Page 4 of Clean Sweep
While it rang, I attempted not to think about my unhinged son. About the implications of a wedding in my life right now. No, there were enough celebrations for other people to plan, I didn’t need another.
This whole thing was probably a big mistake. A phase. An I-did-something-stupid-and-I-feel-stuck kind deal.
Stuck.
Uh oh.
My stomach clenched. Sweet baby pineapple, as Lizbeth would say. What if the girl was pregnant?
All the blood rushed out of my head at once. I wasn’t ready to be a grandma! Responsible or not, Landondefinitelywasn’t ready to be a father. He had medical school! A cardiothoracic internship and . . . medical stuff to do.
A firm voice in my ear brought me out of my spiraling terror.
“Hello?”
The feeling of ice water flooding my veins sent me reeling, and I scrambled to get my voice back under control.
“Hey. Hi. Sorry. I just . . . I was . . . anyway—”
My mind became a snowy, blank canvas. I attempted to conjure up who I called and why, but all presence in the moment had disappeared under the terrifying thought that my son might have gotten someone pregnant.
I blinked.
Did I call someone, or did they call me?
“This is T&C Cleaning Services,” the male voice said. A note of amusement lingered in his silky tone. His voice, while not as resonant as Maverick’s, had a touch of smoothness to it, like ripples on a lake.
Singer, maybe?
Wait, what was I supposed to be thinking about?
My silence stretched too long. Cleaning services? Why would a cleaning service call me? Did Mav—
He cleared his throat. “Hello?”
Memory served.
Landon. Fiancée. Disastrous house.
“Right!” I cried, dragging a hand through my hair. “Sorry. Rough morning. Right. I called you.”
“Can I help you with something?”
Aggravated now, I shoved away from the wall and resumed pacing. When had I become this scatterbrained? Oh, with the first pregnancy. There was no true recovery from that. At least I found myself back on the original path of my thoughts.
“Yes, thank you for your patience. I was calling to see if you could send someone to clean my house. Like . . . today. Or, at the latest, tomorrow.”
A rummaging sound issued in the background, as if he sorted through paperwork. Beyond that, the distant sound of a truck backing up. T&C Cleaning Services meant I must be speaking with the owner, Tanner. His daughter, Celeste, went to school with Blake. Both of them were seniors in high school. I’d seen Tanner around Pineville now and then, but not often.
“Today?” he asked.
“It’s a long shot, I know.”
“Let me see.”
While Tanner countered with a few basic questions about my house, I sank into a kitchen chair and gazed around with new eyes. The mess that I’d been ignoring for—oh, who needed to count the days?—suddenly looked a lot . . .
. . . worse.
