Boom - Sabrina Stark Page 0,14

in two minutes flat.

When I finished, I felt a million times better. With renewed optimism, I wandered to the front window and opened the blinds.

What I saw outside made my stomach sink, even in spite of the breakfast. My grandparent's house – it looked absolutely terrible.

The blue paint was peeling and faded. The front porch was missing spindles. The grass was nearly knee-high. Even the shrubbery was a total overgrown mess, like it hadn't been trimmed in years.

Sure, I'd noticed all of this when the ride-share had dropped me off just yesterday. But now, looking at the place with new, critical eyes, I realized just how neglected it had been.

Still, I tried to look on the bright side. The situation wasn't all bad. Neglected or not, at least the house wasn't slated for destruction, not anymore.

As relief coursed through me, I felt a surge of something that felt a lot like gratitude – to Brody Blastoviak of all people. He was going to save it. He hadn't wanted to. That much was obvious. But he'd agreed anyway – even though he had made me beg.

Yes, it had totally sucked, but it could've been so much worse. He could've said no, whether I was on my knees or not.

At the thought, I stifled a mortified shudder. How awful would've that been?

But I refused to dwell on it. Instead, I squared my shoulders and focused on the positive. Begging wasn't all I could do. I could help. For starters, I could trim the hedges, and maybe even mow the lawn.

In spite of last night's rain, the morning had dawned sunny and bright. The day was windy, too, judging from the rustling of the trees and the windswept motions of the overgrown grass.

If the sun and wind cooperated, the grass – even as tall as it was – would almost surely be dry by this afternoon, which meant that I could get a decent start on the mowing.

With growing excitement, I dashed back to the bedroom, made the bed, and then ventured into the attached garage in search of the things I'd need – a lawn mower, hedge trimmers, and maybe a rake or shovel.

I found everything I needed in no time flat, including a gas-powered push-mower and a spare can of gas.

It was a sign. It had to be.

With a renewed sense of purpose, I hauled everything across the street and got to work. The work was hard, messy, and filled with all kinds of challenges I hadn't anticipated.

By noon, I was a sweaty, bedraggled mess, but I hardly cared. I kept on working, fueled only by bottled water and raw determination.

By late afternoon, the property was looking a whole lot better – or so I thought, until I was rudely informed otherwise.

Chapter 9

Arden

I was in the final stages of mowing the front yard when a big, white SUV pulled into my grandparent's driveway.

At the sight of it, I stopped mowing, but didn't cut the mower's engine.

Bright sunlight reflected off the vehicle's windows, making it impossible for me to see who was driving.

Was it Brody?

It had to be. After all, I hadn't seen him all day, in spite of his claim – or should I say threat – that we'd be talking.

For a long moment, nothing happened. But then, the passenger's side door flew open, and a sleek blonde in a tailored cream-colored business suit slammed out of the vehicle and began stalking toward me, in high heels no less.

She looked like she wanted to kill someone – me in particular.

With growing unease, I turned off the mower.

I waited in confused silence as she stalked ever closer – using the front walkway and avoiding the grass entirely. I knew why, too. It was because of her cream-colored shoes. I was no fashion expert, but they looked very pricey, just like the rest of her.

Without breaking stride, she hollered out, "Just what the hell are you doing?"

I glanced around. The way she was acting, you'd almost think she'd caught me crapping on the front steps.

I replied, "I'm, um, mowing actually."

She stopped on the edge of the walkway, leaving a good fifteen feet between us. Through gritted teeth, she said, "I know you're mowing. What I want to know is why."

I had no idea who she was or why she was flipping out. Still, I could tell by her clothing that she wasn't from around here. She looked too polished, too slick, and way too expensive for Bayside, Michigan.

I couldn’t resist saying, "If you