Page 24 of A Small Town Spring

I read Kingston’s message and tap my credit card at the same time.

I knew it.

But I googled it to make sure I had the spelling right.

I laugh out loud and the checkout employee gives me an odd look as they hand me my receipt.

And now I want olive pizza.Thanks for that.I’m stuck at this conference and there’s no decent food.

I wish Kingston was only as far away as his home and I could swing by Nina’s and grab a pizza on the way to surprise him.

But he’s in California and I’m going home to a cat.

Maybe you could order out.When do you get back to the east coast?

I fly to New York next Thursday.But I won’t be coming to Rosedale on the weekend, if that’s what you were wondering.Place is all yours for the time being.

The disappointment is swift and real.I think about how to respond as I load the groceries into the back of my wagon, then slide behind the wheel.It’s warm with the late June sun coming through the windscreen, but I don’t turn Helen on yet.Her air-conditioning is weak at best, anyway.

I hope you aren’t staying away on my account.I wouldn’t want you to think you can’t be at your own house.

I see the dots that indicate he’s responding, but then they stop.I imagine him at the conference, probably being stopped by people every few minutes to talk.Perhaps he’s even presenting or has some important meetings.And here I am texting him about olives.

I tell myself he wouldn’t have written back if he didn’t want to.

By the time I get the groceries home and inside the kitchen, the day’s gotten warm enough to send me to the thermostat to check that the air-conditioner is on.Pete gave me a thorough tour of the place yesterday when he handed over his key.Hot and humid is not my preferred weather, so I hit the button to activate the air-con.A pleasantly cool draft immediately starts emanating from the floor vent in the kitchen, and I fall in love with the cottage all over again.I don’t think I’ve ever lived somewhere with central air.

Luna winds her way around my legs, as if she knows I have treats for her in one of my shopping bags.I rip open a package of them and offer her one, because I’m not above bribing my way to love.I got her a couple of new toys, too, and I toss a hot pink feathered ball at her once she’s done chewing her snack.She immediately attacks it and rolls with it into the living room.She’s still a kitten at heart; I ought to spend more time playing with her.Sometimes I wish Luna had a sibling I could have adopted at the same time so they could occupy each other, but Ivy probably would have gone apoplectic.

Ivy doesn’t get a vote anymore, I realize.And I get sad all over again.I guess I’m not entirely embracing this new reality.Maybe I never will fully, but I know time will help.

And work.Lots of work.

When I check my phone later, I see I’ve missed Kingston’s reply.

Sorry, had to duck into a meeting.And don’t worry, I don’t feel like I can’t come home.I have engagements keeping me in the city.

I have to trust him that he’s not only saying that to lessen my guilt.Still, I wonder how long it will be before I see him again.It shouldn’t matter.I should be relieved that I have the place to myself for at least a few weeks.But I’m not.Maybe I’m in need of a distraction, but the idea of spending the next several weeks here alone is rather depressing.

I don’t know how to tell Kingston I’d like to see him without it sounding strange.

But then he texts again.

I’ll be back for Pete’s birthday barbecue.Jack said since they’re going to be out of town for the Fourth, they’re going to throw a big bash at the end of July.Sound good, roomie?

The end of the month?I swallow hard, but what else can I say?

Sounds good.I’ll look forward to it.

He doesn’t write back.

Thirteen

With the deadlineof Kingston returning to Rosedale for Pete’s birthday party, which I have officially been invited to by Jack via text, I have a reason to put my ass in gear and finish the painting I owe Kingston so I can move on to the one of Pete and Jack’s Cape-style home.My dance card is pretty full, so I’ve forgotten I never heard back from Fernanda until I absent-mindedly answer a call one day after lunch and have a full-throated woman’s voice in my ear.

She says she’s traveling, but she’d like to see what I’ve been working on, and we arrange for her to come by the studio a few days after the party.I wait to panic until I’m off the phone, then I call Pete, who agrees to come over and help me curate what I have, so when she gets there I’ll put my best foot forward.

In the meantime, all I can do is paint.

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