Page 13 of Strictly Pretend

“What email?” I frown. The only email I’m interested in is the one I need to reply to so I can secure the sale of the Steinbeck.

“From Salinger Estates. They’re coming to meet us here. They want to discuss the future of the building.”

My stomach immediately twists. “There’s nothing to discuss. We’re not moving.” I look at them. “None of us. If we refuse to accept their terms, they can’t throw you out either. I’ll speak to them and send them on their way.”

Rita lets out a sigh. “If we need to move, I’d rather do it sooner than later. It’s my quiet season. I could be up and running for the fall boost if we took the money now.”

“I’m thinking of building a therapy room in my backyard,” Marks says. “The money they’ve offered should cover the construction costs. And I would never have to worry about a landlord again.”

“But what about this building?” I ask him. “What about our community?”

He presses his lips together, avoiding my eyes. “We can still have Christmas parties,” he mutters. “I won’t let them take away Twister.”

There’s a thickness in my throat. “We can’t let them win.”

“What does your granddad think?” Mark asks. “Wait, where is he?”

“He’s not feeling well, so I told him he’s taking the week off whether or not he likes it.” Truth is, he’s exhausted. He spent the entire weekend at estate sales. I tried to get him to slow down but he’s getting more obsessed with finding my grandmother’s poetry book. So I went with him, keeping him hydrated and searching through all the bookshelves in each old home, trying not to feel sad at the emptiness of the rooms.

Somebody once lived in these houses. They laughed, cried, and loved hard and now they’re gone. I hate estate sales.

“They probably emailed him,” Rita says. “About the meeting, I mean.”

“Probably.” I nod. And now I’m remembering the annoyed letter I sent to their office and I’m squirming because it’s easy to be rude to somebody by letter. But now I have to look them in the eyes.

“Anyway, Rita and I have been talking,” Mark says. “And we think it’s best that you take the lead. As the tenant that’s been here the longest.”

I blink and look at Rita. She shrugs.

“Why me?”

“I have a client coming in an hour. His wife wants custody of his cat. I can’t turn him away,” Mark says.

“And I have a delivery coming in twenty minutes.” Rita grins at me.

My stomach twists.

“Wait.” I panic. Because this huge corporation is coming to steamroll us. And yes, I’m strong but I’m also only one person. “I need some kind of proof that I’m entitled to speak on your behalf.”

Mark holds out a piece of paper. “Here you go. We both signed it.”

I take it, swallowing hard. Maybe it’s better this way. It’s not Rita and Mark’s fault I sent a rude letter.

Before I can say anything else, they’re both scurrying away and I’m left holding the piece of paper in one hand and trying to ignore the sinus headache forming along the bridge of my nose.

I’ll apologize for my rudeness, explain that we’re not leaving the building, and then the representative from Salinger Estates can be on their way.

It’ll be fine. I’ve faced worse. Or at least I think I have right until the moment the door opens at eleven o’clock on the dot andhewalks in.

“You?” I whisper, my throat tight as my eyes clash with his. They’re as blue as I remember. Piercing. Perfectly set in a face that’s stupidly handsome in a way that makes my heart race.

“E. Robbins?” he asks, frowning at me. Because he obviously remembers me, too. I take a deep breath and all I can smell is the low notes of his cologne.

My body reacts to it.

“Please tell me your last name isn’t Salinger.”

Dammit, I really didn’t think my day could get any worse.

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