Page 15 of Erik's Salvation
No! What was this, Hate on Hannah Day? She already had the damn tap in the kitchen that wouldn’t stop leaking—she couldn’t afford this problem too. Oh, she’d tried to fix the water issue herself. Even pulled up a ton of YouTube clips and followed them step by step. She was pretty sure she’d made the leaking worse.
Three more times the car refused to start. It was on the last turn of the key that the engine finally turned over. Thank God. Still, on the way home, her chest felt heavy. Her car was on its last leg, something she’d been aware of for a while.
It wasn’t just the lack of commissions and mounting bills that were stressing her out. Her boss, Reuben, had let people go for long-term low sales. Even though James and Taylor were struggling too, they were still doing better than she was.
The idea of being jobless had her breaking out into a cold sweat. She needed her job for the health insurance. The insurance wasn’t great—hell, it didn’t even cover a continuous glucose monitor or a pump. But it covered her insulin. The stuff she was dependent on to, you know,live.
She knew how lucky she was to work for an agency that offered benefits. Most didn’t. It was one of the reasons she stayed at Reuben’s.
Her fingers tightened on the wheel. It was fine. She’d be fine. She’d get more houses to list, then she’d sell the shit out of them.
Unless she didn’t…
Her debt and her sink and her car all swirled through her mind during the drive. By the time she reached her house, she’d well and truly spiraled. So much so that she was a breath away from hyperventilating.
She climbed out of the car, her gaze brushing over the house next door as she walked, her mind flicking to her conversation with Erik at Black Bean a few days ago. At the dismissive way he’d barely answered her questions. Even Henry had agreed he was an ass, and Henry usually had a mountain of leeway for hot men.
In the kitchen, she dropped her bag onto the table with a loud thud before moving to the cabinet and grabbing a cup. She filled it with water, but when she turned the tap off, it kept going. It was just a steady trickle, but those drops were fuel on the fire of her frustration.
She sucked in a deep breath as she glanced out the window, trying to find peace. What she actually found was her neighbor’s bed of flowers…dying.
They were freakingdyingbecause that broody, angry jerk of a man wasn’t taking care of them. How much trouble was it to throw some water on a few plants?
That was it. She was done with this. They were goddamnflowers, and she’d made a promise to keep them alive.
Hannah marched outside and grabbed her watering can. A normal, sane person might have tried to avoid the cameras skirting his property. Not her. She was fearless. Either that or stupid. She looked straight into the lens, chin lifted in an I’m-watering-the-goddamn-flowers-and-I-dare-you-to-stop-me kind of way.
She reached the backyard and filled the can, then she started watering the poor flowers.
Yeah, take that, Mr. Erik Hunter. I’m on your damn land, watering your grandfather’s flowers, and there’s nothing you can do about—
“What are you doing?”
She yelped and spun, tipping the watering can so half the contents fell onto the lawn. “Jesus Christ, man. Wear a bell or something!” She grabbed her heart, swearing it was about to leap out of her chest.
Once her pulse returned to normal, she looked up at him. Way up. God, he was tall. “What I’m doing is obvious. I’m watering the flowers.”
“I asked you not to do that.”
She laughed, and the sound was almost manic. “No. Youtoldme not to.”
“So why are you here?”
“Because you”—she stepped forward and jabbed a finger into his rock-solid chest—“are letting them die like some heartless, flower-killing psychopath!”
She poked him again, almost straining a muscle in her finger as she let loose every pent-up frustration inside her. “You move into this house, you don’t even want to get to know your only neighbor. I don’t know why—I’m a freakingawesomeneighbor. You’re rude. You give me one-word answers like you can’t even be bothered with a sentence. You say stupid things about me beinggoodwhen you don’t even know me. And now you just stand there like…like…”
“A heartless, flower-killing psychopath?”
“Yes!”
* * *
Erik’s lips twitched.This woman was something else. She’d stepped onto his property, glared at his camera as if daring him to stop her, and was shouting at him while trying to break her finger on his chest.
“You seem very attached to these flowers.” It was clearly the wrong thing to say, if the narrowing of her eyes was anything to go by.
“What I’mattachedto,” she yelled, “is the memory of your grandfather, standing out here every morning and night, tending to the flowers with a smile on his face. What I’mattachedto is keeping my promise to him. He cared about them. Doesn’t that makeyoucare about them?”
