.

“Follow me.” I exit the house and don’t wait to make sure she’s following me, but I can hear her feet on the grass as we walk along the side of the house.

The bunkie is set about twenty feet from the edge of the water and on the opposite side of the lot from the dock. It’s a good source of extra income when I can rent it out, and though I was happy to hear my uncle had managed to rent it out for a three-month stint earlier today, now it feels like these next three months will feel more like three years.

Four steps lead up to a small porch, and when I reach the bottom of them, I turn to find Emelia only halfway across the lawn. She’s picking her way across, one careful step at a time, those heels sinking into the lawn with each stride.

Something pulls at the corner of my mouth. “You planning to make it over here sometime this evening?”

She huffs and glances across the lawn at me as if the distance between us is an Olympic track.

“Maybe you should wear more sensible shoes.”

With what sounds pretty close to a growl, she slips off her shoes. Then she stomps across the grass with them in hand until we stand face-to-face.

I don’t say anything. Instead, I turn and make my way up the stairs, unlock the door, then extend my hand, the key dangling from my fingers. “Here you go. There’s a $200 charge if you lose it.”

Emelia yanks the key from my fingers. “I know. I read the rental agreement Roy sent over. He’s much more polite than you.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” I swing the door open.

She steps past me into the bunkie. Her perfume catches me off guard—woodsy with a thread of citrus. Fresh. I hate that I notice it.

Emelia takes in the space, circling in the center of the room.

“Sorry it’s not a five-star hotel like you’re probably used to.”

She glances at me over her shoulder. “It’s fine.”

She places her shoes on the pinewood floor that matches the vaulted ceiling and walks around as if she’s a safety inspector. All I want to do is get out of here, so I figure I’ll point out what she needs to know.

“Double bed.” I point to where it’s pushed against the far wall. “Love seat, dresser.” I walk a few steps. “Kitchen.” I point to where it lines the wall opposite the bed. “Bathroom and the wood stove that hopefully you’ll be gone before it gets too cold to use.”

She says nothing, wears no sign of what she thinks of the place, so I continue.

“I’ll collect your towels and switch them out every few days. There’s a laundromat in town where you can take care of your clothes. That door beside the bed leads to a small walk-in closet where you can store your stuff since I’m sure the dresser won’t be enough.”

She nods. “I do like to dress nice.” Her gaze falls down my body with judgment.

“You can add any garbage bags you have to our container at the side of the house. Just make sure to latch it properly so the wildlife can’t get in it. And don’t go leaving any leftover food out on the porch, otherwise you’re sure to have visitors. And they aren’t rats like you’re used to.”

“I’m not an idiot. I know not to leave food outside.”

I hold up both hands. “My mistake. Didn’t realize they had bears in the city.”

She crosses her arms and juts out her hip. “Who says I’m from the city?”

I eye her up and down, then raise a brow. “So you aren’t?”