by Fiona Grace
No. This isn’t happening. I refuse to let this happen. This is nothing but a bad dream. That’s it, I’m not sleeping well, and I’m not in my own bed, so I’m hallucinating.
She tried pinching herself. That didn’t wake her up.
“But … I have dozens of animals! They’ll be out on the street again. The city wouldn’t want that.”
“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to take that up with them.”
She thought of Councilman Falco, her friend on the board. He could help, but usually everything he did was a matter of taking things in front of the board, getting an ordinance. The bureaucracy was layers deep. Nothing he did for her ever happened overnight. Plus, despite giving the elected official’s standard speech about how she “could always count on” him, he was notoriously absent from her life. “I wouldn’t know what to …” She froze.
Oh, god, Brina’s right. I’m going to be living on the street, fighting for newspapers to keep myself warm and looking for spare dumpsters to crawl into to protect me from the elements. Me and all the strays.
He ripped the paper off the clipboard and held it in front of her. She didn’t know what the Italian words written in red said, but they taunted her anyway. It was the same as the last one. Audrey pressed her lips together, trying to stifle the sob in her throat. She succeeded.
He didn’t. His mouth suddenly opened and he let out a wail. “I’m so sorry. All those animals!”
For a beat, she just stared at him. It was so sudden and pronounced, it almost seemed like a farce. Was he making fun of her? She looked closer. No … those were definite tears in the corners of his eyes.
“Hey, hey, hey, it’s all right,” she said, taking his arm and leading him to a chair in the break room. She filled a cup of water for him. He gulped it greedily as she looked around for a tissue. She found some paper towels and handed them to him. He dabbed his eyes and blew his nose loudly. “Take a deep breath. You’re going to be all right.”
“I’m sorry,” he blubbered, shaking his head. “It doesn’t feel all right. I don’t want to be the bad guy. But I’m always the bad guy. People see me coming and run inside.”
“You’re not. Like I said before, you’re just doing your job.”
He sniffled like a little boy. “Ha. Not well enough, according to the city government.”
“What do you mean?”
“They say I’m no good. I was. Before, it was okay. But someone high up in the government, maybe the mayor, thinks that if word gets out about all these inexperienced home renovators living in these places, fixing them up, there might be injuries. Damages. Lawsuits. They say it’s happened before, in other countries, and they’re afraid of it happening here and bankrupting the town. So they put pressure on me to put pressure on all the foreigners coming here. To be tough. To be hard. To do make sure they do everything exactly up to code. No cut corners.” His accent seemed thicker now, and then he dissolved into some Italian she didn’t understand. He shook his head and pounded his fist on his thigh. “But I feel terrible, kicking all these people out of their homes. I’ve done five in the last two days. Five. People with families. Kids. Little money.”
Audrey’s heart squeezed in her chest. The guy was clearly having a bad day. A bad week. Maybe even a bad life. She patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry. It’s not your fault. Everybody knows that.”
He pouted. “No, they don’t. The last woman I gave a slip to told me she hopes I rot in hell with the other devils.”
“Oh,” Audrey said. Had Mr. Cascarelli been a jerk, she might’ve resorted to similar language. She wondered if Mason had called him anything colorful from his extensive Southern vocabulary. “Well, almost everybody knows that.”
He didn’t seem cheered by that. Instead, he said, “The black mold is dangerous, and it might take time to remove, but it shouldn’t affect the pets in those front rooms. So they can stay. But I can’t have you living here or seeing patients in here. I get in trouble.”
She nodded. “Thank you. I understand.”
“Black mold is tricky, but not too hard. You can probably do the remove yourself with the right tools. Very inexpensive. As soon as you get it out of there, call me directly at the number on the form. I will come back and pass you right away.”
“Okay. Yes. That’s great. Thank you.”
She walked him out to the front of the building, laughing to herself. He failed me, and I’m thanking him? But with the way he hung his head and seemed about to break out into tears again when he passed the kennels suggested he was about one step away from losing it. She decided to handle him with kid gloves, just like one of her injured animals.
“Please. Don’t you worry about me. I’ll be fine. I’m a tough one,” she said as she saw him out the door.
“Are you sure?” he asked, turning back to her, tears still threatening to spill.
“Quite sure,” she said, nodding at him as she closed the door.
Then she looked back at the pile of blankets, last night’s sleeping arrangements, and her body started to ache again. She rubbed her aching muscles and yawned. I think.
Two huge renovations. Lots of money. Lots of stress. As if I don’t have enough of that. My business is closed, and unless I can start getting money in soon, I’m going to be in huge trouble! Not to mention that I don’t have a place to sleep tonight. How am I going to do this without going insane?
Suddenly, her father’s words occurred to her. One thing at a time is all we can do.
Right. What was the most pressing item on the list? The most vital? Finding a place to sleep that night. Definitely.
At that moment, an idea popped into her head, one that would be better than sleeping out on the streets.
Marginally, at least.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next time Audrey saw Mason, she was not prepared.
It was nearly midday, and yet he was wearing plaid pajama pants, loose on his slim waist, and, of course, shirtless. He must’ve forgotten to pack enough T-shirts when he moved here from Charleston, because he almost never seemed to be wearing one.
Especially when she was at her weakest, like now. She already felt dizzy and tired. Now, she was completely lightheaded.
“Hi,” she said, covering for her bulging eyes by snapping them shut and adding in an extended yawn as she stood on the stoop of the well-appointed corner home on via Milano.
Mason stared down at her, that same bewitching smirk on his face that made her want to kiss and punch him at the same time. “What the heck happened to you? Shouldn’t you be at work?”
Yes, she’d seen better days, days when she didn’t bathe in a sink, her grooming ritual had at least included brushing her teeth, and she wasn’t carrying all the clothing she owned on her back. Thinking of her failed inspection, she glanced at the railing that Cascarelli had dinged Mason on. It looked absolutely perfect.
Which only meant this whole inspection racket was probably a crock. A crock meant to milk every last cent from the well-meaning expats who moved here.
The thought made her even angrier.
“Thanks. Yeah, I should be. It’s a long story. Can I come in?” … And call this my home for the foreseeable future?
He shrugged and waved her in. She stepped in to the aroma of something close to bacon. Despite what those abs would suggest, Mason didn’t eat like a bodybuilder. He was a true meat-and-potatoes kind of guy, the kind of man who couldn’t count a calorie to save his life. He’d made her dinner, once, and though delicious, it wasn’t exactly easy on the hips. Came from his Southern upbringing.
As she walked in with Nick, he started his hissing again. Polpetto barked.
“Oh, stop it, you two,” she growled, on her last nerve.
“Whoa. Bad day?”
“Yeah. You could say that.” She had to admit, everything about Mason’s sunny little house was so perfect, it made her a little jealous. “Aw, is momma making one of little Mason’s favorite home-cooked meals?” she asked as she look
ed around his bright hallway.
“Momma is gone,” he said, motioning her through to the kitchen. “I dropped her off at the airport yesterday. This is my specialty.”
“Oh,” she said as he stuffed his hand in an oven mitt and opened the tiny oven. That’s actually … perfect. “What is it?”
“Biscuits and gravy. I’ll tell you, after my momma left I had a hankering for the stuff. Don’t know why,” he said, pulling out some perfectly browned biscuits and setting them on the stovetop. “Made it with Italian sausage so who knows what it’s like. I know it ain’t fancy like your boyfriend makes, but there’s enough for two.”
On the rug under the tiny kitchen table that was too small to serve as a tent for him, Polpetto whined.
“Sorry, boy. Enough for three.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him G wasn’t her boyfriend, but Audrey decided to ignore it for now. It didn’t matter anyway. “Thanks. I’d love that. It sounds great. Can I help?”
“No. Just sit your butt there. It’ll be ready in a minute.”
She threw her heavy bag to the ground with a huff, stretched her aching back, and went to pet Polpetto, who wagged his tail excitedly. The second she did, Nick growled, wanting her all to himself. “Stop it. There is plenty of me to go around.”
“Yeah. I find myself saying that all the time.” Mason must not have noticed the giant bag on her back before, because when he turned back, he said, “You girls don’t exactly travel light, do you?”
“Well, to tell you the truth, I know it’s only noon, but I’ve had a bit of a bad d—bad week, actually. As of the last time I saw you.”
He stopped what he was doing, grabbed a cask of red wine, and poured her a glass, which he set in front of her. Despite being self-obsessed most of the time, Mason did have his bright, shining moments. “What happened? Did your chef friend’s desserts disappoint?”
“What? Oh, no.” God, her non-date with G seemed like a thousand years ago. But of course, Mason would focus in on that. He seemed to love ribbing her on her non-existent love life.
“Then what?”
“Yesterday, I had a little visit from the inspector. At my house,” she grumbled, wrapping her hands around the glass. “And then today, I had another one. At the clinic.”
He turned away from the stove, where he was plating the biscuits, eyebrow raised. “Told you that guy was a jerk. I would’ve wrung his neck if it weren’t the size of the Mississippi.”
“Oh, he’s not. He’s a big sweetheart!”
He chuckled. “Yeah, right. He gave the same little love note to Rob and Dominic down the street. You know those guys?”
She shook her head. “Who?”
“They’re good guys. Expats just like you and me. But now they’re scrambling like you are, rooming in some fleabag hotel until they can get repairs made, on account of that scumbag.”
As much as it made her feel better to know she wasn’t alone, she still felt bad for the inspector. Audrey had a job people respected. It couldn’t be easy having a job that made people cringe when they saw you coming. “He is not a scumbag! Like I said, he’s a sweetheart.”
“Okay. Whatever you say. I seem to remember you saying the same thing about Polpetto, too, and the creature ate my favorite boots.”
Audrey laughed. “He did?”
Mason shot Polpetto some eye daggers. “Shut it. You know I’ve owned those boots since I was eighteen? I thought they were dang near indestructible.”
“Then I think you need new ones.”
“You don’t get it. You don’t understand the relationship a Southern man has with his boots. Once you break ’em in, ain’t nothing more valuable.”
She fully admitted she didn’t get it, as was the case with most of the things that came out of his mouth. “I’m sorry. That is a true tragedy.” She rubbed her hands together. “But … on to more important topics. Do you think that this is all part of some elaborate scheme to get us foreigners paying way more than we expected for our renovations, and to bolster the economy?”
“I think you’re giving these country people a little too much credit. My neighbor to the right? Lived here all his life and didn’t even know what the internet was. And he’s on the city council. This ain’t some vast Mussomeli government conspiracy.”
He came over to her with a plate. On it were two biscuits, split open, covered with some pale gray, lumpy gravy. No, it didn’t look as appetizing as G’s creations, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. The man had cooked her lunch. She could’ve kissed him.
He sat down across from her. “So, long story short, the inspector revoked your CO?”
She nodded as she took a forkful of food, blew on it, and nibbled a bite.
Despite the way it looked, it was fantastic. She quickly loaded her fork again. “This is really good.”
He shrugged like he already knew that. “That blows. Which place?”
“Both.”
“Both, you mean … both?” He stopped with his fork halfway between the plate and his mouth. Part of it dripped off. “Wow, girl. I get the house. That’s all jacked up. But the clinic? I worked on all that. What in God’s name is wrong with the clinic?”
“Hey. The house isn’t that much of a hot mess,” she said defensively. “But apparently, there’s black mold in the clinic.”
“Black mold? Where?”
“In the crawl space.”
“What crawl space?”
“Exactly! I didn’t even know there was one! But nevertheless. It’s spore central. Toxic spore central. Can kill you while you sleep.”
“Eh, bull. Little black mold never killed no one,” he said.
“Really? Is it easy to remove? The inspector seemed to think it was.”
Somehow, he’d managed to shovel all that food into his mouth, while she was only on her third bite. His plate was empty, practically licked clean. “Not that easy. Not hard, either. You need the right tools. And it’ll probably cost you, even if you do it yourself. But it shouldn’t take too long.”
“It’s expensive? The inspector seemed to think—”
“The inspector seems to think a lot of things, none of which are all that bright. It’ll cost for the supplies. And it could be a pain, if you don’t get it all … it’s just gonna come back and then you’ll have the same issue six months from now.”
“I’d probably hire an expert. But see, the problem is, I don’t—”
“Have the money. I know. You don’t ever have the money.”
It was true. Most of the repairs she wanted to make, she had to hold off on because of lack of funds. Though she’d withdrawn most of her nest egg for the move, it’d been spent pretty quickly upon arrival in Mussomeli. The promise of making more had always been there, though, once the clinic opened. But it hadn’t been opened nearly long enough. Business at the clinic might’ve been good, but the start-up expenses had been pretty steep. And now … another wrench. “Right. And I’m not doing it myself. Spiders.”
He shot her an amused look. “I thought you loved all God’s creatures, Boston.”
“Not spiders.”
“Ah. Wuss.”
“Shut up. You were the one who cried the first time you had to clean up Polpetto’s turds.”
He ignored her. “So it’ll probably run you a couple thousand euros. But shouldn’t the city be footing the bill for a repair like this?”
She shook her head. “I called Falco before I came over here. He told me that pitiful little allowance he gave me when I first started the reno was supposed to cover things like this and they couldn’t find any more money in the budget, so I’m on my own. But I guess this is an emergency. And the inspector did say that once I made the changes, he’d come right back and pass it.”
“Wow, you are on his good side. He could give two farts about me. I was sure he wanted to fail me, just for the sheer pleasure of it. I think it gave him physical pain to put the APPROVED stamp on my papers.”
He
rifled through a stack of them on the table and showed her the certificate, which a bright, shiny stamp on it. If she’d had one of those, she’d frame it.
“Well … that’s because you’re annoying as anything,” she said, sipping her wine.
“Really?” He pushed his empty plate away and placed his elbows on the table, his chin resting in his hands. “So tell me. I’m curious. How am I … the guy who just invited you in out of the cold, th—”
“It’s sixty-five degrees out.”
“Whatever. The guy who fed you, gave you drink and his famous Southern hospitality … how is he annoying, again?”
She shrugged. “Did you feed him?” When he stared at her, clearly taken off guard by the question, she added, “Maybe you should’ve. Maybe it would’ve put you on his good side.”
“Sorry. I got my stamp. Besides, I prefer my dining company to be a little better looking,” he said with a wink, wiping his mouth and standing up. He grabbed Polpetto’s dog dish and ladled a dose of gravy over his kibble. Audrey decided to spare him the lecture on dogs eating human food, because a rather preteen-ish thought went through her head right then. Hee, he thinks I’m pretty.
No, Audrey. He said you were better looking than an overweight, balding, middle-aged man with a double chin. This is not exactly a win.
“So what are you going to do now?” he asked, sitting back down and popping open one of his favorite Sicilian beers. “What about all the strays? Where are they? You have to move them out now?”
“Oh. He said they could stay in the clinic, but that I couldn’t see patients there. Basically, humans aren’t allowed in there except to care for the animals, until the problem has been taken care of.”
“Oh. Okay. So … again. What are you going to do?”
“Oh, well …” She looked down at her bag. “I cancelled all of next week’s appointments. I have the weekend off, so I’m going to figure it out then. Probably start calling specialists in to help and see if I can get a loan so I can get the mold taken care of.”
“But what about you?”
She knew what he was asking, and yes, she’d been putting it off. She’d hoped that he would just offer, without her having to lay it on the line. But unfortunately, Mason was thick, or he just liked making women beg. Whatever it was, she just had to bite the bullet and get it out. “Well, I don’t really have the money for a hotel, so …”