Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Those last words were snarled as I disconnect the phone.
For a moment, I decide to just give up. I’m going to end up flooding my apartment, probably cave in the ceiling on the one below me, and I accept that outcome. Mentally, I start preparing what to say to my poor neighbors who live under me.
But then inspiration strikes. Once again, I pull up the contacts on my phone.
Malik answers on the second ring. “What’s up?”
I take a deep breath, then let it out. Even trying to sound calm, I can totally hear my voice quavering. “Um… my dishwasher has flooded my entire kitchen, and it won’t stop leaking water. I pulled the door open to stop the cycle, but it won’t stop gushing out.”
If there’s ever a testament that Malik is the type of man who can remain steadfast and calm in any situation, it’s in the way his tone changes to comfort me. “It’s not a problem, Anna. Easy fix. There will be a water shut-off valve under your kitchen sink. Just open the cabinets and look under there. The valve will be vertical. Just turn it to horizontal until the water shuts off.”
“Okay,” I whisper, tears now pricking at my eyes. I slosh through the water, my socks now starting to come off and hang around my heels, flapping in the front like long flippers.
I open the cabinet under the sink, bend, and peer under there. All I see are half-a-dozen bottles of household cleaners, a spare roll of soaked paper towels, and my dishwasher detergent.
The tears really threaten to spill. For the first time in a while, I think… I can’t do this without a man in my life. I need Jimmy, and it’s unfair I don’t have him.
But then… I spy it, right against the back just behind the U-bend of the water pipe. The valve is exactly as Malik said it would be, and I reach in to turn it to the horizontal position.
Immediately, the rush of water silences. When I hopefully cast a glance over, I see it has blessedly stopped coming out from the bottom of the appliance.
“That worked,” I exclaim gleefully as I straighten.
Malik chuckles. “Awesome. Now, if you’ll text me your address, I’ll come over and see if I can figure out what’s going on with it.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” I say, miserably examining all the water.
“Text me your address,” he repeats firmly. “And might I suggest gathering all your towels to start sopping the water up?”
“Okay,” I murmur, giving in. All too easily, I’ve rolled over and accepted Malik’s help to come over and help me mop my floor. So much for the independent woman who can take care of herself in any situation thrown her way.
♦
In fifteen minutes, Malik knocks on my door, the benefits of being fairly close to Jameson without actually living in the bad area of town. He’s wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, and he’s carrying a small toolbox.
He holds it up with a grin. “Wasn’t sure if you had tools, so I snatched this from the common area at Jameson.”
I wave him in, suddenly aware I’m already in my pajamas and it’s only seven on a Saturday night. Fortunately, my pajamas consist of yoga pants and an oversized t-shirt. It’s one of the few I kept of Jimmy’s, and it still smells like him no matter how many times I’ve washed it. I managed to ditch my sopping socks and slip on a bra before Malik arrived, so I’m decent at least, but there’s no getting past the fact I’m completely lame.
“Avery sleeping?” Malik asks as he surveys the kitchen.
I’d managed to get the water cleaned up, but now a pile of sodden towels is in a massive heap on the floor. Because I have an efficiency washer and dryer, it’s going to take me at least five loads to finish them all.
“Yeah,” I say as I shut the door. “Luckily, I had just gotten her down before I found this catastrophe.”
Malik makes a sound of acknowledgment deep in his throat before going right to the problem. “Have you had issues with the dishwasher before today?”
“Oh, yeah,” I mutter as I lean against the counter to watch. “Supposedly, Cage fixed it when he was here last week.”
“Well, let me take a look,” he says easily. “If it’s something I can fix, we can get your water turned back on at least.”
Malik sets the toolbox on the counter, then pulls his hoodie over his head. As he lifts the heavy material, it causes the t-shirt he’s wearing underneath to rise. An expanse of tanned skin and a muscled back are exposed before it falls back down to cover him up.
Even in the last week and a half since Malik returned, he’s filled out quite a bit. It’s mostly obvious in his face, especially since the dark circles under his eyes have receded. I know he’s been packing in some calories so he can overcome his deficit, but there was no mistaking the outline of his rib cage in that brief glimpse. In a few more months, though, I expect he’ll have most of his brawn back.