Not Over You: Accidental Roommates Romance

by R. S. Lively

  Before I can say anything else, Fiona pushes her way into the ambulance and leans down beside Grammie.

  "You be good," Grammie says. "Don't worry about me. This is for the best."

  "We really have to be going," the doctor says nervously.

  We back out of the ambulance and step back up onto the porch as both men climb into the ambulance and screech out into the distance. Fiona wraps her arms around herself and lets out a shuddering sigh.

  "I can't believe this," she says. "I thought she was getting better."

  "She's going to be fine," I say. "You heard the doctor. She's going to get treatment, and she'll come back better than ever. I'm sure he just wants to make sure she heals as fast as possible."

  "People don't just get whisked away by an ambulance so they can finish healing. There's something seriously wrong."

  "I really don't think so.”

  Fiona glares at me.

  "How can you care so little?" she asks. "Doesn't it matter to you what she's going through?"

  "Of course, it does," I say. "But I don't think you should get so worked up over it."

  I almost tell her what I know about Grammie, but I stop myself, remembering her plea in the ambulance. This is important to her, and I have to respect her wishes, even as Fiona stomps back into the house and locks the door behind her. I walk around to the back of the house and let myself in through the kitchen. I've already had two cups of coffee this morning, but the shiny new black coffeemaker sitting on the counter is calling to me, so I turn it on again, filling the reusable cup with grounds just as Fiona storms into the room, glares at me, and stomps back out, not saying a word.

  9

  Cade

  The next day…

  Jace isn't supposed to get in until early afternoon today, so I'm allowing myself to get some extra sleep. The sun had just made its way up over the horizon, however, when the sound of a shrieking smoke alarm cuts through the silence of the morning, bringing me sharply to my feet. Not bothering to throw anything on over the boxers I wore to bed, I run down the hallway.

  "Fiona?!" I call out.

  "Son of a bitch!"

  Well, at least I know she's alright. A billow of smoke is streaming from the kitchen, and I choke my way through it to find out what's happening. I look around and see the room is empty. The back door is wide open, and as I walk through it, I immediately notice Fiona standing in the middle of the backyard. She's wearing one oven mitt and holding a baking sheet, which appears to be the source of the noxious smoke.

  "What are you doing?" I ask.

  She looks at me, and she grimaces.

  "You heard the alarm?" she asks, a guilty expression crossing her face.

  "I still hear the alarm," I say. "I also heard you yelling. On the bright side, if there were still a bucket brigade around here, they'd have heard you, too, and would be on the way."

  I notice her eyes traveling over my body, then meeting mine.

  "That's comforting," she says.

  "What are you doing out here, anyway?" I ask.

  Fiona looks at the still-smoking pan in her hand.

  "I was trying to make cookies. I think I set the oven too high."

  "You were making cookies before dawn?"

  "Yes," she says. "I wanted them to be ready when you woke up."

  "Why?"

  Fiona heads toward the house, and I walk back into the kitchen so she can follow. She tips the pan into the sink and turns on the faucet, pouring water over the smoldering lumps of charcoal that used to be cookies.

  "I wanted to say I'm sorry for the way I acted yesterday," she says. "I shouldn't have been so short with you, Cade. I was really worried about Grammie, and I was upset that you weren't more upset. But I might have overreacted."

  Of all the cold, harsh encounters I've had with her over the few days, I find it interesting that this is the one she chooses to feel bad about. But I'll take what I can get, I guess.

  "It's fine," I say. "I know you're really worried about her. Do you want to call and check on her?"

  "Do you have the number to the rehab center?" she asks.

  I feel like Grammie must have when I asked her about her boot.

  "No," I say quickly. "But I do have her cell phone number. I assume she has it with her."

  "At least I hope she does," I think silently to myself.

  Fiona nods, and I pull out my phone to call Grammie. When it starts ringing, I hold it out to Fiona. She takes it, her face anxious as she waits for Grammie to answer.

  "Hello?" she finally says. "Grammie? Is that you?... What's all that noise?... It sounds like water." Fiona looks down at the phone in her hand and presses a button to start speakerphone. "Say that again," she says.

  "Dr. Barnes brought me to the rehabilitation center," Grammie says through the phone. "He has me on a very stringent program of major physical therapy. He says if I'm dedicated enough to it, I will make a full recovery."

  "That's great," Fiona says. "But what is that in the background? It sounds like water."

  "It is," Grammie says. "He has me doing hydrotherapy. He says it's extremely good for my joints. Low impact. The resistance will help me regain my strength after having to spend so much time in bed. "

  Fiona opens the oven, and a new gush of smoke causes the smoke detector to go off again. I take the phone from her hand as she rushes to grab a towel and run to the smoke detector. Carrying the phone outside, I turn off speaker phone and put it against my ear.

  "Alright, where are you actually?" I ask.

  "Is it just you?" Grammie asks.

  "Yes," I say.

  "I'm on a senior's cruise," she says.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Right now, I'm sitting by the pool. I just won the limbo contest."

  "It's eight in the morning."

  "A lot gets done on senior's cruises. We're early risers, you know."

  I don't particularly want to contemplate that statement any further.

  "Who was that fake doctor who picked you up yesterday?" I ask.

  "He's not a fake doctor," Grammie tells me. "That was George Barnes. I told you about him. He's my friend's boyfriend. It was his idea to spring me from the house when I told him I was getting stir-crazy. He said taking me away in an ambulance would make it more believable. We barely got it back to the rehab center before we got caught."

  "He stole an ambulance to take you from the house, just so you could go on a senior's cruise?"

  "Can you think of a better way to get me out?"

  I don't see a destination for this conversation that's going to make any sense to me, so I walk back into the house. Having defeated the smoke again, Fiona reaches for the phone, and I hand it to her.

  Fiona

  "Grammie? Are you there?"

  "Where else am I going to be? What was all that noise?"

  "The smoke alarm. It's fine."

  "Don't burn down the house, Fiona. I don't ask much of you, but I'm going to have to insist you don't burn down the house."

  There are a few things wrong with that comment, but I decide to move past it.

  "When are you going to be able to come back?" I ask.

  "I'm not sure," she says.

  I start to feel a little frustrated.

  "What do you mean you're not sure? Hasn't the doctor given you any type of idea of how long you're going to need treatment? Or when you might be getting better?"

  "He's not sure either," she says. "He believes that I will make progress quickly, but he doesn’t feel comfortable sending me home until I make considerable improvement. I think it's really important that I recuperate as much as I possibly can. We don't want me coming home and getting hurt again, do we?"

  An unexpected surge of anger rushes up inside me.

  "I just got here," I snap. "It's only been a few days since I showed up to take care of you, and you just take off? You have no idea when you might be getting back here, and if you're going to need any help or anything when you do,
so I'm just sitting here with nothing to do. It doesn’t seem fair, Grammie."

  "I appreciate you coming all the way out there," Grammie says. "Really, I do. But you want what's best for me, right? Just like I want what's best for you."

  "What does that mean?"

  Grammie breezes right past my question.

  "Besides, with all the noise from the repairs, I couldn't be expected to get proper rest. And Cade said that the repairs are only going to get more extensive and disruptive from here on out. I need to be somewhere conducive to healing, not a construction site."

  "I guess that's true," I confess.

  "And I might have mentioned to Cade that I wasn’t comfortable with Jace in the house helping him with all of the repairs. Now you’re free to help them with projects or just supervise. I really feel so much better knowing that you're a part of it. You learned from your Gramps right alongside Cade. You might not have been as interested in it as he was or nearly as good at it, but you learned it."

  "Thank you for that super inspiring pep talk."

  "You’re in charge," she says. "You watch over the boys, and make sure that when I get back, the house will be safe and comfortable for me. How does that sound?"

  I know it doesn't really matter how it sounds. No matter how I feel about the situation, I'm not going to be able to talk Grammie out of it. And at this point, I don't even know if I want to. That's another of her magical powers. She can talk anyone into anything.

  Damn it.

  An hour later, Jace arrives early. The men immediately head toward the back porch, and I follow them. Surveying the work they've done, I notice how much this rarely-used part of the house has improved. It seems strange to see them working on the porch when other, more pressing things can be done, but it is nice to see the screens replaced, and the supports reinforced.

  "What can I do?" I ask as the two men both strap tool belts around their hips.

  Cade looks at me and scoffs.

  "Nothing," he says.

  I glare at him, planting my hands on my hips.

  "What do you mean, nothing? You heard Grammie, she says now that she's at the rehabilitation center, I need to help you with the repairs."

  "Yes, I know what she said," Cade says. "That doesn't mean I have anything for you to do. Why don't you just watch?"

  "I'm perfectly capable of helping, Cade."

  He shoots me an incredulous look and reaches for a piece of wood.

  "Just stay out of the way, Fiona. I can't have you getting hurt, too. There isn't anyone we can call to come and take care of you." He picks up the piece and moves toward the steps leading down from the porch door. "Unless you want to call Esme and have her on deck. If you do," he positions the wood where I've just noticed the handrail is missing, "ask her to bring donuts again. I keep meaning to pick some up, but I never seem to remember."

  I feel my hands balling up at my sides the way they used to when Cade teased me in our younger years.

  "I can help," I insist. "Just tell me what to do."

  "I already told you. Watch. This is precisely why I hired Jace."

  "Which you didn't have to do," I point out. "I learned with Gramps, too."

  "Having a professional is going to make the work much more efficient. And safer."

  I stalk up the steps and reach to grab the hammer out of Cade's tool belt.

  "I told you, I can help.”

  Cade reaches for the hammer, causing the piece of wood to slip. He draws in a sharp breath and yanks his hand back.

  "What did I say about it being safer if you just sit back and let Jace do his job? Shit, that hurt," he grumbles. Looking down at his hand, I notice a long splinter in his palm. "Fantastic." He glares at me. "I told you that there's nothing that you can do," he says. "Stop trying to help."

  Snatching the hammer back from my hand, Cade stomps toward the house.

  "There are a few things you could do for me," Jace says as soon as Cade is out of earshot.

  I look at him and feel goosebumps rise on the backs of my arms. We've flirted back and forth some since he first showed up, and it had seemed innocent and harmless. That comment wasn’t. I suddenly want to get as far away from him as I possibly can. I start toward the door to the house.

  "I'm going to go check on him," I say.

  He takes two steps toward me, reaching out to grab my right wrist.

  "He's a big boy," Jace says. "I'm sure he can take care of a splinter by himself. Why don't you come over here and check on me instead?"

  I pull away, dipping into the house and rushing toward the bathroom on the first floor. I push through the door and behind Cade, who stares at me questioningly.

  "Uh – what are you doing?"

  The encounter with Jace left a tight ball of panic in the middle of my chest, but I don't want to tell Cade about it. I shake my head instead.

  "I just wanted to check on you," I say. "I'm sorry you got hurt because of me."

  He pulls his hand up to his face and examines the splinter. It looks like it’s lodged in there fairly deep and Cade mutters a few profanities.

  "I'm going to have to dig this thing out."

  "Let me help you," I say. "You don't need to do any digging to get a splinter."

  I reach into the medicine cabinet and pull out the small plastic box I know will be sitting there. It has been since I was old enough to remember. Anytime I got a splinter or thorn, Grammie would walk me into this bathroom and pull the box down out of the medicine cabinet. Inside is an assortment of tools she would use to coax the foreign invader out of my skin. Considering how frequently I managed to hurt myself while learning alongside Gramps and Cade, and the two summers I was determined to build the world's most epic tree fort, this little kit got a lot of use. Opening it, I see it contains all the same items it used to, although they've been updated and replaced over the years.

  "Sit down," I say.

  "Really, I can do it myself," he says.

  "And I can fix the house myself," I say. "Sit down."

  He finally sits on the edge of the toilet seat, and I reach for his hand. He settles it into my palm, and it feels warm and comfortable in mine, the touch familiar even after all these years. Cade looks up at me, and from the starry expression in his eyes, know that he feels the same thing. I look away quickly, choosing that exact moment to intently focus on removing the needle from the box. The box contains a tiny bottle of rubbing alcohol, and after checking the expiration date, I pour a small amount over the needle, and then repeat. Once I'm confident I've rid the needle of as many germs a few seconds of alcohol rinsing can achieve, I gently ease a thin layer of skin out of the way with its pointed edge. Setting the needle down, I pick up a pair of tweezers and grasp the splinter. With one pull, it slides out of his palm, and I drop it into the trash can.

  "There," I say. "It's all over."

  Without even thinking, I lift his hand and touch a gentle kiss to his palm where the splinter had been. When my lips make contact with his skin, Cade lets out a startled breath, and my heart stutters for a few beats. I remember the last time I held his hand like this. Letting go, I take a step back away from Cade.

  "Thank you, Fiona.”

  "Sure thing. There's a first aid box in the medicine cabinet. It has some antibiotic ointment and Band-Aids in it. You don't want anything to get in there and cause an infection."

  I walk out of the bathroom and turn to head down the hallway. As soon as I do so, however, I see Jace standing inches away from me, and I gasp as I nearly run into him.

  "Jace," I say, taking a step back. "I didn't hear you come inside."

  He looks me up and down slowly, the sick smile on his face making my stomach twist fearfully.

  "I was hoping that I could get some attention, too," he says. "I don't think I've hurt myself, but you can feel free to examine me."

  I take another step back, and the door opens.

  "Excuse me?" Cade says as he steps out of the bathroom into the hallway. "Were you sayin
g something to her?"

  He walks in front of me, and I see his shoulders are squared in anger. His broad chest faces Jace, completely blocking me from sight. I can see muscles twitching in agitation on one side of Cade's neck. There's a moment of tense silence before I hear a shuffle, meaning Jace is stepping back from Cade.

  "No," he says. "I didn't say anything."

  "I didn't think you did," Cade says. "It looks like a storm is coming in. That handrail needs to get finished, and then we'll start on the front stairs. That's where Grammie got hurt, and we need to make sure it's finished for whenever she gets back."

  "Sure thing, boss."

  Jace walks down the hallway, disappearing into the kitchen, and I feel my shoulders relax. Cade follows Jace, and I notice his palm has two bandages stretched across it. Rather than going after them, I make my way upstairs to Grammie's bedroom. I haven't stripped the bed since she left yesterday, and I figure now is as good a time as any. Even now that she's not in the house, I'm still running around and doing her laundry. Since I'm already doing Grammie's sheets, I go into my room to get my own bedding. I just replaced my sheets a couple days ago, but I have a weakness for the feeling of climbing into a bed with freshly washed sheets. Some people drink. Other people do drugs. Some sleep around. I lust for clean sheets.

  I walk past Cade's bedroom, and then back up and stand at the partially open door, contemplating if I should go inside or not. After fully convincing myself that since the door isn't actually closed, I'm not invading his space, I step into the bedroom and walk up to the bed. If all the other sheets in the house are going into the wash, it only makes sense to include his, too. If I didn't, then the bedding would be...unbalanced. It's like rotating tires. You can't just replace sheets willy-nilly. There's a process to this that has to be followed.

  I officially need to get out of this house. My brain has started justifying its ridiculousness to itself.

  I grab the sheet and start pulling it off the bed. Some of it pulls away easily, but one corner refuses to budge. It seems to have been tucked in to within an inch of its life, and now won't let go. Putting down the laundry basket, I latch on with my other hand and pull even harder. Finally, the sheet pops free and I stumble back with it, bumping into the nightstand as I try to right myself. As I do, something falls down and skitters across the floor with a muted thump. I look down and see Cade's wallet. When it hit the floor, it opened, and several things fell out. I crouch down to pick them up, hoping that I’ll be able to put them away in an order that somewhat resembles how they originally were.