Oh no.
Disbelieving, she hit the power button again, and then set the laptop down on one of the old-fashioned couches, racing back to her room. A hairdryer. That’s what she needed. She returned with it a few minutes later, plugged it into the wall, and flipped over the soaked laptop, her pulse pounding with anxiety. Maybe if she dried it out, things would be fine.
Twenty minutes later, she still had no power. Gretchen bit her lip, hard, her thoughts frantic. It was okay. She always made a backup of her work. Always. She normally emailed a copy to Kat—well, except this time she’d been avoiding Kat—and she always copied the file to her flash drive.
Which she always kept beside her computer.
Her flash drive! Gretchen bolted to her feet and ran for the sopping desk. Sure enough, her small, hot pink flash drive was sitting in a puddle of flower petals and water. She picked it up anyhow and clenched it in her hand, as if willpower could somehow restore her work.
Igor must have been thirsty, she reasoned. He’d knocked over the vase to get some water and her laptop had been in the way. She’d been so busy curling up with Hunter that she’d neglected her cat, and now she was paying for it.
Her stomach twisted into a sick knot.
All that work, down the drain.
Three weeks of work, gone.
The entire file of transcribed letters, gone.
Her latest Astronaut Bill manuscript, completely gone.
Any chance of getting paid before her landlord changed the locks? Gone.
Gretchen sank down on the couch, feeling wrecked. She stared at her poor laptop, at the flash drive in her hands.
No problem. She could fix this. She’d just start over . . . on both projects. In a few months, she’d be able to turn both in. And then she could get paid.
Gretchen burst into tears.
***
When Hunter awoke, he dressed and immediately headed for the opposite wing of the house. He’d had nightmares about being abandoned, and waking up without Gretchen’s warm body next to him hadn’t helped things.
His loneliness seemed to be slowly ebbing away, replaced with a new, different kind of agony—fear of abandonment. Hunter shook his head to clear it, trying to will away the bad dreams. He had Gretchen in his arms. She cared for him. She wasn’t going anywhere. After a visit to his greenhouse, he selected a white rose and set off in search of her, determined to deliver the rose himself.
Hunter found Gretchen curled up on one of the library couches, clutching her laptop and sobbing as if her heart had broken.
His own heart clenched at the sight. “Gretchen?”
She looked up, startled, and wiped the backs of her hands against her cheeks. “Oh. Hi. Sorry. I was just, um . . . working.” Her face crumpled and she began to cry again.
Something was wrong. He’d fucked this up somehow and he was going to lose her. That gut-clenching feeling wouldn’t leave. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he managed hoarsely, moving to her side.
She sniffed and set the computer down, moving into his arms when he reached for her. At that, he relaxed a little. If she was angry at him, she surely wouldn’t be going to his arms, would she?
“My book,” she choked out between sniffles. “It’s gone.”
Recognition dawned, and a queasy feeling hit his gut. Was that . . . shame? “Gone?” he asked, feigning ignorance. “What happened?”
“Igor must have knocked over the vase,” she said, burying her face in his shirt. “The laptop is soaked. It’s ruined.”
Her sorrow was tearing him apart. Hunter stroked her back. “We’ll fix it. I’ll call someone to come take a look at it.”
She shook her head against his chest, as if denying his words. “It’s my fault. I left Igor in here all night. I’m so stupid.”
“You are not,” he said, his tone vehement enough to make her look up in surprise. He reached out and brushed the tears from her cheek. “You’re not stupid, Gretchen. Not by far.”
“I should have emailed my backups to Kat,” she said mournfully. “I just . . .” She shrugged.