Page 86 of Enemies in Paradise

I don’t.

“Let me know when you’re ready to go.” This time, I turn my back to her before she can do the same to me.

I don’t want to argue with her anymore, and I’m, for sure, not going to offer any more help. This is the thanks I get after I let her wear my jersey, bring her cat to my apartment, and offer to make her breakfast. If she wants anything else, she’ll have to ask for it.

I go back inside and make the ebelskiver I promised Cassie—just in case she changes her mind andasksme for breakfast. My own pancakes are cold balls of dough now, but I eat them anyway. I can’t taste them. Not while I’m listening over Grace’s chatter for Cassie’s footsteps or her knock on the back door.

At least half an hour passes with me looking so many times over my shoulder at the door, I get a crick in my neck. The problem is, I’ve got work to do. There are toilets to be installed in the cottage Georgia just finished renovating; I’ve got a couple more non-emergency calls; there will be emergencies—therealways are; and I’ve got to call Grandpa and talk him into paying me to re-pipe his building.

Convincing him I should get paid for my work won’t be easy, but I’m not doing it for free. The job is too big. And if he doesn’t want to pay for it, then Cassie will have to buy as-is and put thousands of dollars into fixing the plumbing.

Or she can forget about buying a building that should be torn down anyway.

As far as I’m concerned, that’s her best option.

I wait for her as long as I can, but I finally have to give up. She can ask me to drive her when I get home from work tonight. Maybe by that point she’ll have come to her senses.

I call for Molly, kiss Mom goodbye, avoid doing the same to Grace, even though she puts her cheek toward me, then head for my Jeep. I’m about to get in when my conscience gets the best of me. I climb the stairs and knock on myowndoor—just to make sure I don’t catch Cassie in another compromising situation. Especially the kind that will make me want to kiss her again. My power of resistance is all used up by this point.

When she doesn’t open the door, I peek my head in. “Cassie?”

I don’t hear anything, so I go inside. She’s not in the kitchen or sitting area, and the doors to the bedroom and bathroom are both open, so she’s not hiding in there either. I don’t know where she’s gone, but once again, she’s proven she’s the most infuriating woman in the world.

I go back to my Jeep, Molly jumps in the back, and we drive down our street.

As I near the main road, the truck in front of me slows to a crawl. I assume they’re slowing because of wildlife—maybe a moose or deer—until I get closer.

Nope. Not wildlife.

Unless the most stubborn woman in the world walking around the snow piled on the side of the road counts as wildlife. But I’d describe what I’m seeing more as beingstubbornlife.

I inch past Cassie, her tight black ponytail bouncing up and down as she struggles through the still-unplowed snow on the road, with her cat carrier in one hand and her other one held out for balance. I’m so tempted to pick up speed as I pass her—like the truck did—but with a deep sigh, I pull to the side of the road.

I climb out of my Jeep and walk behind it. Snow finds its way into my work boots, and I know Cassie’s feet have to be soaked in her tennis shoes.

“What are you doing?” I call to her.

She stops ten feet away from me. “I called an Uber. The driver told me to meet her at the end of your street.”

I drop my head and blow air out of my cheeks before looking at her again. “Did the driver’s name happen to be Irma?”

Cassie squints, then gives me one reluctant nod.

“She’ll be here in about an hour, then. That’s how far away she lives.”

Cassie’s mouth drops. She grabs her phone, checks what I guess is the Uber app to confirm what I’ve said because as soon as she looks at it, her eyes close and her chest falls.

My cheeks twitch from fighting the smile I know better than to let out. But I’m not letting her get out of this predicament without torturing her a little. She’s done enough of that to me.

I lean against the back of my Jeep and cross my arms. “If you’re thinking about walking, it’s a bad idea. No sidewalks like you’ve got in LA. And we’ve lost more than one Californian to snow drifts.”

Cassie glares at me. “Funny.”

I smile, push away from the Jeep, and tromp through the snow to her.

“I don’t need you to rescue me,” Cassie says when I reach her, but with no bite.

“I’m not here to rescue you. I’m here to rescue your stupid cat.” I reach for the cat carrier, and to my surprise, Cassie doesn’t resist when I take it.

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