She’d been drawn zombie-like to the deep bathtub and the promise of feeling clean after her long flight. Nothing like being stuck in a flying tuna can for fourteen hours to make you crave running water and a bar of soap. That’s what she got for not stopping to freshen up at the airline’s lounge before the two-hour drive from the airport to Patterson’s Bluff.
Are you feeling fresh now?
“Stop already!” She squeezed her eyes shut as more water came, pushing past her fingertips and spilling onto the floor. It rose up to where her knees pressed into a soggy bathmat. Her dress would be ruined.
Everything would be ruined.
Cora hadn’t even stripped out of her clothing before disaster hit. She’d been here all of five freaking minutes and she’d ruined her friend’s house.
How can you be this much of a disaster with even the simplest thing?
The water kept coming, and now she had so much in her eyes that she couldn’t even open them to look around. She hadn’t been able to figure out how to make it stop, and no amount of twisting the bathtub’s taps had worked.
This was the end. She was going to flood the entire house, have nowhere to stay, and her only real friend was going to hate her forever.
RIP, Cora Cabot. She didn’t live long, but she owned a lot of pretty shoes.
“What the hell are you doing?” An angry voice boomed over the sound of rushing water, and Cora squeaked, surprise causing her to yank her hands back from the open pipe. Mistake! The water gushed out harder, and she immediately tried to cover it again.
“What are you doing?” she shouted, her voice shaking. Great, now, on top of being a complete hot mess, she was going to get murdered by some stranger while she looked like a drowned rat and smelled like a dead one. “Who are you?”
“Who are you?”
Cora could barely keep her eyes open long enough to see who was shouting at her because water droplets kept finding their way in. Should she run? How far would she get on this slippery floor? And where would she even run to? This place was in the middle of nowhere.
“You stay there—I’m going to shut the water main off.” The sound of footsteps sloshing through water faded.
Minutes later, as sheer helplessness almost overwhelmed her, the water mercifully stopped. She withdrew her hands and used her forearm to push her hair out of her face so she could survey the damage. The entire bathroom was soaked. Totally and thoroughly soaked. The fuzzy pink mat made a squelching sound as she stood, her feet sinking into the sodden material. Her suede ballet flats lay ruined next to where the door opened up into the bedroom, and beyond that, the powder-blue carpet had a huge dark patch stretching all the way to the foot of the bed.
For a moment, Cora stood still as a tree, her heart pounding in her ears. The place was silent except for the drip, drip, drip of water sliding from her fingertips and her hair. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she cringed.
She looked like that freaky little girl from The Ring.
As she stepped onto the carpet, water pooled around her feet. A cute pink cardboard box sitting on the floor next to Liv’s chest of drawers was ruined. The cardboard had warped, softening and losing shape so that the box leaned precariously to one side. Biting down on her lip, Cora peeked inside and sighed with a heavy heart.
It contained a scrapbook that said “Happy 40th Wedding Anniversary” on the front with a picture of a man and woman who looked a lot like Liv. On top of ruining her friend’s carpet and her bathroom, she’d also ruined a handmade gift. Cora swallowed against the sadness tinged with green-eyed envy climbing up the back of her throat. It was clear her friend had put a lot of time and thought into it. And even more than that, it was clear she had the kind of family where such a thing would be appreciated. Where a gift of time was worth more than a swinging price tag containing as many zeros as possible.
Pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes, Cora let out a strangled noise of frustration. This was her life at the moment, one ridiculous problem after the next.
“You’d better tell me who the hell you are and what you’re doing in my sister’s house.” The angry voice was back, booming through the quiet room.
The man was barefoot and shirtless and bronzed, with water dotting his skin like glimmering freckles. His hair flopped over his forehead and he raked it back, biceps flexing with the movement. There were muscles…everywhere. Like his muscles had muscles in some kind of mind-bending hot guy trick. For a moment, Cora was convinced she’d actually drowned, and this was some weird earth-to-heaven transitory phase.
Sexy limbo.
Crap. This was Liv’s older brother? He looked pissed. Apparently, her day could get worse.
She pressed a hand to her chest in the hopes of slowing her thundering heart. Though only part of the accelerated beat was due to getting pummeled in the face with water. “Don’t you know it’s rude to sneak up on a person like that? What if I’d been holding a weapon? I could have hurt you.”
“Explain to me how you would have been holding a weapon while you were occupied with a flooding pipe?” He came closer. Now she could see his eyes were blue—a perfect sky-at-noon blue. Almost too vibrant to be real. “And what was your plan, anyway? To hold your hands over the pipe until the world ran out of water?”
Shame flushed through Cora’s face, heating her cheeks until she was certain she resembled a tomato. Okay, sure, she wasn’t the handiest person around. She didn’t know how to do things like fixing leaks or sanding wood or…hammering nails or whatever other handy things people did to their houses.
“I was taking a moment to think,” she said, folding her arms over her chest. A water droplet ran down her forehead, racing along the line of her nose and then clinging to the tip. But she refused to wipe it away, because on some silly level, that felt like showing weakness.
Yeah, like pretending not to be a drowned rat is going to make a difference.
Drip.
“How was that going for you, huh?” The man shoved his hands into his pockets, and the action drew Cora’s eyes down to where denim stretched across his crotch. Snapping her eyes back up to his, she caught the tail end of a fleeting smirk. If she’d thought her cheeks were hot before, they were twin blazing suns now.
Could you maybe not ogle his man bits for five seconds and figure out what’s going on here?
“It’s going…poorly,” she admitted.
“So, question number one is who are you?” He came closer still, sauntering toward her like some silver-screen cowboy but with the most delicious accent she’d ever heard. The vowels were broad and lazy, like a scorching summer day.
“Cora Cabot,” she replied, swallowing back the strange fluttering feeling wreaking havoc inside her. “I…I’m friends with Liv.”
Judging by the raised brow, Mr. Bronzed and Shirtless had not been expecting anyone at the house. All Cora knew about Liv’s family was that she was the youngest of five, with four rough-and-tumble older brothers, each one more protective than the last. From the tidbits she’d shared and the anecdotal evidence of the scrapbook, Liv’s family seemed close-knit. Loving. Like how Cora had always hoped her family might be.
“You’re friends with Liv,” he repeated, looking confused. “She’s not in the country at the moment.”
“I know that. She’s in Manhattan, staying in my apartment,” Cora said. “When she told me about her internship, we agreed to a house swap. She didn’t mention it?”
…
Trent scanned his memory for information of a friend staying at Liv’s house, but nothing sprang to mind. Although, to be fair, his sister liked to blow up the family group chat with long messages that made Trent’s head spin. He was more of a two-word-response kinda guy. The occasional emoji. Precise. To the point.
Liv liked to recreate War and Peace every time she got on her phone.
“If she did, I don’t remember,
” Trent said.
“I have an email from your sister.” The woman picked up a small bag perched on top of his sister’s bed that had a long gold chain attached and a fancy-looking clasp made out of two Cs. “She sent me some instructions and the code to get into the house.”
She thrust the piece of paper in his direction, her wet hands blurring the ink in places. But there was his sister’s email address, clear as day at the top, and the pin code for the spare key.
Cora stood, her hands knotted in front of her. Her long hair was soaked through, and it stuck to her shoulders and arms. She wore a fitted black dress, which, now that it was wet, clung to her body like a second skin. He could see every contour, every mouth-watering line, from her shapely legs to the subtle dip at her waist to the enticing flare of her hips. He could even see the texture of a lacy bra covering her perky breasts. Her blue eyes were icy pale, and they stared at him unwaveringly.
“You’re here for a month?” He scrubbed a hand over his face, wondering how in the hell Liv hadn’t thought to tell him about her house swap. She knew he never checked his emails and group messages. Who had time for that? “That might pose a problem.”
“You mean aside from the flood damage?” She attempted a smile that was so sweet, a little part of him softened.
“Didn’t it occur to you that there was a reason pieces of pipe were lying all over the ground?” He’d have a hell of a mess to clean up now, not to mention that in the height of summer, they had to keep an eye on water usage. Australia was abundant in many things, but rain was not one of them. “You’ve made my job a whole lot harder now.”
“I can’t believe I did that,” she said with a sigh. “I honestly was so tired from the flight, and all I wanted was a soak in the tub. I didn’t even notice there was anything off. It was like I had blinders on. I’m so sorry.”
It would have been easy to rule Cora out as an oblivious princess with her designer luggage and fancy handbag and a dress that looked more suited to a cocktail party than an international flight. But she looked genuinely distressed.
“Oh…” She bit down on her lip and scrunched up her face. “There’s one more problem.”
“What else?” Trent tipped his head back and looked at the ceiling, as if he might find strength there.
“This.” Cora reached into a sad-looking box that had lost all structural integrity due to extensive water damage and pulled out a book covered with silver and gold material. The edges of the pages were crinkled with moisture, and the thick black letters spelling out “Happy 40th Wedding Anniversary” had bled ink everywhere.
“Oh no.” Trent’s shoulders sagged. “Liv is going to be devastated.”
His sister had been working on the scrapbook for months, collecting old photos and writing out fond memories and even interviewing people who had known their parents when they were first dating. Trent held his hands out, and Cora handed over the sodden mess. The pages had soaked up water like greedy plants after a drought. When he flipped open the cover, a picture of him and his siblings from when they were kids stared up at him. He counted five sets of baby blues and gap-toothed smiles. Five lots of gangly limbs and sun-streaked hair. Five hands sticky with half-melted ice creams.
A perfect memory captured forever.
The paper disintegrated under his touch, a piece of it tearing right off and splitting Trent away from his siblings. Thank god Liv hadn’t used all originals. They were photocopies that could be replaced, but hours of flipping through albums, photocopying and cutting and pasting and drawing decorations, were now for nothing.
“Do you think we can save it?” Cora asked hopefully.
“If by save you mean start the whole thing completely from scratch, then yeah.” He tossed the ruined gift onto the ground, and it landed with a moist splat. “But my more immediate concern is where you’re going to sleep tonight. We need to get the water sucked out of this carpet and bring the dehumidifiers in. You can’t breathe this damp air all night. It’s not safe. And we’ve got to prevent mold from growing. My brother and his wife run a bed and breakfast—”
“I’m staying here to help,” Cora said, folding her arms over her chest, a determined set to her jaw. “I made this mess, and I’m going to clean it up.”
Trent raised a brow. Cora didn’t look like the kind of person who’d done manual labor a day in her life. “This is a job for the professionals, I’m afraid. I’ll need to call my crew in.”
“Then I’ll make coffee and snacks. I can go through the scrapbook and make a list of everything in there so we can start putting it back together.”
He laughed. “We?”
“The only reason water came out of the pipes was because you didn’t turn off the main before you took the bathroom apart,” she pointed out.
Well, touché. Maybe Little Miss City Slicker wasn’t so clueless after all. “I didn’t anticipate having a stranger in the house who’d mess up all my plans.”
“And yet, here we are.” She looked him dead in the eye, and Trent had to admire the woman’s resolve. She was stubborn; he’d give her that. It wasn’t a quality that had a good reputation, but Trent liked stubborn people. People who stuck to their guns and followed through on their promises. People whose words meant something.
“You’d better be willing to put your money where your mouth is,” he said, shaking his head. “You really want to help?”
Her pale gaze held him captive, unwavering and daring him to challenge her. “I really do.”
“Then I hope you know how to use a glue gun.”
Chapter Three
Spoiler alert: Cora did not know how to use a glue gun.
Because glue guns were for people with normal childhoods that involved regular-kid things like arts and crafts, video games, and playing hide and seek. It went along with homemade Halloween costumes and school plays where kids fumbled their lines without consequence and sleepovers spent swooning over Zac Efron.
Cora’s childhood could be best summed up as: may result in therapy.
Instead of mud pies and Scrabble, it was dressage and cotillion. Instead of movie nights with popcorn, it was a rotating army of nannies and cooks and maids. For someone who’d grown up completely surrounded by people at all times, she’d been so lonely that her only solace was hanging out with fictional characters. Ah, but to the glamorous Mrs. Catriona Cabot, having a socially awkward bookworm for a daughter was not acceptable. God, what her mother would think of her writing a book.
Fiction is for people whose real lives provide no excitement, her mother had said. How will you ever get married if you’re so boring, you have to hang out with imaginary people?
Cora shoved the unpleasant thoughts aside. The whole point of coming here was to get distance from her mother’s derision, not to spend time thinking about it. Besides, Cora liked having an imagination. As far as she was concerned, it was one of her better qualities.
And sure, her vacation hadn’t gotten off to the most amazing start—understatement of the century—but she was going to make the best of it. Because in crappy times, the only thing in her control was her attitude. It was an important lesson she’d learned, and one that held her in good stead. Her life might be in shambles right now, but that didn’t mean she had to let her mind be the same.
While Trent’s friends worked on the house, getting the water sucked out of the carpet with some noisy vacuum-type thing and finishing off the plumbing so this disaster would be a one-time-only deal, she sat at the dining table. Her pen scratched diligently across the pages of the notebook she always carried with her, jotting notes as she slowly worked her way through the scrapbook.
Page five: the early years. 1 x photo of Mr. and Mrs. Walters dated 1985. Pregnant with baby #1. Decorations: photocopy of ultrasound photo (is this the real ultrasound? To be confirmed.)
Page eleven: the early years continued… Blue ribb
on, picture of Mrs. Walters in the hospital bed with Baby #2 and a blue teddy bear.
Page twenty-two: all the babies. Picture of baby #5 sleeping in bassinet. Letter from Mrs. Walters to her pen pal in England talking about the pregnancy.
It would take a lot of effort to get the scrapbook recreated, but Cora vowed to stay up all night, every night until it was done. She would not let Liv down.
Trent strode out into the living area and headed toward her. He’d put a T-shirt on now, thank God. It was impossible to concentrate on anything at all with those muscles staring her in the face. But frankly, the T-shirt wasn’t much better. It was fitted and showed off his broad, work-honed shoulders and trim waist to perfection. He’d also changed into a pair of fresh jeans, and his unruly blond hair had dried into wavy perfection.
All the stories about Australia are true. The men are hotter Down Under!
“How’s the damage?” he asked, nodding at the scrapbook.
“Thorough.” She sighed. “It sucked the water up like a sponge. But thankfully most of the images are clear enough that I’ve made a list of everything Liv included. Hopefully, we can get all the pictures copied again. I’m assuming the originals are with your parents?”
Trent nodded. “I’ll make sure they’re out of the house so we can get the copies in secret.”
“It looks like Liv put a lot of love and care into this.” Cora touched her fingertip to a picture of Trent’s mother smiling as her hands cradled a large baby bump. “You have a beautiful family.”
“They’re not bad,” he said with a cavalier wink. Now that he wasn’t trying to figure out why there was a stranger in the house, he seemed to have relaxed.
“How’s the bathroom?” she asked, almost not wanting to hear the answer.
“It’ll be okay. The crew’s working on the carpet now, but I think we got to it quick enough that we don’t have to worry about any permanent damage. And Liv was planning on ripping up the carpet to put down some hardwood, anyway.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Uh, about before. Sorry if I was a bit harsh.”
Her Aussie Holiday Page 2