With a black trash bag in hand, Emma turned up her grit, and started another day of cleanup. She tried not to look too closely at anything in the house. Too many things in here had turned from a normal household item to something unrecognizable. Often something infected with bacteria, mold, rot, and bugs.
She did, however, keep a keen eye out for creatures. This place was a veritable Noah’s Ark of pests, and the sound of them rummaging around somewhere under the two feet of trash made her skin crawl. Just in the last two days, she’d found countless cockroaches, ants, flies, a dozen mice, a few lizards, and even a garden snake.
Emma got into a groove and threw herself into the project. The purging felt surprisingly cathartic, and she wondered if this hurdle had been purposely put in her path to provide her an exterior way to mirror her inner excavation.
Three hours in, she was sweating beneath the thin coveralls. She dragged her twelfth full bag out the back door and swung it into the dumpster, then peeled back her mask, unzipped her suit, and wandered around the backyard, drawing in a deep lungful of fresh air. Before she went back in, she pulled a bottle of water from the cooler she’d brought and downed the whole thing.
Once her thirst was quenched, her body gave her another nagging signal about taking a break to pee. She’d been waiting because it was going to suck to get completely undressed every time she had to go to the bathroom. But unless she wanted to brave one of the gaggable bathrooms in the house, she’d have to trek to a local gas station or fast food restaurant. And once she left this place, she feared she’d just keep driving.
Emma scanned the bevy of cleaning supplies she’d lined up against the house. “Maybe I ought to just clean the damn toilet.”
The water and electricity were still on, and she had her mask and gloves. She needed one more look at the toilet before she made the decision.
Three steps into the kitchen, paper and plastic rustled on her left. A second later, a rat the size of a freaking football ran across her path and right over Emma’s c
ross-trainers.
She screamed and recoiled. The rat darted toward her, and Emma screamed again. She stumbled backward before finding her feet, then turned to run out—and smacked right into a man’s wide chest.
“Shit.” She reeled back and fell off balance.
Just before she landed on her ass, he caught her with an arm around her waist. She didn’t have to look up to know it was Dylan. He smelled like Dylan. Felt like Dylan. Moved like Dylan.
“That scream could only mean you came across something with beady eyes,” he said.
She gripped his arms for balance and dropped her head against his chest. He was strong and warm and so…Dylan.
“God, I hate mice and rats and—”
“Anything with beady little eyes.”
“I’d rather dissect a corpse.”
“A little morbid, but considering your line of work, I’ll let it slide.” His hands moved down her back, a sweet, familiar gesture that released fiery tingles across her skin and butterflies in her stomach. “Our first apartment in Hanover was pretty bad. But we won that battle. We’ll win this one too.”
Our. We. Hearing him talk about them as a couple felt both comforting and calculated. But then, everything with Dylan felt like a contradiction, a double-edged sword, bittersweet. Yet every time she was within ten feet of the man, her body came alive in a way that dragged her back to the first glorious months of their marriage.
And right now, after everything she’d been through, she wished she could stay here and just rest. Just lean on him. Just…feel loved. Safe. Wanted.
But she knew exactly how quickly Dylan could turn her life upside down. She wouldn’t depend on a man again, not for her happiness or her security. And definitely not Dylan Wright.
Emma forced herself to take a step back. Then another.
She turned and wandered into the yard to reset. “Alexa, off.”
The music cut out, and Emma pressed her hands to her hips. “Thought you’d decided to face terrorists instead of me.”
“Just getting our ducks in a row and giving you some space.”
She appreciated the space. Sort of. “What ducks are those?”
“The ones we need to get the renovation started.”
“You’re still holding on to that idea?”
“That idea is going to pay off your medical school loans. So, yeah. I am.”
Emma unzipped her Tyvek suit, pulled off her glasses and gloves. “Fine, I could use a break. But before we sit down to talk about it, I need to pee. Badly. And I’m not up to facing that bathroom.”