“I’m Finley’s ex-boyfriend.” He delivers this statement in a matter-of-fact tone, followed by a smirk in my direction.
“Reed. Is that relevant?” Finley snaps.
“I don’t know. Is it?”
She takes a deep breath before turning to me. “Sorry. I’ll be right back.” She walks to the door and stops in front of Reed. “Let’s talk out here.”
I stare at the open door after they’ve disappeared. I shouldn’t care that he’s her ex-boyfriend. He didn’t sayboyfriend; he most certainly saidex. Then why do I want to punch him in his stupid smirking face?
I shake myself from the thoughts. It’s not my business.
I continue cleaning for what feels like an hour before allowing myself to check the clock. It’s been two minutes. I keep going until I can’t take it anymore, and then I grab the broom and move to the door—ostensibly to sweep the dust outside—and glance around.
They’re talking over by a white Lexus. Must be Reed’s. They’re standing pretty close. I frown. Then he leans in and hugs her. Her arms lift, and she’s hugging him back.
Envy grabs me by the throat. I turn away.
I’m sure it’s nothing.
Ex-boyfriend.
I move away from the door before they catch me spying and go to the bathroom to put all my frustration into scrubbing the bathtub.
Not much time has passed before Finley’s footsteps herald her arrival.
“Archer?” she calls.
“In the bathroom.”
I don’t look up. I keep cleaning.
“Sorry about that.”
I shake my head, keeping my gaze down. “Nothing to be sorry for.”
It’s silent except for the scrape of the brush against the porcelain. She doesn’t move from the door. Her gaze is a tangible weight on me as I scrub.
Slow pressure builds between us, and there’s no good reason for it. It’s my fault. I have nothing to be jealous about. She’s not mine. And she’s not Reed’s either. What is wrong with me?
“I’m overdue on property taxes,” she says finally.
I go still then sit back on my knees to look up at her.
She’s leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over her chest, eyes shiny. “Reed was helping me put it off as long as possible. He helped me challenge the assessment. Find ways to delay payment. But he can’t help me anymore. I’ve got to pay everything that’s due, plus the penalties, by next month. If I don’t, they’ll put a lien on it. I’m going to lose the property whether or not I sell to Oliver.” Her eyes fall shut, tears tracking down her cheeks with the movement.
My heart breaks, knowing what this show of vulnerability costs her. She’s been so strong, so snarky and tough this whole time despite everything she’s gone through.
I stand up and yank the dirty gloves off, tossing them into the tub before reaching out and tugging her into my arms.
She doesn’t resist, slumping into me and pressing her face into my shirt, her arms wrapping tightly around my middle like she has to hold on or fall.
“I don’t know what to do.”
I rub her back, resting my chin on the top of her head, but I don’t give her any platitudes. I know it wouldn’t help.
Having her in my arms is glorious, even if these aren’t exactly ideal circumstances. I rack my brains for ways to fix the problem.
“Would you take money from me if I offered it?”