Kitabı oku: «An Imperfect Match / Next Comes Love», sayfa 4
“So go.” Mary dismissed him, alighting on Honey without missing a beat. “Who is this angel?”
Annabelle smiled with genuine joy. “This is my daughter, Honey. She’s sixteen months old.”
Mary sighed with longing. “A granddaughter. That’s what I’m missing. I adore my grandsons but I’ve never had anyone to pamper. I’m holding out hope that one of my sons will deliver. Your mom must be thrilled to have a granddaughter.”
Annabelle shot Dean a quick look, which he wasn’t sure was one of distress or one of annoyance for his mother’s questions but she answered just the same. “My mother died before Honey was born.”
Mary’s expression lost some of its happiness. “Oh dear. That settles it. You have to come to Sunday dinner this weekend. I won’t take no for an answer.” She turned to Dean with instructions. “You’ll bring her? I don’t want her driving that road at night with a baby. You know how those twists and turns can be tricky for people not used to them.”
She pulled a flyer from her purse and placed it in front of Annabelle with a warm smile. “I have to go. Here’s the information about the project. Please give it some thought. It’s a wonderful way to get to know your new community and it’s a worthwhile project.”
And then she was gone.
Dean expelled a heavy breath and suddenly felt the all-over body fatigue that always happened when he got caught in the maelstrom that was his mother.
He turned to Annabelle, hands spread in apology. “She’s pretty passionate about some things,” he said by way of explanation, but he realized Annabelle hadn’t minded.
“You’re so lucky,” she said with a catch to her voice. “Tell your mom I’d be honored to be a part of the restoration project, but I’ll have to pass on dinner. I don’t think it’s a good idea to cross the lines,” she said, shocking him with her refusal. He’d thought he might have to somehow dissuade her, but she’d beat him to it.
He couldn’t agree more. So why did he feel so disappointed?
“Are you sure?” he heard himself blurt. “There’s plenty of food. My mom cooks enough to feed a platoon. It’s a miracle none of us grew up to be fat. It’s probably a good thing we all work in jobs that are fairly physical, otherwise all that good eating might’ve gone straight to our waistlines.”
“I didn’t think guys cared about stuff like that,” she teased lightly.
“Are you kidding? We care. We just hide it better. No guy likes to see his gut hanging over his belt. And that’s the truth even if we don’t want to admit it.”
“Really? Well, from where I’m standing, you don’t have anything to worry about.”
The innocent comment made his mouth dry up. Had she been checking him out? Noticing him in the same ways that he couldn’t help but notice her? He started to stammer a response with all the eloquence of a prepubescent boy but Annabelle unwittingly saved him from himself when she sighed wistfully.
“I really like your mom and I’m betting dinner would be great, but it’s just not a good idea, you know?”
He did. Thank God, one of them was thinking clearly. “Don’t worry, I’ll let my mom down easily.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
No problem—except for the part where he wanted her to come to dinner. Wanted to ignore that blinking caution light in his brain. And wanted to get to know Annabelle in a way that was more than professional.
Dean wanted everything he’d told his son he absolutely didn’t want from Annabelle.
And that didn’t feel so good.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“WHERE’S your friend?” Mary Halvorsen asked as Dean stepped into the dining room for Sunday dinner. Her disappointed tone spoke volumes. “I set an extra place setting.”
“She’s not my friend, Mom. She’s my office manager. An employee. You don’t invite George or Paulo over for Sunday dinner. I don’t see why you felt the need to invite Annabelle.”
“George and Paulo have their own families to go home to,” Mary answered with a slight clip, making him feel like a kid again. How did mothers manage to hold on to that tone even after their kids were grown? “It’s obvious that young woman needs a family. She’s alone and needs someone to take her under their wing. Besides, she’s a friend of Dana’s so she’s practically family anyway.”
Dana smiled at Mary. “That’s so sweet but I know Annabelle and she’d never cross the line between employee and employer. It’s something she’s a bit of a stickler for.”
“Oh? How come?” Mary asked, intrigued by this bit of information. Truth be told, Dean was curious, too.
Dana must’ve realized she’d divulged too much for she looked to Sammy for help.
“Anyone hear from Josh and Tasha?” Sammy asked, giving Dana a subtle wink.
A shrewd light entered Mary’s eyes but she allowed the subject change, answering with good cheer. “I did this morning. They’re still in Punta Gorda but they’ll be leaving soon.”
“Why can’t they go to a normal place for a vacation?” Dean grumbled, mostly because Josh was his best welder. “What’s wrong with Hawaii? Or Oregon? South America is nothing but a jungle.”
“You know why. Tasha loves Punta Gorda and this was the first time she’s been able to get back since the wedding. She may have quit the Peace Corps to marry Josh and raise a family here but I think a part of her heart is still with those jungle people.”
Dana giggled at Mary’s use of jungle people but Dean was surly and didn’t find the humor in anything. He gestured to Sammy. “You get that cement guy to come down on his price?”
Brian, the Halvorsen patriarch, came in from his study and after clapping each of his sons on the shoulder, took his place at the head of the table. “Who are you using for cement?” he asked, his ears perking at the construction business talk, but Mary put her foot down.
“No shop talk at the table. You know that. Where’s Brandon? I expected to see him tonight. With Christopher gone to visit his mother for a few weeks I feel deserted by my only grandsons.”
Dean smiled. “Brandon is having dinner over at Jessie’s house tonight. He told me to tell you he promises not to enjoy anyone else’s mashed potatoes as much as yours.”
“Smart boy,” Mary said with no small amount of pride. “I like that Jessie. She’s a sweet girl, though watch that those hormones don’t go and get him into trouble.”
“Brandon’s a good kid. He won’t do anything stupid,” Dean said, though a frisson of alarm followed. Maybe he needed to have a talk with Brandon, make sure that they were using protection if they were sexually active. Ugh. The thought made him feel old. For some reason he’d always assumed Beth would be the one to tackle that conversation. She’d been good at handling the things that made Dean squirm.
Dinner conversation flowed around him and he participated with one-word answers, wishing he’d called off dinner with his parents. He wasn’t good company tonight. And it came down to one simple reason. He’d wanted Annabelle there. And that made him angry with himself.
The woman became more beautiful the more time he spent with her, which should’ve been impossible as she was already prettier than anyone had a right to be. Moments went by when he lost track of his thoughts simply because he’d caught a whiff of her skin or hair and an irrational desire to bury his nose in it always followed. He wondered how she got her skin to sparkle as if it had been dusted with sunshine, or how her brown eyes could appear softer than warm chocolate. Worse, he wanted to know what memory left that haunted look behind when it visited.
Heaving a private sigh, he returned to his mostly untouched plate and swore at his dilemma.
He had no business being attracted to Annabelle. The reasons were many and varied but the biggest reason had to do with his heart. When Beth had died, his heart died with her.
Annabelle deserved more than he could offer.
ANNABELLE, with Honey at her hip, walked into the small deli, and quickly found Dana in the back already sipping an iced tea.
“Starting without me?” Annabelle joked as she settled Honey into a baby chair.
“Sorry. I was parched.” Dana assessed Annabelle openly. “You look good. I see working with Dean agrees with you.”
“Having a steady paycheck agrees with me,” Annabelle corrected her but smiled, knowing Dana was just giving her a hard time. “So, I’ve joined the D-Day committee. Tell me, have I made a huge mistake or what?”
“Depends. I think it’s a good way to connect with the community. The whole town seems to be involved, but on the other hand, do you want to be that involved? I mean, no offense, AnnaB, but you’ve never been what anyone would call a joiner.”
“I’ve never been somewhere I felt welcome to join,” Annabelle answered. “It’s not like Hinkley was a wealth of open arms. When was the last time anyone cared what happened to the people living on Bleeter Street?”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Dana muttered. “God, I hate that place.”
“Yeah, me, too.” Annabelle’s thoughts went immediately to the single-wide mobile home of her childhood that smelled perpetually of stale beer and musty carpet no matter how many times she’d tried sweeping it out. Dana’s mobile had been two trailers down. Sometimes Annabelle could hear the muffled shouts that came from Dana’s family as they brawled within the claustrophobic space. The next day, Dana had often had bruises.
Dana broke the silence first, saying, “Well, good for you for joining. So, what has Mary put you in charge of?”
“Refreshments.” Annabelle shifted in her chair with a frown. “But I’m not quite sure what that entails. I was going to ask but the meeting got a little chaotic and I forgot. Those quilters are a wild bunch.”
“You’ll be in charge of bringing drinks to the construction crew. Lemonade, water, stuff like that. But don’t worry, you’ll have a bunch of kid volunteers at your disposal. It’s going to be like an old-fashioned barn-raising, except we’re not raising a barn, we’re relocating a mill.”
“I still can’t believe they’re going to do that,” Annabelle said. “Makes me nervous just thinking about it.”
“I wouldn’t worry. A company from out of town is going to do the actual moving and then once the mill is on the museum property, that’s when everyone else will get involved.”
“It’s hard to believe so many people care,” Annabelle said.
The two women caught each other’s stare. Dana reached over and grasped Annabelle’s free hand. “No place is perfect but Emmett’s Mill comes close. This is a town where people care about their neighbors. If I hadn’t seen it myself I wouldn’t have believed it. This town takes care of their own pretty well. It feels good.”
Annabelle was wary of anything that sounded too good to be true even if she wanted to believe. She tried pulling away but Dana wouldn’t let her.
“You’re so used to being on the defensive that you don’t know how to feel when no one is trying to attack you. I know. I felt the same way until I met Sammy. He showed me that not everyone has an agenda.”
Annabelle forced a laugh and pressed a kiss to Honey’s head as she gestured for Dana to stop. “I surrender. This talk is too serious for lunch. C’mon, I don’t want to spend my lunch hour arguing the merits of Emmett’s Mill. I agree with you, it’s a great town, otherwise I wouldn’t have moved here. Although,” she said, pausing with pursed lips, “I think I got a prank call last night.”
“What do you mean? Did they say anything?”
“No. But I could hear them breathing. It was probably just some kids playing a joke but it was a little creepy. I was weirded out for a while afterward but now that I think about it, it’s probably nothing.”
“Maybe you should tell Dean.”
Annabelle rolled her eyes. “And why should I do that?”
“Because maybe he could look into it for you.”
“Dana, I don’t need a man to chase away bad-mannered teenagers. That’s all it was. I almost didn’t mention it.”
Dana looked worried. “Well, I’m glad you did. If it happens again, please tell me you’ll let Dean know. I don’t like it.”
“Fine,” Annabelle grudgingly agreed, though only for Dana’s benefit. A prank call was nothing to get worked up over. She felt silly for even mentioning it. And the fact that Dana wanted Dean to be her champion was transparent.
All this baby business had given Dana a one-track mind, it seemed. Annabelle would have to be an idiot not to see where this was going. She didn’t need Dana’s help in the matchmaking department. Annabelle could screw up her own love life, thank you very much. And as much as she ached to be a part of a wonderful family like the Halvorsens, it wasn’t right to try to insert herself into a picture where she didn’t belong.
Besides, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that Dean was still nursing a broken heart. Annabelle wasn’t about to sign up to be Dean’s rebound woman. God, the thought gave her chills. Rebound women always got the shaft in the love department because people who never should’ve been together in the first place inevitably realize this fact and that’s when everything falls apart. In that situation, someone ends up the loser. And that wasn’t going to be Annabelle.
“In case I haven’t told you, I’m so glad you moved here.”
Annabelle looked up at the catch in her friend’s voice. Dana blinked back tears but the sincerity in her eyes nearly bowled Annabelle over. They were each other’s closest family and didn’t need blood to bind them. Despite how she might mature and change, a part of Annabelle always felt like the kid living in the trailer park with next to nothing to call her own. Dana understood this because she struggled with it, too. “You don’t have to tell me. I already know. And I’m glad, too. But I don’t want you to be disappointed if my happy ending isn’t the same as yours. I don’t want you to worry about me, either. I’m a survivor and I’ll always land on my feet. With or without a man to help me.”
HE’D TRIED to be understanding, but each time Brandon saw Annabelle sitting at his mom’s old desk he saw red. She was trespassing. And her kid was a nuisance, too. Brandon’s dad had baby-proofed the entire office until it took a degree in engineering just to open a drawer. Brandon wanted things to go back to the way they were before she got there.
“Hi, Brandon,” Annabelle said with a smile as if she wasn’t aware that he could barely tolerate her. That baby actually smiled at him, too. Like they were working together to mock him with their nice routine. Annabelle looked around him to gesture toward Jessie. “This your girlfriend?”
He gritted his teeth, hating even to answer, but his dad kept getting after him for being rude so he jerked his head in the affirmative, but turned his attention to his dad. “Me and the guys are heading over to Buckley’s for a few hours. That okay with you? I’ll be home by curfew.”
Dean paused to regard his son but then returned to his paperwork. “As long as your homework is done and you’re home by ten o’clock. What did Coach say about your shoulder?”
Brandon rotated the muscle and shrugged. “It’s nothing. Just a strain. The PT guy said there’s nothing ripped or torn. Everything should be fine for the game tomorrow.”
“That’s good but I don’t want you playing if you’re hurt,” his dad warned him. “One game isn’t going to kill you.”
“Dad, I’m not stupid. Don’t worry about it. Everything is fine.” He looked to Jessie, who had been quietly chatting with Annabelle, and gestured that it was time to leave. “See you later. Thanks, Dad,” he added over his shoulder as he left, Jessie right behind him. Once they were out of earshot, he nearly snarled at Jessie, who blinked in surprise at his tone. “Don’t get chummy with her. She’s not sticking around,” he said. “She’s just a charity case that my dad’s taken on because he felt bad.”
“That’s a crappy thing to say,” Jessie said, frowning. “What’s gotten into you?”
He drew a deep breath and apologized for snapping, but inside he felt no different. The sooner Annabelle Nichols was out of their lives, the less chance Brandon had of getting a stepmom. The thought made him queasy.
The only thing that kept him from totally freaking out was that his dad had promised him there was nothing going on between him and Annabelle. If only she wasn’t so pretty…and nice.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ANNABELLE had just snapped Honey into her car seat and slipped the key into the ignition when her old Ford Escort made a horrible racket that ended in a guttural wheeze.
“No, you will not do this to me,” Annabelle muttered, trying to turn the ignition again despite the ominous clicking it was making. “You were just given a clean bill of health last week after the oil change. There’s no reason for you to be acting like this,” she said, talking to the car as if it were a recalcitrant child rather than a machine that had just expired. She clenched her teeth and leaned into the steering wheel. “I do not accept this. You will turn over and we will drive home!”
Dean appeared beside her window with a puzzled expression. “Everything okay?”
“Yep. Just great,” she lied with a bright smile. “Just having a difference of opinion with my vehicle.”
“Come again?”
She shook her head and waved him on. “No worries. I’ll get this figured out. Go on home.”
But just as she feared, Dean wasn’t about to leave her without knowing she had reliable transportation, and, while that chivalrous routine was endearing, she really didn’t want him to feel obligated to stay. She glanced at her watch. Dana was working tonight. It was a five-mile walk from the office to her craptastic duplex and it was already getting dark. She considered her meager checking account balance and immediately discarded the thought of calling a tow truck.
“Annabelle, pop your hood.”
“No, it’s okay, really,” Annabelle called out, but Dean refused to budge and gestured impatiently. “Well, uh, okay. But I’m sure it’s nothing.”
The latch snapped and Dean propped the hood. Needing to feel useful, she grabbed the flashlight from her glove compartment and climbed out of the car to stand beside Dean as he inspected the engine. She peered into the coiled machinery and wondered if he knew what the heck he was doing. Thad hadn’t been much of a mechanic but he had always liked to pretend he was.
“Fan’s not broken and your battery cables are fine. But we’ll have it towed to Mountain Motors and see what Jonas can make of it.” He carefully closed the hood. “I’ll take you home. Go ahead and grab your stuff and I’ll get Honey.”
She wanted to decline politely, but that would really be stupid. There was no way she was going to walk five miles with a toddler who was a half hour away from becoming really cranky, not to mention, Annabelle wouldn’t be able to see two feet in front of her once she headed out of town. She might end up in a ditch or something. “Thanks,” Annabelle said, though it came out not at all grateful sounding. He didn’t call her on it and she was at least glad for that.
Honey gurgled with pleasure as Dean strapped her into the back of his king-cab monster diesel truck and then Annabelle hopped in, trying not to notice how comfortable his ride was in comparison to her own. Of course it was comfortable. It was practically brand-new, while hers was…not.
There was nothing wrong with her little Escort. It was her first car and she’d bought it with her own money. It probably just needed a tune-up. Everything would look better in the morning. The thought was very Scarlett O’Hara-esque of her, but sometimes that Southern belle had had the right of things.
“Where do you live?” Dean asked, pulling out of the driveway and onto the highway.
“Uh, just on the outskirts of town, in those duplexes off Morning Glory Road.”
He appeared troubled but didn’t comment. The first time she’d seen the duplex she’d nearly cried. But she’d lived in worse and with a little elbow grease, she’d rationalized that it could be very cozy.
As they pulled up to the duplex, Annabelle grimaced. Well, it was safe to say the duplex—despite her efforts—had never quite reached her aspirations.
She opened the passenger door and dropped to the ground from the dizzying height of the truck, then went to her front door to unlock it while Dean unbuckled Honey from her car seat. She accepted Honey from his arms while he unlatched the car seat from the truck. She tried taking the car seat, too, but he wouldn’t let her and simply followed her into the house.
She tried not to cringe when she caught him openly assessing her unit with a critical eye.
“Who’s your landlord?” he asked, his hands going to his hips as he stared at a crack in the ceiling. “Is this structurally sound?”
She laughed nervously, but she’d wondered that herself. “It’s fine. You’re paranoid. Thanks for the lift. I’m sure Dana can take us tomorrow.”
“No need. I’ll come get you. I have to come by this way anyway.”
“No, you don’t. You’re being ridiculous. I don’t need you to be my taxi. Dana can get us or maybe Sammy.”
There was a loud bang and Annabelle jumped. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t have reacted like that, but having Dean in her space put her on edge. She felt him judging her and her humble home. This place was a palace compared to where she’d grown up. If he thought so poorly of her duplex what would he think of her background if he knew? She tried not to let it bother her, for who really cared what others thought? But knowing that Dean might harbor the slightest amount of pity toward her was enough to make her defensive.
“What was that?” he growled, moving past her to peer out the small kitchen window. “Are your neighbors rowdy? Have they given you any trouble?”
Annabelle sighed. It was sweet, really, that he was worried. But her neighbors were nothing compared to the riff-raff she was used to putting up with. Hell, she could handle those yahoos next door with her eyes closed. “Dean, everything’s fine. Thank you. I appreciate your concern but it’s unnecessary.”
He paused and for a wild moment Annabelle wondered if he was going to grab Honey and her, toss them both back into the truck and burn rubber out of there. No doubt that’s what he wanted to do. Dana had all but said the same thing when she’d first seen the place, but Annabelle was determined to make things better on her own.
He must’ve read that in her eyes for he backed down—grudgingly. With one caveat. “I’m picking you up. Be ready at 8:00 a.m.”
And then he closed the door behind him with instructions to use the dead bolt when he was gone.
She slid the dead bolt into place and shut the thin drapes across the kitchen window to create some semblance of privacy before making Honey and herself a quick bite to eat.
After a shower, she put Honey to bed, doublechecking the window latches before she turned off the light, and then she took a seat by the window to stare into the night.
The duplex was squalid—not even three passes with a rented steam cleaner could get the carpets completely clean—but the view was beautiful. From the ridge above Emmett’s Mill, the lights of downtown twinkled like stars and the moon illuminated the dark sky with a soft glow.
A sigh escaped her as her thoughts returned to Dean. He wasn’t a man of many words, but that was okay. Sammy seemed to do most of the talking for everyone. But Annabelle appreciated a man who spent less time talking and more time working. Her mom had been a sucker for sweet talkers. Poor Mom. Always looking for a knight in shining armor to rescue her from the way her life had turned out.
Stop it. Shaking off her melancholy, Annabelle reached for her mail and started to sift through it. She was still receiving the previous tenant’s mail but the landlord hadn’t much cared. They had left in the middle of the night, skipping out on the last month’s rent. So Annabelle had had to pay two months in advance. Tossing the misdirected mail in a growing pile to return to the post office, she got to the last envelope in her small stack and slid it open, barely registering the label from the district attorney’s office in Hinkley.
Unfolding the letter, she scanned the contents and her heart began to thunder uncomfortably in her chest as three simple words scared the living hell out of her.
Out on parole.
The phone rang, jangling her nerves. She rose on unsteady feet to answer it.
“Hello?”
Nothing. But Annabelle could hear someone breathing. Damn kids. She gripped the phone tighter and said, “This is juvenile. Do your parents know—”
“Bitch!” And then the line went dead.
Annabelle drew back in startled silence. Swallowing, she glanced out the front window before hanging up the receiver. Kids, she thought shakily. With a mean streak.
Suppressing a shiver, she double-checked the flimsy lock on the front door but still felt exposed. Forcing a short laugh, she told herself she was overreacting, but her gaze strayed to the letter on the coffee table and her heart beat painfully against everything she was trying to convince herself of.
A prank call. No big deal. She could handle it.
DEAN ARRIVED at Annabelle’s place a little early, but he hadn’t slept well the night before and found himself up earlier than usual. Downing a quick cup of coffee and burning his taste buds in the process, he made the short drive to Annabelle’s and then wondered if he should wait outside or knock on the door.
After a minute of arguing with himself on the merits of waiting or knocking, in the end, he went to the front door and tapped on it hesitantly.
A few moments later, Annabelle peered around the door frame clutching a towel, and he cursed his impatience. He should’ve waited in the truck.
“Are you early?” Annabelle asked, biting her lip. “Or am I late?”
“I’m sorry, Annabelle. I’m early. I’ll just wait in the truck until you’re ready.” He turned to leave, positive he felt the tips of his ears reddening when she called after him.
“It’s okay. I was running a bit behind anyway. I overslept. Why don’t you come in and keep an eye on Honey for me while I take a quick shower? It’ll be much faster if I don’t have to take her with me. She likes to play with the shampoo when I’m not looking.”
“Uh…okay,” he said, though his Adam’s apple bobbed uncomfortably in his throat as he dutifully tried to avoid the imagery jumping to his overactive imagination. Annabelle with her lush curves and creamy skin—naked. The blood rushed from his ears to his groin and he almost did an about-face. But then he saw Annabelle grab Honey from her crib as the toddler rubbed at her eyes, smiling sleepily when she spotted him, and his heart warmed in a pleasant way. The kid was too darn cute. A person would have to be made of stone not to like Honey Nichols.
“Look who’s here,” Annabelle said, pressing a kiss to Honey’s wild hair. “Mama’s going to take a quick shower. Can you sit with Dean for a minute? I won’t be long. I promise.”
Honey didn’t even hesitate but went straight into Dean’s arms. Annabelle’s expression faltered, surprise at Honey’s reaction evident in her eyes. She met Dean’s gaze with a puzzled smile. “She must really like you. I’ve never seen her so open with anyone. Not even her da—” Annabelle stopped, plainly disturbed by how much information she was sharing. “I’ll just be a minute.”
“Take your time,” Dean said, holding Honey against his chest and walking the perimeter of the small duplex as Annabelle disappeared. The bathroom door closed and Dean busied himself with studying her unit.
Despite Annabelle’s attempts at livening up the place with a few pictures here and there and a vibrant handmade afghan draped across the top of the faded sofa, the duplex maintained a stale atmosphere that spoke of the countless inhabitants before her who hadn’t cared as much as she did for their living conditions. Apparently, upkeep wasn’t the landlord’s top priority. Peering out the window, he realized it didn’t have a screen. Drawing away, his mouth formed a tight line as his blood pressure rose. Window screens were required in residential rentals. He wondered who owned the property and how hard it might be to find out. His cell phone was in his hand before he realized what he was doing. Seconds before he got more involved than he wanted to be, he came to his senses and snapped the phone shut. He glanced at Honey with a light smile. “Let’s get your seat in the truck, kiddo. We can wait for your mom there.”
It was only a few minutes later that Annabelle appeared at the front door, locking it before making her way to the truck gingerly on spindly heels, wearing another of her short skirts that showed off a lean pair of smooth pale legs. Dean groaned and looked away. He didn’t know how he was supposed to keep his mind in neutral when she kept shoving it into overdrive. She had to know that she was driving him crazy with those flashes of cleavage peeking out from behind that flimsy V-necked blouse and those impossibly short skirts that rode up her legs.
Dean swallowed with difficulty but managed to keep his attention on the road with ruthless determination.
“You need screens on those windows,” he said, startling her with his gruff tone. “It’s dangerous with a baby in the house.”
“I know. That’s why I keep the windows closed on that side.”
“That’s no solution. Who’s your landlord?”
Annabelle sighed. “I don’t know. I go through a property management company, Grafton Realty. Besides, I’ve called the manager and he told me that the owner isn’t interested in replacing the screens because the tenants keep ripping them out. He said if I want screens I have to buy them.”
Dean balked. “That’s bullshit.”
She shrugged as if she was used to this sort of thing. “It’s not that big a deal. We just work around it.”
