7. Bex
SEVEN
Bex
I ’d woken up this morning with a sore wrist (lesson learned from flipping the bird, I guess) and to a bevy of emails forwarded my way from Levi. He’d messaged me last night and warned me that there was a lot to sift through, but twenty-three emails for my first morning, and over my first cup of coffee, already has me rethinking my salary negotiations.
The Porter boys have a lot of properties they own, and now rent out, around town. From the list Levi gave me, it appears I’ll be handling at least four apartment buildings. They have more, but they hired on-site managers for those, and they also own a few industrial warehouse spaces, too, but those are handled by a separate commercial management group.
Today’s mission is to go out to one of the units with two large apartments. It’s in town and used to be an old Victorian home that’s been redone with an apartment on each floor. Levi asked me to introduce myself to the tenants and also to take pictures of the damage done to the carpet in Mrs. Rosenblatt’s. She lives on the first floor, likes to collect glass animals and cross-stitched pillows, and apparently manages to clog her shower drain at least once a month.
“So, the last time this happened, you didn’t notice it was clogged?” Looking at the floor beside her tub, there’s a giant dark stain. It also smells a little like sangria in here, but never mind. I point my phone and snap a few pics. “And that was caused by only water?”
“I get distracted. Someone knocked at the door, trying to sell me something, and next thing I knew there was water pooling out from under the bathroom door and it went on to soak the carpet in the hallway.”
“But it was only water?” There’s something about the stain that doesn’t feel like it’s only from good ole H 2 O.
Her eyes widen as she bobs her head up and down with much enthusiasm. “I swear. Want to sit down for a minute and have a fresh-baked cookie?”
Things I could get used to, but not with the to-do list I’m currently being held accountable to. I shake my head as I snap a few more photos. “No, thank you. I wish I could, but I need to get back and take care of this with Levi.”
“Tell you what, I’ll pack one for you to go,” she says as she heads into the kitchen. “You know, I did call Austin about this last month. Left a message. Actually, I left two. Never heard back. Isn’t he supposed to be the person who we talk to?”
“He is,” I say, bristling when I hear his name. “But with his recovery and his therapy schedule, it’s better for the guys to have me stepping in now to help bridge the gaps.”
As the twinge in my wrist sends me a little reminder of my encounter with Austin the day before, even I’m impressed with how politically correct I sound. Better than, “No. Do not talk to Austin. He is the devil. Lucifer. The king of Hades.”
“That sweet boy has been through so much. I know he’s busy; I see him over at the high school at least once a week working out with the kids there.”
Do my ears perk up? You bet they do, especially when everyone around him seems to think he’s a recluse. I trail into the kitchen behind her. “He goes to the high school?”
“I think it’s him.” Mrs. Rosenblatt plops a few cookies into a tiny sandwich bag and closes its special seal. Blue and yellow make green. “It looks like him, and his truck. I’ve never bothered to go look closer to see if it is. I just thought maybe, since he’s busy working on his Achilles, he could be going there to lift his spirits.”
Interesting. But not for me to unpack right now. I take the small parcel Mrs. Rosenblatt holds out to me and tuck it into my purse. “Thank you. I’m going to go so I can get these photos to the guys and we can get started on fixing this for you.”
“That’s lovely, thank you.” She turns to me and holds out another couple of small bags of cookies. “Here. One for Levi and one for Austin, too. Can you pass them onto the fellas?”
Smiling, I take the other presents and add them to my bag. “Of course.”
In a few minutes, I’m back out on the street and climbing in behind the wheel of my car. I want to get things rolling for this nice woman, so I dial Levi’s number. I’m not at all surprised when it’s sent right to voicemail. He’d mentioned, as had Georgie, that his schedule was crazy.
So, I man up and dial Georgie. That’s right, I’m chicken. I know I’m working for the Porter boys, but Georgie is my security blanket. When it rings and rings and eventually goes to voicemail, I hang up and try again. Surely I am not going to have to do something I really don’t want to do already, am I?
When I’m sent to voicemail, again, I can only hang my head. There’s a flip in my stomach as I realize if I want to take care of this repair for this kind little old lady, I need to actually speak to Austin.
As I pull into the driveway, the gravel crunches beneath my tires, sounding louder than it should, like it’s trying to remind me that turning back is still an option. I kill the engine and take a deep breath, letting the crisp evening air fill my lungs. The scent of damp earth and fallen leaves is almost too peaceful for what’s ahead. I sit there for a beat longer, watching the sun dip below the horizon, like it’s saying, Good luck, Bex, you’re gonna need it.
The walk across the field is a mix of dread and determination. The cool grass brushes against my shoes, almost as if it’s trying to trip me up before I get there. The distance between my place and Austin’s feels annoyingly short, like the universe is conspiring to get me to his front door faster than I’d like. His porch light glows in the twilight, a beacon that says, You’re here now, no turning back. Each step feels like I’m walking to my doom—or at least to a conversation I’d rather avoid. But here I am, crossing the field like a woman on a mission, even if that mission is just to survive another round with Austin.
In no time at all, I’m ascending the steps to his porch, giving myself a pep talk to end all pep talks, and I knock.
The door opens, but only a crack. You could barely even slide a piece of paper through it, but even I can tell there's a grown man on the other side glaring at me.
“What?” he growls.
I dangle the two packages of cookies in front of me as bribes. “Gifts for you and Levi. Courtesy of Mrs. Rosenblatt.”
“You could have left it in the mailbox, you know.”
There is something in his tone that I can’t deal with any longer. I chuck the cookies at the door. “You know, I feel like you used to be nicer.”
He blinks once, ignoring my comment. “What’s going on that you can’t text?”
Shaking my head, I quickly fill him in on my morning, pulling my phone out and showing him the photos—although, I have no clue how he’s able to even see a thing through that tiny slit.
When I’m done with my spiel, I’m met with silence. Uncomfortable silence, at that. I can’t even tell if he’s still breathing or not.
“So,” I begin, “should I make some calls, or is there a system in place for handling a complaint like this?”
I wait for what feels like several long, drawn-out minutes before he clears his throat. When he does speak, he’s a bit softer. Not much, but enough.
“Honestly, I have no idea. I’d say defer to my brother.”
“I tried that already.”
“Have you tried Georgie?” he asks.
I nod. “She’s busy. At least I think she is since she didn’t pick up. Probably at her bookstore.”
“You didn’t think to go by and talk to her, then?”
This feels like the passing of the buck. I’m familiar with this system and I am not a fan. Especially when I’m dealing with a very privileged man who seems to have reality twisted.
“Why would I go by and bother her at her job when you’re here, in your house, doing nothing?”
Austin opens the door only to glare at me as he pulls it back, wide, to gather momentum as he swings it shut.
But, in what will go down in the history books as the worst idea ever in the history of worst ideas, something inside me decides that now is the exact time I should take a stand.
As he goes to shut the door, with what I’m sure he thinks is going to be a resounding bang, I make a choice. A choice to stick my foot in the path of said door.
What a dumb idea.
As the heavy wood connects with the tiny bones in my foot, it’s like a thousand fireflies have all decided to fan out across my line of vision at once, trying to dispel the feeling of pain and irritation that is coursing its way across my body, both electrifying and chilling me from the inside out at one time.
As I fall to the porch, silently screaming because there are no words, I can see the fear on Austin’s face as he swings the door back open and drops to the floor with me.
“Oh my God,” he says as he hits the ground, grabbing at me but not touching me at all. “I am so sorry…”
I hold up a finger, silencing him. “Do. Not. Talk.”
“But,” he sputters, his face filled with worry and concern, “why did you stick your foot back in the door?”
“Because I’m not done.” I might throw up from the pain, but I’ve got something to say. I reach into my pocket and pull out a list and shove it in his direction. “I spent the morning stopping by the buildings Levi asked me to, and these are all the people I met and what they need. Seems that they haven’t seen you around to talk to you about it in a long time. They need things.”
His eyes pull from mine as he accepts the piece of paper, inspecting it. He casts his eyes across it, but drags his gaze back to meet mine.
“Are you okay, Bex?”
“I’m fine,” I hissed, ignoring the dull pain and pointing to the list. “So, will you deal with this?”
“If I take care of these things, will you stop your dog from doing his business on my property?”
I do a double take with so much intensity, my neck almost breaks. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am,” he says with a shrug.
“But she’s not my dog,” I say, throwing a hand in the air.
“She?”
“Harley. That’s what her tag says, at least I think it’s a she, but see? I don’t even know the dog’s true gender.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t care.”
“I do. I don’t pay vet bills. Therefore, not mine.”
“Well, you don’t want to pay for her special ‘treasures’ to be picked up, do you?”
I fight the urge to scratch my head when he says this. Also, lest we forget, he just called a dog’s number two a treasure. “Is there really a service for that?”
Austin rolls his eyes. Part of me thinks he’s enjoying this. “Can you stand up?”
“Yes,” I snap, planting my hands on the ground. I firmly push myself upward, only to wince in pain and fall to the ground again. “Well, I’ll be able to soon-ish.”
Austin points to my ankle. “May I take a look?”
My eyes almost roll into the back of my head. “Now you’re a doctor?”
“I’ve had enough physical therapy and time on the field to know about an injury.”
He has a point.
“Fine.”
Oh-so-gingerly, Austin gently rolls up my pant leg, scrunching up the fabric to the top of my calf so he can look closer at my foot. He slowly begins pressing it, moving it in a circle, giving the blood a chance to flow again.
His touch is surprisingly warm and careful. As his fingers graze my skin, I feel a jolt of something unexpected—a strange mix of relief and surprise. It’s as if his touch has a direct line to my nerves, sending a wave of comfort through me that I didn’t anticipate.
He presses and prods with the expertise of someone who’s had his share of injuries, but his touch is softer than I expected. Each movement is slow and deliberate, like he’s trying to be as gentle as possible, and it’s strangely soothing. For a moment, I forget about the pain in my ankle and focus on the warmth of his hand, the way his fingers are precise but tender.
“You know,” I say, trying to mask my surprise with sarcasm, “if you start offering foot massages, you might just make a fortune.”
He glances up at me, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll add it to my list of side hustles.”
I catch his gaze and, for the first time, I notice how close we’re sitting, how his hand is still resting on my ankle. There’s an unexpected intimacy in the way he’s caring for me, and it’s disorienting. I wasn’t prepared to feel this way—touched and cared for by someone who’s clearly more than just a grumpy neighbor.
“Thanks,” I say, my voice softer than I intended. “I didn’t realize you were so... considerate.”
Austin’s eyes meet mine, and there’s a flicker of something—maybe surprise, maybe amusement. “Well, don’t go spreading it around,” he replies, his tone light but sincere. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold.” He looks back down at my foot. “There’s no swelling, but you’ll probably have a bruise and me saying I’m sorry to you for the rest of your life.”
Before I can respond, he extends his hands toward me, his palms open and waiting. “Come on, let’s get you up.”
I blink, momentarily stunned by the gesture. It’s not just the offer of help—it’s the way his hands are reaching out, as if he genuinely wants to make sure I’m okay. For a second, I hesitate, caught off guard by the unexpected kindness.
“Well, look at you, all chivalrous and stuff,” I say, trying to mask my surprise with a wry smile. “Next thing you know, you’ll be rescuing cats from trees.”
Austin chuckles, clearly amused by my reaction. “Considering I slammed your foot in the door, it’s the least I can do.”
I grasp his hands, and as he helps me up, I’m struck by how firm yet gentle his grip is. There’s a strange comfort in his touch, a solidity that I didn’t expect from someone who’s been more of a grumpy neighbor than a knight in shining armor. He pulls me to my feet with surprising ease, and I find myself standing a little closer to him than I anticipated.
“Thanks,” I mutter, still feeling the warmth of his hands on mine. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”
Austin shrugs, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Neither did I.”
Rolling my eyes, I let my weight drop to my injured foot, surprised by how much better it’s starting to feel.
Austin watches as I stand on both feet and get my balance back. “I can drive you back to your place if you don’t want to walk.”
“I’m fine,” I lie through my teeth. Last thing I want is to be stuck in close proximity with this man. I’d rather army crawl across the field in a lightning storm with steel rods strapped to my back than for that to happen.
He nods. “Fine.”
When I turn around, I put a little more weight on my foot, feeling pain searing through it. It’s not broken, I know that much, but like he said, it’s gonna leave a giant bruise. Squaring my shoulders, I start the slow and arduous task of getting down his porch steps when Austin pipes up one last time.
“So, do we have a deal? You’re gonna keep that dog…”
Spinning around on my one good foot, I find him already back in the foyer and closing his door. I tilt my head to the side and plant a hand on my hip.
“Don’t you find it silly to be arguing with me while hiding on the other side of the door? Kinda like being behind a hedge isn’t it?”
Bull’s eye.
“Leave my hedge alone and keep your dog off my land,” he growls, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t want feces scattered everywhere.”
Keeping my eyes locked with his, I make my way around the yard, breaking our gaze long enough so I can peek at the paddock in the back. Using my chin, I indicate the section where a large herd of cattle is grazing nearby. “Really?”
His lips pull into a taut line. “The owner of those guys pays me to have them poop on my property.”
“So, because you’re paying me, does that mean you’re going to come and ‘leave treasures’ on my property?” You can bet I said this with my hands flying into the air and making a big show of using air quotes, too.
My big comeback. Sounded way better in my head.
Austin’s lips twitch as he tries not to smile. “That’s not what I meant, but hey, maybe I will. Could use some extra cash.”
“You’re unreal,” I mutter, barely containing my frustration.
He shrugs with a smirk. “And you’re a pain. But at least you’re good for some entertainment.”
“None of this is ideal,” I snap, turning on my heel. “You’ve got the list. Go over it, and I’ll check in tomorrow. Don’t get too cozy with it—I’ve got better things to do than listening to your grumbling.”
Austin chuckles, his voice trailing after me. “Sure thing, just don’t get your foot caught in any more doors on your way out.”
“Right,” I call back, not looking over my shoulder. “I’ll make a note to avoid your ‘charming’ company as well.”
As I head back to my place, with a subtle limp of my own doing, I might add, I shake my head, half-amused and half-exasperated.
If dealing with him is this much of a circus, I might need to start selling tickets.