“I’m not.”
She cocks her head to the side, her dark brown eyes probing. “It sure looks like it.”
“I’m not,” I say again, carefully unwrapping the sandwich and taking a bite. “I’m just hungry and in need of caffeine and it’s nice to be taken care of.” I whisper the last bit, a little afraid to admit that truth. I’m used to taking care of everyone else. My parents. Noah.
“Well.” She straightens her shoulders. “Okay.” She gives a tiny, almost satisfied nod. “I’m happy I could take care of you for a change.”
She locks up behind us, and I scarf down my sandwich by the time we make it to the garage beneath the building.
We arrive at the rental place late, but it’s no big deal—I just loathe tardiness.
The truck isn’t too oversized and easy to handle. The only issue is how rough the ride is. Ebba grabs onto the handle when we hit a particularly bad pothole.
“I think a lost a couple organs with that one,” she groans.
“Well, you’re still alive so I think you’re safe.”
I slow for a stoplight, and she lowers her hand from the door. “How are you doing? I should’ve reminded you to take Dramamine.”
“I’m driving so I’m fine,” I admit with a shrug. “If I was in your spot I fear I might have thrown up on your skirt.”
She looks down in horror. “Thank God you’re driving then.”
She guides me to the storage unit location and gives me the code to put in at the gate when we arrive.
“Keep going,” she directs. “Two more rows. Turn here and it’s all the way down on the end.”
I follow her directions and park the truck.
“You know,” she muses softly. “I probably should’ve asked my brother for help. It’s a pretty heavy couch.”
I frown. Asking for help hadn’t crossed my mind.
“Let’s see if we can manage and if we can’t we’ll call in reinforcements.”
“All right,” she agrees.
Hopping out of the truck, I meet her at the other side and find her fumbling with her keychain.
“Aha,” she says when she finds the right one and slides it into the lock.
Reaching down, I lift the door up and stare in surprise.
“Is your whole life in this storage unit?”
She shrugs at the assortment of plastic bins, racks of clothes, furniture, and other things.
“Pretty much.”
“But why?” I plant my hands on my hips, taking it all in. I spot my beloved couch beneath more storage containers.
“I don’t know, Fisher. Use your brain. Why would I possibly pack up all of this shit where I didn’t have to look at it?”
My shoulders fall. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.” She kicks lightly at a box. “We’ll have to move a lot of this out to get to the couch.”
“I can see that.” I cock my head, trying to decide the best place to start.