I stare at her. "How did you even know where I live?"
"I asked Frank."
"Frank told you where I live?"
"Well," she says, "he told me the general direction. I had to ask two more people after that. Turns out everyone knows where the grumpy lumberjack lives."
"I'm not helping you fix your sink," I say.
"I'm not asking you to fix it," she says. "I'm asking you to tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it myself."
"You overtightened it."
"I didn't think I did."
"You did."
She tilts her head, considering this. Then she smiles. "See? You're already helping."
Ridge is leaning against her leg, tongue lolling out, looking at her like she's the best thing that's ever happened to him.
"You need to leave," I say.
"I will," she says. "Right after you tell me how to fix it."
"I already told you. You overtightened it. Loosen it, reseat the O-ring, tighten it just enough to seal. That's it."
"And if that doesn't work?"
"Then you call a plumber."
"I can't afford a plumber," she says. "I spent all my money on a house that's apparently trying to kill me."
I don't know what to say to that. I don't know what to say about any of this. She's standing in my driveway. At my cabin. The place I specifically bought because no one comes here.
And she's smiling.
"Please?" she says.
I look at her. At Ridge, who's clearly already chosen a side. At the tools spread out on the porch. At the trees beyond, silent and waiting. Then I hear myself say the stupidest thing I've said in six years.
"Get in the truck."
She blinks. "Really?"
"Before I change my mind," I say, already regretting every decision that's led me to this moment.
"Okay," she says, and she's grinning like I've just agreed to take her to Disneyland instead of fix her plumbing. "Thank you. Seriously. What about my car?”
"I’ll bring it later to your house. Now stop talking," I say, moving past her toward the truck.
Ridge is already at the passenger door, waiting. He knows the routine. I open it and he jumps in, settling into the middle of the bench seat like he owns it.
Jade follows, climbing in after him without hesitation. She's got to hoist herself up a little. The truck sits high, and Ridge immediately puts his head on her lap like they've been best friends for years instead of twenty-four hours.
"He really does like me," she says, scratching behind his ears.
I don't answer. Just start the engine and back out, trying to figure out what the hell I'm doing and coming up empty.