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The vacuum starts up in the hallway, and a moment later, she comes back into the kitchen with it. I remove the old bracket while she vacuums along the cabinets. She gets down on her knees again to run the nozzle underneath them, then moves on to the fridge.

I try to concentrate on the bracket, but my attention keeps drifting back to Romy. Her jeans hug her juicy ass every time she bends forward, and I nearly put the drill bit through my finger. I quickly look away and line up the new bracket beside the old holes.

Great. I have the hots for the woman who wants to kick me out of my own home.

I drive the first screw into the wall and test the bracket with my hand. It doesn’t move. Perfect. The second screw makes it even sturdier, and once I’ve attached the shelf again, I put some of my weight on it to make sure it’ll hold.

I step back. “It’s all fixed. You can put your jars on it now.”

Romy switches off the vacuum and looks at the shelf. “Are you sure?”

I put the drill back in my toolbox. “Trust me, it’s not coming down again.”

She walks over and gives the shelf a cautious push with one hand. When it doesn’t move, she puts a little more pressure on it.

“Happy?” I ask.

“I am. Thanks, Otis.”

I close my toolbox. “So, um… you’re really planning on staying here, aren’t you?”

Romy turns toward me and gives me a confused look. “Of course I am. I bought the place.”

“And you’re okay living in this?”

Her gaze moves around the kitchen. The cabinet doors don’t line up properly, the countertops have seen better days, and there’s a crack running through one of the tiles behind the sink.

“I didn’t say I was happy with the state it’s in, but I’ve already spent the money. I came all the way to Screaming Woods for a reason. I’m not going to turn around and leave on my first day.”

“What reason is that?”

“I’m an artist.”

“I know.”

Her eyebrows lift. “You do?”

I tap the back pocket of my jeans. “Your card.”

“Oh. Right. I got a grant to come here and paint portraits.”

“Of who?”

“Well, of the people living here. I told the grant committee I wanted to document the people living in an isolated community. What I didn’t tell them was that I heard rumors about something called Frankenpunch and people being transformed.”

I shake my head. Of course. I should’ve known this had something to do with that. I’ve spent years trying to get people to see past the horns. The last thing I need is someone turning me into an art project.

Romy must see something change in my face because she quickly continues. “Not as some kind of freak show. I want to paint the people who were transformed.”

I look at her for a moment before picking up my toolbox. Her eyes move over my face and settle on my horns.

Oh, hell no.

“Can I paint you?”

“Over my dead body,” I say and head through the back door before she can say anything else.

Chapter Four