Page 22 of Fast and Dirty

“I’m betting you already did!” She hollers back, making a laugh burst out of Kira that actually makes the muscle in my chest squeeze.

After pulling on the same leggings from last night, Kira drapes her beat - to - shit wedding dress over her arm while I carry her suitcase down the stairs.

As we proceed through the garage bays, Kira walks past Jackson who takes a good long look at the state of her dress and then up at me, his eyes wider than damn dinner plates. I givehim a warning glare as I walk past and he presses his lips together, clearly bursting at the seams to say something cocky or get the dirt or both.

When we reach Agnes’s car, not surprisingly, she’s leaning against it with a palm on the hood and smoking a cigarette.

“You sure you want to do this?” I mumble out of the corner of my mouth as Kira tosses her dress in the back of the Jeep.

She gives a casual shrug. “Free room and board, and all I have to do is be Agnes’s bitch. Really not that much different from how I was living before, when you think about it.” She quirks an eyebrow with half a smile and there goes that squeeze in my chest again. “Thank you for”—her eyes flit up towards my apartment before back to mine—“everything.” Her cheeks stain an adorable pink as she gets into the Jeep and after placing her suitcase in the back, I decide to let her know that whatever this is, it isn’t over.

“Be seeing you around,” I wink at her, and it’s met with a mischievous smile.

Kira

Clang!

“We’re here,” Agnes gruffly announces.

First of all, it turns out her affinity for slamming her Jeep into trash cans is nothing personal as she takes no issue doing it to her own. Second of all…

“Agnes, you literally drove around the corner. I seriously could’ve walked. We weren’t in your car for even twenty seconds,” I remark, baffled.

“What’s your point?”

I shake off whatever I’m thinking. With this lady, it’s probably best to just go with it. “Nothing, just could’ve saved you a trip.

“And let you be seen by the townsfolk carting a suitcase and ruined wedding dress up the street? Not on your life,” she says affectionately.

You’re right, screeching around the corner at breakneck speeds before careening into a trash can with said filthy dress spilling out the back seat was much more discreet- is what the cynic in me would say. But I’m not a cynic and she’s doing me a solid, so instead, I go with, “I appreciate it,” with a warm smile as she exits her side of the vehicle and I follow suit.

“You know, we could have a burning ceremony or something for that dress,” Agnes suggests as I follow her up the steps of the cute, white, two- story house, schlepping my obnoxious designer suitcase behind me.

“I love these houses,” I breathe out wistfully. “Is it Queene Anne?”

“Hell if I know,” she mutters as we approach the front door. “I know nothing about architecture.”

“Well it looks like a Queene Anne Victorian,” I respond. “It’s beautiful.”

Agnes pushes the front door open without even taking out a key to unlock it. This isn’t Chicago. People must know and trust each other here.

“It’s been in my family for at least three generations,” she fills me in as I follow her into the foyer, I’m pleasantly surprised at the interior. It’s tidy and clean with plenty of daylight. “I take it you know a little something about old houses?” She looks up at me resting a hand on her hip.

“I majored in historical architecture,” I shrug, feeling coy. In my world, women got an education paid for by their daddies at the best universities but not so they could actually do anything with it. It was to simply look pretty on the wife resume. Misogynist fuckers also didn’t like us bragging about it but didlet us choose something cultural so that we could point out an occasional art piece at a museum and remark on it so we look smart. I shake off the ick and gesture around the area we’re standing in. “Thank you again for letting me stay. Your place is gorgeous.”

“Well, my granddaughter helps me keep it clean,” she mentions as she turns for the stairs.

Along the trek up to the second floor, I learn that house comes from Agnes’s late husband’s side of the family but she’s lived here since she married him fifty-four years ago. Together, they had three kids and seven grandchildren, most of whom have ‘left her to rot’ - as she puts it - in this charming little town. She doesn’t fool me though. I can tell by the warm affection in her voice she loves every one of them and loves staying right here in Coyote Creek.

She parks me in a room with a double bed with a white comforter and a knitted afghan folded down at the foot in colors of green, yellow and blue. Everything about it is simple and tidy, including an old oak dresser in the corner and a mismatched white side table by the bed with a … lava lamp. Cool.

Agnes leaves me to get unpacked while she goes to answer some business messages, whatever that means. It’s not long before I hear the faint beats of what I’m only guessing is old school hip hop floating up from the first floor. Okay then.

Comfortable with my accommodations but still feeling a little anxious and restless, I figure I might as well call Toby to keep me company while I unpack. I put the phone on speaker and lay it down on the bed next to my suitcase. Toby picks up at the first ring and screams “Tell me everything, bitch!” and my heart makes a beeline for my chest wall, trying to crash through it like the Hulk.

“Fucking shit, Toby!”

“Sorry, I’ve just been waiting on pins and needles to hear from you,” he says quieter. “Tell me everything. Did you fuck the tasty mechanic until he saw his ancestors waving to him?”

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