Page 44 of Smith

I was going to lose money on this house. Or I’d have to scrimp on something. I was shifting costs around in my mind, wondering if I could salvage any of the flooring or at the bare minimum not repaint a few rooms. None of this worked with my vision, but it was better than losing a shit ton of money.

“Aria,” Smith called and I refocused on him. “I know this sucks but we need to understand what’s going on and who we’re dealing with.”

“What if it’s just idiot kids coming in to?—”

“Baby, you know that’s not the case.”

Shit. He was right. Someone had definitely been looking for something in that wall.

“Fine, but you and Jonas are marking the studs. There’s a voltage tester in the garage. To be safe, one of you is marking the wires, too. I’ll lose my mind if I have to redo the electrical on top of re-drywalling.”

“That’d be Jonas. I’m going up into the attic to look around. And baby, do him a favor and find a different playlist.”

I set Jonas Brothers on repeat as a joke. But now out of sheer annoyance I was going back to their very first album and we were going to listen to that on repeat from now until Jonas and Smith were done tearing out sheetrock.

Just because.

“About the attic. There’s an issue with the dropdown stairs. The inspector went up, did his thing, and when he closed the stairs one of the hinges must’ve bent. I can’t open the door and I haven’t figured out a way to get up there without cutting a hole in the ceiling. Which I didn’t want to do, but now seems moot.”

“In other words, there’s no access,” Smith concluded.

“Correct, unless you can fit through the vent.”

I could see the wheels turning in Smith’s gaze. There was no way he’d fit through the small exhaust vent at the top of the gable.

“If you’re thinking about climbing on the roof and cutting a hole to climb in that way, the answer is abso-fucking-lutely not.”

“There’s more than one way to skin a cat.”

My nose scrunched.

“I hate that saying. What kind of person would skin a cat?”

“Baby.” He chuckled. “You get what I’m saying.”

“Oh, I get it and what I’m getting is Uncle Sam isn’t footing the bill for your problem-solving excursion. I am. Which means,no cutting holes in roofs. No explosives. No kicking in, or yanking out.”

“Damn, she takes the fun out of problem solving,” Jonas rejoined. “No explosives? Who doesn’t enjoy a good old fashioned door charge now and then?”

I pointed to myself.

“This girl, when she’s gotta pay for the repair. You wanna have fun and blow shit up, do it on your dime.”

“I had high hopes for you, woman. Then you blew them to shit with your boy band and no-explosive policy,” Jonas told me with a smile.

“The feeling is mutual, Jonas. Your lack of musical appreciation is a deal breaker for me.”

Jonas’s eyes sliced to Smith. He kept his smile, but added a shake of his head.

“You’re fucked, brother.”

Smith ignored his friend’s strange jab, and ordered, “Get the voltage tester so we can get to work, yeah?”

For a day that started out fantastic it sure had gone to shit.

I stomped through the kitchen knowing I was behaving like a petulant child. The stomping was twofold. One, I didn’t like to lose money. Two, I didn’t like being told what to do. This was a byproduct of being raised in a military household. As much as my parents encouraged me to be me, they also gave me strict parameters. Everything I said or did while living on base was a direct reflection on my father. I respected those limits, I respected my father and his service. But that didn’t mean when I broke free from the confines and was allowed to do and say what I wanted without fear it would affect my father, I didn’t break completely free. No one told me how to behave, what to do, how to do it. Not that Smith telling me to get a voltage meter was a big deal—it wasn’t even really telling me what to do—but I wasalready annoyed I was off schedule and today’s news meant I would be way off budget and that put me over the edge.

I was rummaging through my electrical bin looking for the voltage tester when I felt hands on my hips and startled.

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