Chapter 3

A loud sound from the other room made me jump. I heard cursing—everyone must have—just before Sawyer and some woman shot through the swinging door. The front of Sawyer’s apron and shirt were soaked. I could see right through the expensive fabric that clung to his chest. He was hairy, and apparently cold, judging by the pointiness of his nipples.

“Call somebody,” the woman said.

“Call who?” Sawyer asked her. “It’s Thanksgiving.”

“Umm…Carolyn…Sawyer…” A disembodied voice sounded panicked behind the door they’d just bounded through. “It’s getting worse!”

“Anyone know how to fix a leaky water pipe?” Sawyer asked with a crooked smile and a tone of urgency.

I looked around for raised hands. I still wondered where the little girl and her mother had gone. I never had found them, so I’d sat back down and shoveled down my food in record time. Neither of them were probably plumbers anyway. “I…I can probably help,” I said.