Page 85 of Rosie and the Beast Next Door

Dylan kept working while I led the man upstairs into my apartment. It looked even sadder than it had this morning, nowthat the wood and drywall had some time to soak in the water. Yellowish water stains crept up the walls, and the laminate floors bubbled and buckled as we walked toward the bedroom.

I sucked in a deep breath for courage, then opened the door to reveal where the ceiling was destroyed. While the restoration worker looked up, I stared at my mural.

It was also worse than I’d hoped. The drywall was peeling and stained, leaving the mural looking like something from a horror novel, rather than a beautiful fantasy land. Hours and hours of work destroyed in one night.

I braced my hand on the door frame and tried to listen as the man cataloged all the problems. In a daze, I led him to the other apartment, where the damage was less acute, but still significant. His stream of words buzzed in my ears.

We went downstairs, and he noted the staining and buckling in the ceiling, plus the water that had been absorbed into the cabinets and walls.

“We’re going to need to gut the place,” he said grimly. “New drywall on the walls and ceiling, the flooring and cabinets will need to be replaced, and we won’t know what kind of damage has been done structurally to the wood until we pull all the drywall off. But with damage like this, generally the leak has been going on for a long time, and I would expect we’re going to need to replace a lot of the wood.”

“How long will something like that take?” Dylan asked when I remained silent.

He tilted his head to the side. “I’d say roughly six months.”

Dylan’s arm went around my waist, and I let him hold me up. Six months. Could I sleep on Bennett’s couch for that long? My brothers were all going to demand to know why I wasn’t pulling my houseboat off the market and sleeping there instead.

I tightened my grip on Dylan’s waist. One problem at a time.

I signed the paperwork saying that the restoration worker had come, and then he left. I looked around at my empty store. Things could change so quickly in just a short amount of time.

“Let’s finish up.” I pulled away from Dylan and went to work, needing to keep my mind and hands busy. It took a few more hours (and a whole other movie) before we were finally done. While Dylan went inside to grab the last painting, I headed toward the truck to get my keys from my purse. I paused when I spotted a figure off to the side of the building.

“Dad.” Hope brought tears to my eyes. He’d come. On the worst day I’d had in a very long time, he was here to help.

He looked toward the door where Dylan was walking out with a painting and motioned for me to come to the side of the building with him. I couldn’t blame him for not wanting to cross paths with Dylan again after how things went last time.

Dad pulled me into his arms and hugged me tight. I closed my eyes and leaned into his embrace. It was everything I’d always wanted.

“I haven’t heard from you in a few days,” Dad said as he pulled back from me. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, and I could see a small frown in the depths of his long mustache and beard.

“It’s been awful,” I told him. “The storm last night damaged my store. It’s going to take months to fix.”

“Oh no. That does sound terrible.” Dad rocked back on his heels as he squinted up at the sky. “And I really hate to ask this, but I haven’t gotten your tips for a few days.”

It took a blink for his words to sink in. My tips? Maybe he didn’t understand what I was telling him here.

“It wasn’t just a little leak,” I explained. “I won’t be able to live here for months while they’re fixing it. I’ll have to run my shop entirely online, when the bulk of my sales are in-person, people walking in from the cruise ship.”

He winced and then gripped my arm gently. Fatherly. “I can’t imagine, hon.”

“Thanks—”

But he continued, speaking over me, his grip tightening just enough, it might have been my imagination. “But I’m counting on that extra money. I’ve got a few investments. I know my little girl doesn’t want to let me down.”

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

He stared at me, and my hope crumbled and disintegrated like the drywall under my mural.

“I don’t have them with me,” I said quietly as I stared at the ground.

“That’s okay,” he said, his voice soft and reassuring. “We can meet up later. You’re working at the restaurant tomorrow, aren’t you? I’ll grab all your tips from you then.”

I nodded numbly. “Yeah. I get off at nine.”

“I’ll meet you outside of work.” Dad hugged me again and kissed the side of my head. “Love you, Rosie-posie.”

He turned and walked away, whistling a soundless tune.

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