Page 36 of Just This Once

“Very hot,” Clara adds, and I lift my gaze to find all three of them staring at me.

“Yeah. He’s hot. Whatever. But he’s also a good person. Just, like…intrinsically good.” From how he cares for his workers to how he treats a young girl to how he was and still is a stand-up friend to Clara, he’sgood.

While I don’t know everything about Dante—hell, I don’t even know an eighth about him—I doubt there is anything I could learn about him that would make me dislike him. As much as that fact annoys me.

“Maybe I should give him a chance,” I say slowly, and Marianne places her hand on Clara’s leg, keeping her in her seat, as if silently telling her to sit still as Frankie dances around. He can feel it too.

The energy shift.

Maybe he can subliminally understand his pal is going to be around again.

So, I suppose, the decision is made.

I thump my fist on the table, conceding the fight. “All right. I’ll let Dante rent the apartment.”

Marianne nods as if she’s known all along. Andi smiles and sticks a lollipop into her mouth. Clara, that she-devil, takes out her phone, and I snatch it away.

“I don’t need any more little birdies flying around. I’ll send Frankie to kill ’em.”

She bends, accepting the dog’s kisses when he licks her cheek. “Frankie’s not a killer. No. No, you aren’t. You’re the best boy, aren’t you? Yes. Yes, you are.” She peers over at me, her perfect teeth glinting under the kitchen lights. “At least until Dante moves in. Then he might become the best boy.”

Chapter 12

Dante

Taryn informed me I could move in at exactly 9:04 a.m., and I had my head on a pillow in my new place at 9:07 p.m. There is something to be said for not owning a whole lot. Just me, my work boots, and Torts. Tortellini Arturo Moretti, my pet tortoise.

The apartment above her house is one room with appliances that are older than I am, but in relatively good condition. Big windows span the entire front wall, so I can’t beat the sunshine in the morning. Although, when I have the time, I’m gonna see what I can do about those wooden shutters that have obviously been painted over multiple times.

I’ve been living here for a few days, and I’m trying my damnedest to be the perfect tenant for Taryn. I’ve been careful about moving around at night, not wanting to disturb her, and I have a reminder on the fridge for the garbage and recycling nights. Can’t have my new landlady thinking I’m a slob.

So far, we haven’t seen much of each other at home, even though I ran into her son yesterday. Jake seems like the averagefifteen-year-old, and he was in a rush to get out of the house, so we didn’t exchange much more than a hello.

The Nest is coming along well, and with only about a month left, we’re on target to finish for the holiday season. Taryn appears to be happy with it, and that’s all I care about. Now, if only I could get some alone time with her. Since I’ve been proving how professional I can be, I’d like to show her how professionally unprofessional I can be.

Which is why I leap off the beat-up futon near the windows when I hear a car door slam. By now, I know the way Taryn Stone closes a car door. Like she doesn’t have time to deal with its shit today. Smiling, I watch as she opens her trunk, and I take note of some boxes, so I throw on my sneakers and a coat and head on down to the sidewalk.

“Hey.” When she glances at me, muscling a big-ass crate, I reach for it. “Let me help.”

“I’m fine.” She blows a puff of air out of her lips, aiming up to get the wayward lock of hair out of her face, but when it doesn’t budge, I tuck it behind her ear.

“Are you sure?”

The ponytail on the top of her head is barely hanging on, and from the way she’s hunched, I don’t think she’ll be able to handle the weight much longer.

“Yes,” she says stubbornly. “I got it.” Though the thump and clank of whatever is in those crates doesn’t sound very encouraging.

I don’t wait. I go for the other crate, and it is pretty heavy. “Whaddya got in here? Bricks?”

She shuts the trunk, hits the fob to lock the doors, and shakes out her arms, readying to pick up her box up from the ground. Then she squats and lifts with her legs. Good girl. “My pottery.”

“Your pottery? Like pottery you bought?”

“Pottery I make.”

“Oh, no shit?”

She tips her head, a silent order to follow her. As if I’d dare to do anything different. She leads me up to her porch and unlocks her front door, where Frankie greets us happily. I set down the pottery then kneel to accept his kisses, nuzzling my face into his neck. “You remember me? Yeah? I remember you. Yes, I do. Yes, I do. Are we gonna be friends? You gonna hang out with me?”

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