Page 34 of Scotch on the Rocks

This is the worst idea I’ve ever had.

“Hey, Ada,” I greeted. Her head popped up over the large monitor, square glasses slipping down her nose. “Can I have the key for room five? Mr Macabe is going to inspect the damage upstairs.”

“Mr Macabe.” Callum snickered at a volume only I could hear.

“Thank god! Are you here to rescue us?” Ada’s palms pressed in a prayer. Her smile, all teeth and dimples as though the King himself had dropped by for tea.

“Of course. Juney’s placing you in capable hands.” Callum’s shoulder bumped mine, like we were a team.

“Can you fix the light above the desk too? It keeps blinking,” She pointed to the spotlight in question. “It’s giving Juniper a headache.”

How the hell did she know that?

“It just started?” Callum frowned up at it, transforming effortlessly intofix-itmode.

“I can take care of that myself,” I said, before Callum could do something very on-brand and whip off his scrub shirt to reveal the Superman suit hidden beneath.

He’s just like you and I, folks. Only better in every way.

“Could still just be drying out, but I’ll take a look.” He continued like I hadn’t spoken.

Ada looked ready to swoon. “You Macabes are saints.” I put a finger in my mouth and made a gagging noise. Callum’s sharp elbow met my ribs, but I didn’t feel the pain because Ada suddenly asked, “How’s your dad doing?” And all the warmth sucked right out of the room.

For one terrible heartbeat you could hear a pin drop. Then he said, “You know how it is.”I didn’t actually. “Good days and bad.” He turned to me, face flatter than I’d ever seen it. “Shall we?” Utterly taken back by the change in him, I nodded like a scolded bobblehead and made for the stairs.

“Did Murray return your money?” he asked from the step below.

“This afternoon. I must be scarier than I thought.” I’d opened my banking app and the money was just sitting there. “I didn’t even need to pay him a visit.”

“Truly terrifying.” His tone was dry.

We rounded onto the first-floor hallway, my flip-flops slapping obnoxiously off the herringbone, and I decided, to hell with it. If he could be nosy, so could I. “You don’t like talking about your dad?”

“Do you like talking about yours?”

Touché. “That depends which one you’re talking about. I never met the first, but I think it’s fair to assume he was an arsehole.” I don’t know what possessed me to offer up that little tidbit. Callum clearly didn’t know how to respond, because I unlocked the door and flipped on the light in silence.

I gestured him in ahead of me and he passed a smidge closer than strictly polite. My cardigan snagged on his bag. His bicep grazed my shoulder. Electricity zapped. We both ignored it.

At least I did. His expression gave nothing away as it ran over the ruined wallpaper and stained panelling, pausing at the large bay window, as if he could see the tumbling green hills beyond, even in darkness. The dehumidifier still whirred in the corner, and I absently stripped off my cardigan in the muggy air, hanging it on the back of the door while directing him to the bathroom.

My mind had time travelled to the last time I’d been alone with him like this. It must have been the way his feet rooted in place while his eyes shadowed my every step, his pupils expanding until they all but swallowed the blue, because Iknewhe was recalling that night too. Knew he also felt the giant fucking question mark hanging over our heads.

He eventually followed and hissed through his teeth. Aesthetically, it resembled a crime scene. Nail-ridden floorboards stacked haphazardly in the corner. Missing pipes and cracked tiles. I wrung my fingers as he performed a quick inspection, counting his every curse and disgusted headshake. At nine, theit looks worse than it ishope I’d been clinging to withered and died.

“That bad?”

“Murray should have his licence revoked. The closet connection for the toilet is too small for code.” He grunted, crouching to get a better look at the U-shaped pipe.

“I don’t know what that means.”

“It means he’s a lazy shit. He’s got the rough-in wrong too, you need twelve inches between the toilet flange and the back wall. He doesn’t even have ten.”There was a dick joke in there somewhere.

“Toilet flange? Now you’re just making shit up.”

“Harpy, if I was going to spout nonsense it would be a damn sight more interesting than closet connections and toilet flanges. Unless that’s what works for you.” He pushed up from his knees and turned to me, a taunting smile on his lips. “I could pop round later if you like, whisper naughty things in your ear, like … plumbing code.” His voice dropped sensually. Sarcastically. A mockery of what it had been that night in his car. “Cold water supply line.” He bit down on his lip. “Flush bushing.”

I swallowed tightly. “Can you fix it or not?”

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