Page 53 of Under Pressure

“Ruthie went looking upstairs, didn’t she?”

Callie laughs, confirming my assumption. “Of course she did. She’s a snoop. But she’s a thousand years old and doesn’t think it’s that bad. If the water in the business wasn’t connected to the stuff upstairs, you wouldn’t have had to shut down at all.”

“I can’t afford to be shut down at all.”

“Yes, you can. I know you like to live your life as if you don’t have two nickels to rub together, but I’ve been keeping an eye on the books, and business is good. You could even afford to open a second location if you wanted to.”

“And have double the stress? Not a chance.”

That doesn’t mean she’s wrong, though. I blame my issues with money on our upbringing. It’s the only logical explanation for why I can see the comfortable sum in my account and still think that I’m one stint with the cold or a tumble down the stairs away from losing everything I’ve worked hard for.

In my pessimistic brain, it’s only a matter of time.

“Fine. But I’m serious. Don’t worry about a few days. Plus, insurance should cover some loss of income, right?”

“They should. I haven’t gotten there yet. I still have to fill out the stack of paperwork they sent through earlier and sort through the photos we took.”

“We?”

I pause, giving myself a mental spank for the slip-up. “I meant me.”

“Oh, really? ‘The photosmetook’? Be so for real, Quinn.”

“I panicked.”

“And?”

My glare grows ruthless as I watch the arms on the clock continue ticking. “I panicked and called Beck. He helped.”

“Pardon me? Say again?”

“You’re such a brat, Callie. You heard me the first time. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Her laugh washes over me, relaxing my shot nervous system. It’s always had that effect on me, especially when we were kids, and it was the only thing that kept me stitched together most of the time. Well, that and the terrible jokes from her ratty old comedy book.

“Okay, so you called the super sexy baseball player who’sbeen simping after you for months to come help because you panicked. I got it. Because surely, he was youronlyoption. I expect that must be the explanation for why you’re pretending to date him, too, huh?”

I knew she wouldn’t believe it. “Who else should I have called? You?”

“Obviously not. But a plumber wouldn’t have been a bad choice.”

“And had to pay for an emergency visit? Beck took care of it for free.”

Callie cackles into the phone. “Yeah, I bet he did.”

“I’m going to hang up on you.”

“No, you’re not. But fine, I’ll stop. Even though I’m so curious I could actually die.”

Finally accepting that the insurance company wasn’t exaggerating when they told me there was no chance of anyone showing up this morning, I turn away from the clock. Sprawling out on the loveseat, I drop my head back against it.

“Spit it out,” I mutter.

“Where did you stay last night?”

The memory of falling asleep in the warm cocoon of expensive silk sheets and a heavy duvet has my stomach swooping almost as much as the one that I haven’t seemed to be able to shake from the moment I slipped into bed.

I could still feel Beck’s calloused fingers on my cheek and curling a rogue piece of hair behind my ear long after I decided to try and sleep. And even now, I swear I can smell his cologne when the air blows a certain way, ruffling my messy waves. I don’t know the last time a touch so simple affected me so deeply.