Jessica’s laugh pealed through the night. “Says the Insta-famous baker. What was itZagatcalled you? A ‘pastry virtuoso’?”
“Good night,” he said pointedly, earning himself another laugh.
Sammy grinned and waited until Jessica had ducked into a cab before he walked to his car. There, his smile faded, and he stared at his phone, torn.
“Dammit.” He pulled up his recent calls list and dialed Olivia back.
One ring. Two. Three.
He was about to give up when she finally answered, sounding out of breath. “Hey.”
“Hey.” He put her on speaker and connected his phone to the car so he could navigate out of his parking spot, freeing it up for the Prius waiting to take his place. “You called?”
There was a brief pause. “It was nothing.” A faint tinge of embarrassment colored her tone. “I butt-dialed you.”
“You’re a bad liar, Olivia, and you wouldn’t have called me unless it was an emergency.”
Frankly, Sammy was shocked she called even if itwerean emergency. He’d expected her to have purged him from her contacts list years ago. The fact she hadn’t made his heart squeeze in a worrying way.
“I’m an excellent liar,” Olivia huffed. His mouth quirked up at her indignation. “Look, it’s been a long day, and I wasn’t thinking clearly. You’re the only person I know in the city besides my coworkers, which is why I called you, but I’ve got it under control.”
Sammy stopped at a red light. Concern twisted through him. “Got what under control?”
She told him, and when he asked for her address, she hesitated before giving it to him.
He cursed under his breath. The glowing numbers on his radio console told him it was half-past ten, and her apartment was in the opposite direction of his house. He should hang up and let it be. She said she had it under control, and he believed her. Olivia always had things under control.
The light turned green, and Sammy’s hands flexed on the steering wheel.
“Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be there in half an hour,” he said grimly.
Sammy hung up, merged into the next lane so he could make a U-turn at the next intersection, and cursed again.
He would regret this later. He was sure of it.
* * *
Twenty-eight minutes later,Sammy pulled up in front of Olivia’s apartment building. He input the code she’d texted him and stepped inside, taking in the marble floors and freshly painted walls. The building was on the older side but well-maintained, and apartments here must cost a pretty penny even if it didn’t boast luxury amenities. Hell, San Francisco was so expensive a shoebox could go for $1,500 a month and be considered a steal.
Why am I doing this?
The question pounded through Sammy’s head for the hundredth time as he climbed the stairs to Olivia’s apartment.
“Because my mom raised me to have manners. Or because I’m a masochist,” Sammy mumbled, his voice echoing in the empty stairwell.
It didn’t take long to find Olivia’s apartment once he reached the second floor—the door was ajar, and he heard the faint sounds of water splashing through the crack.
He rapped his knuckles on the wood and waited for her “Come in” before he nudged the door open and took in the chaos with wide eyes.
“Holy shit.”
The place looked like Poseidon had pitched a mini-fit and drowned it out of rage. Bedsheets and towels covered half the floor, so soaked they were nearly transparent. Olivia was mopping the areas not covered with cloth, but it didn’t help much—there was so much water she’d need a sump pump to suck it all out. Every inch of table surface and counter space groaned beneath the weight of clothes, household products, and various knickknacks, while a pile of wet, crumbling cardboard boxes sat in the corner, flattened and forlorn.
She hadn’t been kidding when she’d said the place was a mess.
“My reaction, exactly.” Olivia blew a stray strand of hair out of her eye. She wore the same outfit she’d worn to dinner, except she’d changed her shoes—good call, considering she’d had on heels—and thrown her hair up in a messy bun. Her skin gleamed with perspiration, and Sammy tried not to stare at the bead of sweat snaking its way past the hollow of her throat and into the V-dip of her dress.
“What happened?” He stepped cautiously through the apartment, avoiding puddles where he could.