Page 18 of Once Smitten, Twice Shy

I really don’t, but she seems so sure that we can make this work, and I want to be sure, too. Because this is the first time I’ve had hope for this part of my life in so long, and God, does it feel good.

My phone rings again. This time, the sound tells me it’s my mom.

“Aren’t you Mr. Popular,” Juliet says, releasing my arm.

I silence my phone in my pocket. “It’s just my mom, most likely wondering why I haven’t told her I’m on the road yet.”

Juliet bites her lip. “You let your mom know when you’re on the road?”

I shrug. “For longer drives, yes. She’s the worrying type.”

“I think a lot of moms are the worrying type,” Juliet says. “My mom certainly is.”

My phone starts to ring again. I yank it out and silence it, then send Mom a quick text that I haven’t left yet. “Sorry I keep texting while we’re talking. If I don’t do this, she’ll just keep calling.”

Juliet smiles. “That’s okay.”

“I hate these damn things,” I mutter as I start to pocket my phone.

She grins. “You’re the emailing type, aren’t you?”

“I don’t see why more people aren’t, frankly.”

“Wait.” Juliet clasps my hand. “My number. You’ll need it so we can make plans. Unless you plan for us to correspond like it’s 2003. Icangive you my Gmail. While I’m at it, would you like my AIM username?”

“Oh, real cute,” I grumble.

She plucks my phone from my palm, head bent as she types quickly, then hands it back.

“Being serious, we can talk however you like,” Juliet says, smiling up at me. “I’m going to head inside now, let you get on the road.” She takes a step back. “See you soon?”

I nod, lifting a hand. “See you soon.”

She spins and walks across the grass, up the steps to her own back porch. When she stops one last time and turns, waving brightly goodbye, I feel my heart thud in my chest.

As soon as she shuts the door behind her, I look at my phone, at her contact info. A quiet laugh rumbles in my throat. She did give me her Gmail. And next to her name, there are two tiny blue bikes.

•Five•

Juliet

Most people who’ve come back from weeks of globe-trotting crash in their beds for at least a day, then gently ease back into their typical routine.

My parents are not most people.

They got home early this morning, talked my ear off over coffee, unpacked all their bags, started their laundry, and then began prep for our usual Sunday family dinner.

I, on the other hand, managed to write a five-hundred-word blog post on the benefits of flexible work schedules that’s due tomorrow for one of my freelance clients and decided I’d earned a nap. I somehow slept the entire afternoon away.

Taking the stairs to the first floor, I don’t exactly spring my way down how I used to. Ever since connective tissue disease took over my body, I hold on to the railing tightly and pray my shaky left knee behaves itself. It’s been frustrating, encountering these new limitations to my body after three decades of operating like a little Energizer Bunny (yes, I got it from my parents), but I’m trying to weather this season of adapting and adjusting with poise and a positive attitude.

Which does feel a little harder when our ancient cat, Puck, who is truly defying death by still existing, beats me down thestairs. He lands at the bottom with a spry jingle of his bell and a little satisfied feline chirp.

“Really, Puck?” I ease my way down the last few steps. “You just had to rub it in?”

“JuJu!” My youngest sister, Kate, nearly collides with me as she darts out of the kitchen into the foyer. “I was just coming to wake you up.”

“KitKat.” I smile. “Here I am.”

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