Drip.
“How was that going for you, huh?” The man shoved his hands into his pockets, and the action drew Cora’s eyes down to where denim stretched across his crotch. Snapping her eyes back up to his, she caught the tail end of a fleeting smirk. If she’d thought her cheeks were hot before, they were twin blazing suns now.
Could you maybe not ogle his man bits for five seconds and figure out what’s going on here?
“It’s going…poorly,” she admitted.
“So, question number one is who are you?” He came closer still, sauntering toward her like some silver-screen cowboy but with the most delicious accent she’d ever heard. The vowels were broad and lazy, like a scorching summer day.
“Cora Cabot,” she replied, swallowing back the strange fluttering feeling wreaking havoc inside her. “I…I’m friends with Liv.”
Judging by the raised brow, Mr. Bronzed and Shirtless had not been expecting anyone at the house. All Cora knew about Liv’s family was that she was the youngest of five, with four rough-and-tumble older brothers, each one more protective than the last. From the tidbits she’d shared and the anecdotal evidence of the scrapbook, Liv’s family seemed close-knit. Loving. Like how Cora had always hoped her family might be.
“You’re friends with Liv,” he repeated, looking confused. “She’s not in the country at the moment.”
“I know that. She’s in Manhattan, staying in my apartment,” Cora said. “When she told me about her internship, we agreed to a house swap. She didn’t mention it?”
…
Trent scanned his memory for information of a friend staying at Liv’s house, but nothing sprang to mind. Although, to be fair, his sister liked to blow up the family group chat with long messages that made Trent’s head spin. He was more of a two-word-response kinda guy. The occasional emoji. Precise. To the point.
Liv liked to recreate War and Peace every time she got on her phone.
“If she did, I don’t remember,” Trent said.
“I have an email from your sister.” The woman picked up a small bag perched on top of his sister’s bed that had a long gold chain attached and a fancy-looking clasp made out of two Cs. “She sent me some instructions and the code to get into the house.”
She thrust the piece of paper in his direction, her wet hands blurring the ink in places. But there was his sister’s email address, clear as day at the top, and the pin code for the spare key.
Cora stood, her hands knotted in front of her. Her long hair was soaked through, and it stuck to her shoulders and arms. She wore a fitted black dress, which, now that it was wet, clung to her body like a second skin. He could see every contour, every mouth-watering line, from her shapely legs to the subtle dip at her waist to the enticing flare of her hips. He could even see the texture of a lacy bra covering her perky breasts. Her blue eyes were icy pale, and they stared at him unwaveringly.
“You’re here for a month?” He scrubbed a hand over his face, wondering how in the hell Liv hadn’t thought to tell him about her house swap. She knew he never checked his emails and group messages. Who had time for that? “That might pose a problem.”
“You mean aside from the flood damage?” She attempted a smile that was so sweet, a little part of him softened.
“Didn’t it occur to you that there was a reason pieces of pipe were lying all over the ground?” He’d have a hell of a mess to clean up now, not to mention that in the height of summer, they had to keep an eye on water usage. Australia was abundant in many things, but rain was not one of them. “You’ve made my job a whole lot harder now.”
“I can’t believe I did that,” she said with a sigh. “I honestly was so tired from the flight, and all I wanted was a soak in the tub. I didn’t even notice there was anything off. It was like I had blinders on. I’m so sorry.”
It would have been easy to rule Cora out as an oblivious princess with her designer luggage and fancy handbag and a dress that looked more suited to a cocktail party than an international flight. But she looked genuinely distressed.
“Oh…” She bit down on her lip and scrunched up her face. “There’s one more problem.”
“What else?” Trent tipped his head back and looked at the ceiling, as if he might find strength there.
“This.” Cora reached into a sad-looking box that had lost all structural integrity due to extensive water damage and pulled out a book covered with silver and gold material. The edges of the pages were crinkled with moisture, and the thick black letters spelling out “Happy 40th Wedding Anniversary” had bled ink everywhere.
“Oh no.” Trent’s shoulders sagged. “Liv is going to be devastated.”
His sister had been working on the scrapbook for months, collecting old photos and writing out fond memories and even interviewing people who had known their parents when they were first dating. Trent held his hands out, and Cora handed over the sodden mess. The pages had soaked up water like greedy plants after a drought. When he flipped open the cover, a picture of him and his siblings from when they were kids stared up at him. He counted five sets of baby blues and gap-toothed smiles. Five lots of gangly limbs and sun-streaked hair. Five hands sticky with half-melted ice creams.
A perfect memory captured forever.
The paper disintegrated under his touch, a piece of it tearing right off and splitting Trent away from his siblings. Thank god Liv hadn’t used all originals. They were photocopies that could be replaced, but hours of flipping through albums, photocopying and cutting and pasting and drawing decorations, were now for nothing.
“Do you think we can sa
ve it?” Cora asked hopefully.