Mr. H.O.A., Carina Taylor [uplifting book club books .txt] 📗

right away. Chippy already had all of his boxes packed. I ended up staying there until the demo crew came. Your real estate agent was there overseeing things with Chippy."

"You mean Sterling?" I asked, glancing between Nola and Sally.

Nola waved a hand at me. "That man from the grocery store."

"We don’t have a realtor," Sally cut in.

"Well he was there at the site and later told Bane and me that he was working for Mercier."

I swung the hammock back and forth. "Sterling is notorious for lying to build a better reputation. He could simply be telling everyone that so that he’ll feel important."

Sally nodded. "I’ll start looking into it today. Do you have his contact information?"

I nodded. "I’ll give it to you after breakfast."

The next few days, the three of us settled into some sort of routine. I still didn’t trust Sally, but he was an interesting man to talk with. I still wasn’t sure I trusted him completely.

But I didn’t have too much time to dwell on it. He spent his days hunting up leads on the missing deposits, while Nola and I spent our days at work. We were all getting home at different times at night, and I was busy dealing with HOA problems.

Nola was still sleeping in my room every night. I didn’t like the idea of her being unprotected in the house. Too bad having her close was killing me right now. I wanted to pursue a relationship with her, but the timing didn’t seem right.

Ever since we kissed at our barbecue, it had felt as though the internal barrier between us was high. How did I break them down—especially now that we had a new roommate to complicate matters?

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Homeowners Association Rule #81:

Quiet hours between 9pm and 7am.

CRASH.

I sat up in bed with a scream in my throat. A hand slapped over my mouth.

Murdered in my bed. I had always wanted to go more peacefully. Like maybe an angel would come down and personally deliver me to heaven. Being murdered sounded so abrupt—and painful.

"Shh, Nola, it's me." Bane.

The hand moved away from my mouth. I latched onto his arm. "What was that sound?"

"I think someone's out there. I'm going to go check." He squeezed my hand gently, then pulled away.

"Are you crazy? You could get killed! Why don't you call Harold?"

"How much good do you really think he would be? Besides, I already sent him a text. That was the second sound I heard."

I sighed. "We might as well call the police while we hide in the closet."

CRUNCH. 

"No time. Get under the bed." Bane shoved me off the bed, and I landed on the carpeted floor with a soft thud.

"Under the bed? That's the first place they'll look!"

Bane ran to the window and pulled down the wrought iron curtain rod. The navy curtain fell to the ground. He rested the curtain rod against his shoulder. "Go lock yourself in the bathroom then. Don't come out until I tell you it's safe."

"Why do I feel like you had a plan in mind for if you heard an intruder?"

He looked away from me and stared at the sliding glass door.

"You have! Do you have a contingency plan for everything? 'Hey, someone's breaking into the house, time to grab the curtain rod.'"

"First of all, you’re horrible at voice imitation. Second, would you rather I wasn’t prepared?"

With a sigh, I picked myself up off the ground and made my way towards the bathroom. "Why don't I just turn the porch lights on and call 911?"

"I want to find out who it is. If they get scared off, we might not catch them. They might come back."

He headed toward the sliding door; his shoulders tensed in the moonlight as he reached for the lock.

"What if they're waiting for you around the corner?"

"It'll be fine." He slid the door open a fraction. "I hope. Now go lock yourself in the bathroom. Now."

He turned to watch until I walked inside the bathroom and closed the door.

All was quiet on the other side, so I waited. Listening. Holding my breath.

No sound. I wasn’t sure if he’d even opened the sliding door yet.

Him and his curtain rod. As if that was an adequate means of defense. What if there was more than one prowler?

I couldn't take it. Bane was about to be murdered, and I was hiding in the bathroom. He was too good to die. I looked around the bathroom for anything I could use as a weapon. I opened the door to the laundry room and found nothing.

Bane was far more resourceful than me. He’d probably look around the same room and come up with fifteen different weapon options.

Finally, I picked up the most formidable thing I could find.

Next, I unlocked the bathroom door and opened the sliding door as quietly as possible. Bane was only ten feet away, peering around the corner of the house.

I tip toed behind him and rested my hand on his back. He gasped then spun around, curtain rod held high.

Reflexively, I held up my own weapon, ready to block the strike.

"A plunger?" he asked incredulously. "You chose a plunger to defend yourself?"

"We can't all be Captain Bane, okay?" I whispered back.

Something thumped behind Bane. He spun around while simultaneously shoving me behind him.

Thump.

Creak. 

Crash.

Bane leapt around the corner. "Stop right there!"

"Put your hands in the air, or I'll shoot!" a high-pitched voice replied.

I ran around the corner, plunger raised, ready to defend Bane, when a big white blur came at me from the corner of my eye.

Before I knew what happened, I was lying on my back in the grass. Something large and furry lay on top of me, licking my face.

"Put your weapon down!" the screechy voice yelled.

"Harold!" Bane yelled. "It's me, Bane Fox!"

Harold.

Apparently he'd decided to answer the call for help. Maybe he was earning that salary of his after all.

"Bane? I don't know a Bane!"

Bane groaned, and I coughed as the big, white dog licked my face again. "Bartholomew Fox!" I yelled.

"Oh! Well, why didn't