Page 17 of The Reno
My head sloshed around as I unplugged the little lamp I’d brought and brandished it before me. I tiptoed down the stairs, pausing to assess the sound of whoever was in the living room.
An obnoxiously loud ringtone went off, and I heard a man’s voice.
“Ey up,” a deep voice said. I could hear the tinny replies on the other end as I pressed myself against the wall in the hallway so I couldn’t be seen.
Who the fuck breaks into a house which is empty anyway? There was nothing to stealin this house. It was depressingly empty. Did he check through the window, see the sight of half-empty boxes of cleaning solutions and think,Oh yeah, I need some more bleach for the downstairs loo?
“Alright.” His voice echoed through the house. “There’s nowt we can do about it now anyway, Jack. I know. We’ll just have to order some more and take the hit. I know you are. It’s fine,” the man said, his voice tight.
“Alright. Talk to you later.” The man hung up, and I could hear his footsteps approaching.
Any second, he would come around the corner and see me. What if he was armed? What if he was going to kidnap me and submit me to human trafficking? My thoughts spiralled. All the murders and kidnappings from my true crime podcasts eddied around in my brain.
It was fight or flight, and I chose both.
I let out a battle cry and held the lamp above my head, jumping out into the doorway.
“Fucking ’ell!” the man exclaimed. A notepad fell to the floor as he easily caught the lamp I’d just half-thrown in his direction. He held it up, his eyes wide like it could explode any minute. In my hungover strategising, I had thought I could throw it and then run like some sort of grenade.
Then I saw the face in front of me—a familiar face.
“You,” I seethed.
Car park man. The man from the church car park was standing in my living room. The man who had callously stolen my space and then had the gall to attend my dad’s funeral.
“What—I—” theman sputtered. Confusion and shock crossed his features, one after the other in a comical display, like a cartoon character.
“Come to steal something else?” My hands went to my hips. “What do you need now? My kidney?”
His gaze travelled all over me, his face flickering through emotions I couldn’t read. His eyes caught on my bare legs, and I couldn’t help but notice the way they dragged up my body. I shifted my stance, crossing my arms, suddenly conscious I wasn’t wearing a bra.
“Well? Cat got your tongue?” Since when did I say old-timey shit like that? This house was clearly rubbing off on me.
His cheeks flushed at my question, and I felt a morsel of glee.
He held his hands up like he feared another lamp being thrown in his direction. “I—I didn’t know you were Jim’s daughter. I wouldn’t have—”
“Wouldn’t have stolen a car parking space from his daughter at his funeral?”
The funeral. Cue full-body cringe. He’d seen me break down. He’d seen me flee the church. White-hot embarrassment flooded my body.
“I didn’t know.” He took a step closer. “I wouldn’t have—I would have given you the space.”
“Mm-hmm.” I nodded sarcastically.
As we stood closer, the juxtaposition of our clothes was even more apparent—my silky floral pyjamas, exposed legs and probably questionable morning breath. He wore a long-sleeved fitted black tee, utility trousers and steel-capped boots. He ran hishands through his dark brown hair that curled at his temples. The scruff around his face was more like a beard than it was that day at the funeral. He had deep brown eyes that I couldn’t deny were inherently attractive.
He was totally out of his comfort zone.
It almost made me laugh.
I stepped back, tucking my hair behind my shoulder, attempting to make it look less dishevelled.
“Next question. Do you want to explain why you’re committing domestic burglary?” I said haughtily, a bit high from making a man about six foot three blush.
He frowned. “You called me.”
I huffed a laugh. “I certainly did not.”
