Page 14 of Just The Way You Aren't

I blink at him. “Excuse me?”

“How much would it cost to get you a new one?”

“Well, I mean… after the fundraiser…” I rub the back of my neck. “I mean…”

“This can’t wait until after the fundraiser. It’s a liability and a hazard. I’ll have someone get you a new van,” he says.

My jaw drops. “J-Just like that?”

“Just like that,” he replies. He goes back into the back room and picks up more meals.

I take a moment to recover. “Okay, converting this one cost about fifteen-thousand dollars.”

Damien raises an eyebrow at me. “‘Converting’?”

“It’s cheaper than buying one that’s already set up for refrigeration,” I explain.

“You’re getting a new one. No arguments.” He steps up on the bumper and wobbles when it bends a bit.

“But they can run up to sixty-thousand dollars for one this size!” I protest.

He snorts. “More than worth it. You’ll have it tomorrow. Now? I guess we’re stuck with this old piece of trash.”

My spine stiffens and I cross my arms over my chest. “Bessie has been a real trooper for almost ten years now.”

Damien stops midway through shelving and stares at me. “‘Bessie’?”

“Yes. Don’t insult her. She might stall on the road if you’re not nice to her,” I say in all seriousness.

His expression is incredulous. “You’re not kidding.”

I shrug. “Peter called her old once and one of her axles broke.”

“She is old! This model Ford is at least twenty years old,” he says.

With a groan, I pat Bessie’s side.

The other back door falls off its hinges.

“Well, at least we can get those back on before we leave.” I sigh.

His eye tics. I’m sure of it this time. “How long is that going to take?”

“Depends on how fast we can do it between the two of us,” I respond.

Damien thumps his forehead against the inside wall of the van. “I’ll need to send a few texts while we’re on our way.”

I nod. “That’s fine.” I help him finish loading the van, then, together, we get the doors back on.

When we’re finally underway, it’s ten a.m. Damien texts furiously—and I’m pretty sure he’s actually furious—while I drive to our stops. He shows little interest in bringing the meals to our clients and stays on his phone. It frustrates me and I start to lose some of my cheerfulness.

“Mr. Langley.” I finally interrupt his texting. “Don’t you think you should at least meet one client before you go home?”

“I’ll have to work late tonight,” he grumbles. “There’s no way around it. I’m going to be working until at least midnight.” His tone drops and he mumbles something along the lines of ‘damn you, Alfred.’ “This is taking all day!”

“Like I told you, Mr. Langley, it takes as long as it takes.” I sigh. “Look. Just one house. This is a wonderful woman named Mrs. Baumgartner. I’m sure she’d love to meet you.” Mrs. Baumgartner was a good choice because she likes to meet everyone. Not even Mr. Grumpy-Pants would be able to sway her from being the ideal hostess.

He heaves a huge sigh. “I suppose.”

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