Page 10 of Falling for Mr. Grump, the Big City Billionaire

She stops short, seeing me standing in the doorway, dripping wet and looking like a drowned rat.

"Honey," Mr. Johnson says, "I think you have a problem."

"You think?" I laugh, but it comes out more like a hysterical hiccup.

Soon, the whole street's out, everyone in various states of wet and panicked. It's like a block party from hell.

"What happened?"

"Is it the whole street?"

"My holiday decorations are in my garage!"

Our landlord, Mr. Grump (yes, that's his real name), finally shows up, looking about as happy as... well, his name.

"Alright, alright, quiet down!" he shouts over the chaos. "Big pipe burst down on Coral Street. The whole block is flooded. If your house is flooded inside, you’ll have to vacate for at least a month while we fix this mess, maybe three weeks."

A MONTH?

"But... but where are we supposed to go?" I sputter.

Mr. Grump shrugs. "Not my problem. Insurance will cover hotels."

As he walks off, I stand there, dripping and shell-shocked. A small canal willed with slippers rolls by and lands at my feet.

That does it. I start laughing. And once I start, I can't stop.

"Skye?" Mrs. Johnson looks concerned. "Are you okay, dear?"

I wipe my eyes, not sure if it's water or tears. "Oh, I'm great. Just great. My truck's dented, the town is under threat, and now my house is the new SeaWorld. I'm living the dream, folks!"

I flop down on my front steps, not caring that I'm sitting in two inches of water. What else can go wrong today?

Since my house is at the lowest point of the street, I guess I was the unluckiest one – “Ding, ding, ding… and guess who the winner is today, folks!”

As if on cue, my phone buzzes. A text from Zoey:How'd the thinking go? Come up with a plan to save the town?

I look at my flooded house, then back at the phone. "Oh, Zo," I mutter, "you have no idea."

I start typing:Hey, bestie. Got room for a very wet, unhinged roommate? Long story. Very long story.

As I hit send, I can't help but laugh again. Because seriously, what else can you do when your life turns into a sitcom?

Chapter three

TROY

The morning sun sneaks through a gap in the curtains, hitting me right in the face.

What the—

I groan and roll over, grabbing my phone.

6:30 AM.

I’m glad that at least some habits don't change, even in this backwater town.

My body aches from the too-soft mattress, and my head aches from... well, probably from all the domestic bliss I endured this weekend.

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