Page 20 of The Parent Pick-Up
Owen feels right.
I want to break out in a little dance, so I do. I even sing a few bars of a song that has been bouncing around in my head for ages.
I head into the bathroom, already dreaming about a hot shower and steamy activities that may happen tonight.
I step into the shower and turn the faucet to on. Nothing happens.
I jiggle it. Slam it back and forth. I even talk sweetly to it.
“Come on,” I beg. “Please. Don’t do this to me.”
Nothing. Not so much as a trickle of water.
Panic slithers over my bare skin. In the last few weeks, if something could go wrong in my cottage on the bay, it had. I’m the lucky owner of a charming money pit.
I wrap up in my robe and cross to the bathroom sink. When I try the faucet, nothing happens.
When I try the hall bath and the laundry room, same thing. Absolutely no water.
This entire house is drier than the Sahara.
I slide down to the floor and grab a handful of my hair.Perfect. I have no water. I’m covered in trail dirt, and there’s a man next door waiting for me.
I can’t show up like this. Getting to my feet, I find my phone and dial Owen’s number. My pride wars with my need, but pride wins.
He answers on the second ring. “Hey.”
I go weak at the knees at the sexy sound of his voice. “Hey.”
“You on your way over? Want me to meet you?”
“Um—listen. I can’t come over.”
“What?” There’s a clanging sound as if he dropped something. “Why not?”
Heat floods my cheeks. “It’s not you.”
“I already ordered the pizza. Are you seriously gonna make me eat a large pepperoni and garlic knots by myself?”
He sounds devastated, and I think about if the roles were reversed, and he was ditching me. I’d feel just the same.
“Seriously. I’m not mad about that circus comment anymore.”
“Okay,” he says again, his voice sounding quieter. “We don’t have to eat the garlic knots if you’re worried about bad breath.”
A laugh escapes. “It’s not the garlic knots. Although, I’m really not a fan.”
“Okay.”
I hate to hurt him. “I’m really sorry.”
“I’ll get over it.”
A stone of disappointment sinks in my belly. He could have fought a little harder for what could have been.
“Goodnight, Owen,” I say, collapsing onto the sofa with a barely suppressed sigh.
“Goodnight, Ivy.”
