More than an Otter (Shifty Book 5)

by Sara Summers

  I closed my eyes and tried to calm down. It worked a little, but I’d gotten so scared that I knew it would take at least half an hour to truly calm back down.

  So, I breathed for a minute, and then started feeling the wall for a light switch. It took a few minutes before I found one.

  When I finally flipped it, I was so relieved I wanted to cry.

  There, on the ground, was the dead rat. He had ugly gray fur and a nasty tail, and he was definitely dead. He didn’t stink, so I wondered how long he had been that way. If he was newly-dead, there might be more of his buddies running around the house.

  I looked away from him, carefully making my way to the door. It wasn’t far, so I was there in just a few steps.

  When I opened it, Grant stepped inside and gave me a hug.

  “What was that for?” I frowned. We hadn’t been on a hugging basis before then, but apparently our day in his hometown had changed that. Maybe it wasn’t as awkward for him as it was for me.

  Then again, we’d pretty much made out on Main Street. If that didn’t put us on a hugging basis, then who knows what would.

  Grant shrugged instead of answering. “Will you go sit in the car for a few minutes while I get everything cleaned up? I think you need some time to calm down.”

  “That sounds great.” I nodded, trying to breathe out the anxiety that had taken residence in my stomach and shoulders once again.

  Sitting in the car, I massaged out the tension that I could get, hoping that would help me calm down. It worked a little, and when I turned on some country music on my phone, that worked even better.

  I yawned and leaned back against the seat.

  Grant came out to the truck a few minutes later, carrying our pillows and blankets.

  “What happened?” I frowned.

  “We’re not going to be able to sleep in there tonight.” He grimaced.

  “Why not?”

  “I’ll show you in the morning.” He promised, tossing our pillows in the back seat and starting the truck again. “I found us a hotel a few miles away, we’ll come back in the morning.” He told me.

  “Sounds great.” I nodded, then yawned.

  Ten minutes later, we were on a comfortable bed, in a clean, dirt-free room. I didn’t pay the dirt any attention when I dropped into bed, and neither did Grant.

  I don’t know about him, but I slept like a rock.

  Chapter 11

  When I woke up the next morning, I could hear the shower running. I yawned and stretched, then looked down at the bed.

  “Gross.” I grimaced.

  Yes, growing up as the youngest child and only girl in my family (other than my mom), I’d started talking to myself a very young age. It probably makes me sound crazy, but it’s the truth.

  The bed was brown and gray with dirt and dust embedded in every inch. If that was what the bed looked like, I didn’t even want to see myself.

  Still, I had to look.

  Yep, I was covered from head to toe in dirt and dust. If I’d gotten that dirty from being in the house for five minutes, I didn’t even want to know what I would’ve looked like if I had slept there.

  The water shut off, and a few minutes later Grant came out wearing basketball shorts. He pulled a t-shirt on over his (very, very nice) chest, and I almost asked him to take it back off.

  But then again, we were still barely past the “hi, my name is,” phase, so that wasn’t the greatest of ideas.

  “I’m going to shower, then we can go.” I said.

  “Alright.” Grant nodded. “I’m going to call a cleaning agency to come help us. I think it would take us three months just to get all the dust cleaned out of the museum and house by ourselves.” He said.

  “Probably.” I grimaced, glancing down at myself once again. “Right, I’m showering.” I pulled my duffel bag into the bathroom and closed the door. My hair was a mess, my face was a mess, and the rest of me was a mess too. Between the dried salt on my skin from the ocean and the dirt and dust from the museum-house, I couldn’t have felt any more disgusting if I tried.

  I took a long, long shower, washing my hair with the hotel’s shampoo twice just to be safe. When I climbed out, I got dressed and twisted my wet hair into a bun on top of my head. It needed to be out of the way.

  We grabbed some breakfast and stopped at Walmart for cleaning supplies before heading back to the dirt road and dusty houses. The cleaning people were already inside, distributed between the house and future museum, by the time we’d gotten there. The construction crew let them in, thankfully.

  We went in and spent the rest of the day being ordered around by the cleaning people. They were amazing, and I didn’t mind following their orders. The day was much more productive, thanks to them.

  They promised to come back the next day, leaving around six that night. Grant and I took one look at the state of the Museum, which was cleaner than before but still not clean, and drove back to the hotel.

  The next few days followed in the same fashion. We ate fast food for breakfast, spent the day cleaning and sweating, and then went back to the hotel, grabbing more fast food for dinner on the way home. Five days passed before the buildings were finally clean enough for us to send the crews home for good.

  On the sixth day, Grant and I focused on the house that was meant to be ours. The dirt and dust was (thankfully) gone (so were the rodents) but there was still some cleaning to be done.

  We spent the morning on that, cleaning ceiling fans and windows and walls and doors, and then we were finally finished.

  “Thank goodness.” I breathed, sitting on the kitchen floor.

  “We don’t have to stay at any more hotels.” Grant put his fist in the air. “Yes.” His cheer was monotone and tired-sounding. I laughed.

  “The bed should be getting here tomorrow, so I guess we’re camping today.” He told me.

  “Alright.” I yawned, laying on the wood floor. “I’m exhausted.” I admitted, yawning again.

  “Me too.” Grant joined me, resting his head on my stomach. “We should probably get up and work.” He whispered.

  “Shh,” I shushed him, closing my eyes. “in a few minutes.”

  I fell asleep as those few minutes went past, and when we woke up, the minutes had turned into two hours.

  “Grant, wake up.” I sat up quickly, then saw stars for a second as my brain woke up. “We have a meeting with the inspector in, like, ten minutes.” I shook his leg, and he opened his eyes.

  “What? Alright.” He groaned as he sat up, rubbing his eyes.

  “I’m going to head over now just in case he comes early.” I said, hurrying to my feet.

  “I’ll meet you there.” He got up, and we went in opposite directions. I headed outside, while he headed toward the bathroom.

  I hurried down the three wooden stairs leading up to our house much too fast—as I stepped on the middle one, my foot broke through.

  I screamed, the shock of falling into a stair having all but scared the life out of me.

  “What?’ Grant hurried out, his pants still unbuttoned. “Eff.” He grinned when he saw me, wobbling on one leg and trying to stay balanced. “Don’t fall, you could break your ankle.” He advised.

  “Thanks.” I said dryly. I could feel blood trickling down my ankle, and I honestly didn’t even want to know how bad the injury would be. I’d just broken through a wooden plank, for crying out loud. There were probably splinters all over my foot and leg.

  “Alright, let’s see…” Grant squatted down next to the steps, looking at every side of the stair. “Well, you’re stuck.”

  “I didn’t notice.” I closed my eyes, feeling blood dripping and something else moving on the top of my foot. I shouldn’t have worn sandals that day, that had definitely been a bad idea. “There are bugs crawling on me, hurry.” I made a face, shaking my foot to get them off. The crawling feeling didn’t go away.

  “Hey, it’ll be fine.” Grant reminded me. “I’m going to help you maneuver your
foot out. It might hurt a little, so be brave.” He said.

  “I’m not six.” I pointed out.

  “Everyone has to be brave, whether they’re six or ninety.” Grant narrowed his eyes at the hole I had created in the step. He took my leg in his hand and started working my foot out of the hole. It did hurt, like he said it would, but I was just as brave as he said I needed to be.

  “Alright.” He set my foot down on the side of the wooden stair. Let’s avoid that step.” He decided.

  “Good idea.” I sighed, sitting down on the bottom step to look at my foot. Yep, it was cut up.

  Blood was oozing from some of the cuts, trailing from some others, and pouring from one or two more. My entire foot was angry and bleeding. “I should’ve worn tennis shoes.” I said as I pulled my tangled hair over my shoulder.

  “It’ll be okay.” He offered me a hand.

  “I didn’t even brush my hair today. I’m a wreck.” I shook my head. “Can you start the meeting with the inspector while I clean up my foot?”

  “No.” Grant said, like there wasn’t even a chance. “I’m going to help you clean yourself up.”

  “We can’t leave him waiting.” I protested.

  “He’ll make it five minutes. The construction guys will talk to him.” Grant told me, leading me back into the house. I left a bloody footprint everywhere I took a step, but that didn’t bother him.

  When we reached the kitchen, Grant lifted me onto the counter, and I put my foot in our kitchen sink.

  Gross? Maybe.

  Necessary? Completely.

  I didn’t care how gross it was if it meant I wouldn’t lose a foot because of whatever dirt and bacteria was on that ancient piece of wood.

  Grant helped me clean and disinfect my foot. We didn’t have any towels yet, though, so we had to use toilet paper to dry it. That was definitely gross.

  After covering my foot in Band-Aids, he helped me into socks and shoes, and then we hurried to the museum to meet the inspector. We drove, because of my foot, and I was glad Grant didn’t mind that.

  “Hi, sorry we’re late.” I smiled at the inspector, hoping it came off as warm and friendly.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Luckily, he didn’t mind the delay. “Let’s get started.”

  We walked around the would-be museum for so long that I knew my foot had to be bleeding through the bandages. I was exhausted and literally drained (of both blood and energy), but I had to keep smiling. We were moving closer to finishing the museum, getting everything ready and getting everything done.

  “Alright, here’s a list of everything you’ll need to do.” The man handed Grant the list. I was totally okay with being sidelined when it came to long lists. Seeing everything we needed to do would only stress me out.

  “Thank you.” I smiled.

  “No problem. I’ll see you in a few months.” The man nodded at us before leading.

  “Eff.” Grant raised his eyebrows at the list he was holding. “Look at this.”

  I peeked over at the paper and groaned when I saw it. Yes, it was numbered, and yes, the numbers didn’t stop until 39.

  “How are we going to finish in time?” I sighed, sitting on the floor. “We even need to change the flooring?” I looked down at the gross carpet under me. “Alright, that’s understandable.” I agreed.

  Grant’s eyes scanned the list.

  “Most of this is little stuff that the construction crew can fix when they’re done with everything else. I’ll let them know they need to add it to their list, though.” He said.

  “I don’t even want to think about doing anything else today.” I said, pulling my shoe off my foot. As I’d guessed, the blood had leaked through the bandages and there were red spots all over my sock.

  “Oh man.” Grant grimaced. “Can I help you to the truck?”

  “Yeah.” I nodded. He half-helped, half-carried me to the truck, then took me outside. We repeated the foot-cleaning process, soggy toilet paper and all, and everything.

  “Well, we’re going to need some more band-aids.” Grant announced, both of us having cleaned out our small first-aid kits. “Do you want to go to the store?”

  “Not really.” I sighed, sliding off the counter. He reached out to help me land soft enough not to get hurt. “But we need to. We can stop at the hardware store first to grab some paint and get everything else we need ordered.” I said.

  “Are you sure you’ll make it?” Grant checked.

  “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” I nodded.

  Chapter 12

  I didn’t know the trip to the hardware store would take so long.

  First off, there were a million colors of paint to choose from. I wasn’t quite sure what theme I wanted to go with, but after twenty minutes, I’d decided on a light gray color.

  While they mixed our paint, we went to look at tile. There were too many choices for that, too, so I told Grant to pick whichever one would be easiest to put in.

  We grabbed a few more things before picking up our paint, but much before the time we started checking out, my foot was throbbing.

  “How are you holding up?” Grant asked, as we walked up to the service counter to schedule someone to come fix the museum’s roof.

  “Fine.” I said, though I could feel the frown lines digging themselves deeper and deeper into my skin. My foot definitely hurt.

  Grant didn’t look like he believed me, but he didn’t say anything as he told the guy at the counter what we needed. We told him the account numbers Sav had given us, and he took care of the payment.

  When we got in the car, Grant pulled my shoe off. I winced at the bloody sock.

  “You were supposed to tell me if it stared hurting.” Grant reminded me.

  “We couldn’t just leave. There’s too much to do, and we’re running out of time.” I protested.

  “We have five and a half months.” My soulmate pointed out.

  “So what? We’ll need more than that to get the place fixed up, let alone to get enough donations to get started so people will actually come. I don’t have time to be injured.” I folded my arms and leaned back against my passenger seat.

  “Let me worry about getting everything fixed up, okay?” Grant put a hand on my leg. “It’s going to work out.” He assured me.

  “I sincerely hope you’re right.” I sighed. The days we had spent cleaning together had started changing my mind about Grant. It was clear he was a hard worker, and no matter what happened, he always somehow stayed positive.

  That was great, because I tended to lean more to the negative side sometime.

  Though we hadn’t known each other that long, it was clear that he cared about me. Still, I wished he would do something romantic to show me that he did.

  I’d even be happy if he just came out and told me that I was beautiful, or that he believed in my dreams for the museum. I mean, dancing and poetry were preferable, but telling me sweet things would work too.

  “What do you want for dinner?” he asked. “We have Wendy’s, or Wendy’s.” Grant flashed me a smile.

  Wendy’s was the only fast food restaurant that we would even let ourselves consider eating after the first three days. And in the week since then, we’d had more than enough Wendy’s for any two people.

  “Wendy’s it is.” I smiled at what had become our every-meal joke. It should’ve been getting old by then, but it wasn’t.

  We grabbed our food (we knew the drive through workers by name), and then headed back home.

  “Yum.” Grant gave me a thumbs-up as he ate his twenty-third baked potato that week. We’d been counting. “Tastes different every time.”

  “So does this.” I lifted my chili. “Cheers.” We clicked our containers together.

  “To a life full of paintings, artifacts, and museum tours.” I toasted.

  “To a life of stairs that don’t break.” Grant added.

  “Amen to that.” I nodded, clicking his potato container with my chili again.

  We ate th
e rest of the food, and then Grant yawned.

  “What do you want to do tonight?” he asked.

  Honestly, what did I want to do? I wanted to go dancing, I wanted to dress up in fancy clothes and act like some elegant, classy woman with nothing better to do than walk down Main Street sampling foods and smiling at strangers. I wanted to fall in love with Grant and get swept off my bleeding feet and stargaze with him until I went blind.

  Instead, I said,

  “We should start painting. We have a lot of work to do.”

  “Your foot needs to rest.” Grant protested.

  “It’s fine.” I shook my head. “Come on, let’s do it.”

  He wasn’t thrilled, but he drove us back to the museum and unloaded the paint and brushes and rollers.

  “Alright, if we’re doing this, there’s one rule.” Grant decided. “You’re not allowed to stand.”

  “What?” I complained. “I can’t paint without standing.”

  “You’ll paint the bottom, and I’ll paint the top. It’s easy.” Grant shrugged, apparently unmovable when it came to his new rule.

  “Fine.” I agreed. I was reluctant, but he had been doing a lot for me, even going into the store to buy more bandages while I sat in the car and kept my foot raised.

  We painting until one in the morning, and when we finally quit, I seriously questioned whether or not I’d be able to stand ever again, my butt had such a big dent in it from the floor. Grant sat next to me and yawned.

  His yawn made me yawn, and that yawn ricocheted back and forth between the two of us for a few minutes.

  “I’m ready for bed.” He admitted. “Too bad we don’t have a bed yet.”

  “Right?” I dropped to the ground, resting in the gross, old carpet. “At least there’s carpet here. It’s better than the wood in our house.”

  “Let’s sleep here.” Grant said, yawning again. I yawned too, closing my tired eyes.

  “Alright, let’s do it.” I agreed, mostly because I didn’t want to get up. “Too bad we don’t have pillows.”

  “Pillows are overrated.” Grant murmured, scooting over to spoon me from the back. Up until then, we hadn’t cuddled. It felt strange to have Grant’s arms around me, to feel his body pressed up against mine. Strange, but right, somehow.