Page 12 of All's Well that Friends Well

“I could totally do it,” I hurry on, because I’m sure I don’t present a janitorial picture, standing in front of him in pink lace. “I totally can. I can clean. I can do manual labor. I could even wrangle a group of kids—or adults who act like kids, probably.”

The old man grunts and tosses a look at Luca. “What about one adult who acts like a kid?”

Luca’s jaw drops, but the man holds up a wrinkled hand to stop him from cutting in.

“Definitely,” I say as my pulse jumps. “I could definitely do that.” I am making wild, reckless promises right now, and yet my mouth keeps moving as I remember the snippet of conversation I overheard. “Absolutely. I could even helpLuca be nicer to people. That’s what he needs, right? I could do it. No problem.”

This gruff, ancient man eyes me some more, and I can see the wheels turning in his mind. Then, finally?—

He nods.

“I’ll start you on janitorial,” he says. “If you do good work, I’ll move you up to babysitting.”

Does that mean what I think it means?

But I don’t get a chance to ask, because the man is already turning around. “You start Monday,” he says over his shoulder. “At Explore, over on Main. Be there at seven-thirty and we’ll get you squared away with HR.”

Who is this guy, that he can hire me on the spot without asking anyone about it? Some sort of manager, maybe?

Regardless of who he is, a barrage of emotions surges within me—excitement and gratitude andrelief, overwhelming and sweet; but a bleak acceptance, too, that my ninth grade English teacher was right when she told me I’d better work harder or all I’d be fit for was cleaning toilets.

I did work harder. I always worked hard. I’m cleaning toilets anyway.

“I’ll be there,” I call to his retreating back as I swallow down the complicated tangle of feelings growing in the back of my throat. “Thank you!”

“Wait,” Luca calls, looking back and forth between the old man and me. “Hang on—wait a minute. She can’t—you can’t?—”

“Why don’t you want to work with me?” I say, tilting my head up at him.

His gaze whips back to me. “Because.” He swallows, a bob of his Adam’s apple that shouldn’t be sexy but totally is. “You—we—” He breaks off, his mouth gaping as he searches for words.

He can’t find them. Interesting.

I decide to push him a little bit, just to see what happens. I step up so that I’m on level ground with him, almost toe-to-toe. His eyes widen as he looks down at me, but he doesn’t move.

“Do you want to date me?” I say. I keep my voice matter-of-fact, casual.

His brow furrows. “What?No,” he says, spitting the word out. “What on earth would make you think?—”

“Are you sure?” I say. I take the teensiest step closer, and I can smell him now—that same cool, blue-gray ocean scent. “I’m very beautiful.”

His mouth snaps shut, a muscle jumping in his jaw as his eyes narrow. “I need more than beauty from a woman.”

A smile blooms on my face. “So you think I’m beautiful?” I say quickly, before he can retract his words.

But he just scoffs. He folds his arms and leans against the doorframe again, looking me up and down. He pauses before admitting, “Sure. You’re beautiful, Juliet Marigold.” Then his eyes come to rest on my face, lingering there. “But I told you—I need more than that.”

And I have to resist the urge to fan my cheeks, because I can feel them heating under his slow perusal. I make myself shrug instead.

“Then I don’t see what the problem is,” I say. “If you’re not secretly pining for me, what will it hurt to work in the same building? You’ve been unnecessarily combative this whole time. I’d just like to know why.”

“I probably wouldn’t have a problem with you if you’dstop showing up at my house or inviting me places or bringing me brownies,” he says.

Just like I expected: I am the gnat that keeps buzzing around his face.

Still, he doesn’t need to come for my baking.

“Don’t even pretend like my desserts aren’t delicious,” I say. “I was trying to be kind and welcoming.”

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