Page 30 of Roommate's Guide to Love

“Quinn? Can you come help me? I can’t decide between these eight.”

“One second Mrs. Wolfe!” I continue weaving around when the telephone starts ringing from the front desk at the same time that bells ringing at the front of the store chime. Those two things are just enough for me to take my eye off my trail for just a second.

“Damnit!” I yell as I run into yet another bed frame. This makes me stumble back, basically on one foot, which is how I run into a book case.

Which I knock over.

Which knocks over another bookcase.

Then another.

And another.

And one more.

I’m out of my body as I watch in horror before I snap out of it, realizing that if I don’t race over to the last one soon, it’s going to hit the row of glass lamps. Pain races through my legs as I dodge and weave between rows of bookshelves that are now just falling all around me, heading straight toward the lamps. I’m pretty sure one bookcase just crashed into an antique table, but I can’t focus on that as I try to race to the things made of glass.

I lunge at the last book case, but come up short as it crashes into a host of glass and ceramic lighting fixtures.

I hear the crashes around me as I lay on the ground, defeated, sore, and wondering what the hell just happened.

“Quinn?”

“Yeah, Mrs. Wolfe?”

“When you get up, I could really use your opinion. I’ve narrowed it down to three shades.”

Of course she’s not checking on me. Does she even realize what just happened? She had to, right?

“They’re just gray, Mrs. Wolfe! Pick one! Light. Dark. Charcoal. It’s your world, and we’re just living in it!”

I slowly start to get up again, but fall in defeat when I hear the telephone start ringing again.

And it’s that moment I admit defeat. And I just lay there.

I don’t know how long I’m on the floor with broken lamps and discarded book cases when I see Marvin step over me, a mix of concern and horror in his elderly features.

“You okay?”

“I think.”

“That’s good. You…Well…”

Poor guy. He just wanted to go to the bank. I know what he wants to say, or rather do, and I feel like the least I can do is put him out of his misery.

“I’m going to go grab my things.”

He lets out a breath of relief. “I think that would be wise.”

* * *

Actually, this is better.

Dog walking. What could go wrong?

I’m getting exercise, which I admittedly don’t get enough of. I’ll always be on the go, which is what I wanted. And I’m around animals. Granted, I’m more of a cat person, but dogs still have to be better than bitchy bank managers or a walking death trap furniture store.

“Hello, Quinn! You’re a life saver.”

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