Page 68 of When Fate Breaks
September 1st.
How could I have been such an idiot–
“That’s fine, right?” Steph questions, snapping me from my daze.
“Yes!” I blurt. “That’s fine. Sorry, the date has just totally snuck up on me. I didn’t realize you’d be here so soon.”
“Please, do sound more thrilled to see me,” Steph deadpans, earning a chuckle out of me.
“Never been more thrilled in my life,” I assure her.
“Uh huh.”
“Sorry, I’m just distracted.”
“I can imagine,” Steph says.
“Are you still bringing a plus one?” I ask, dodging her bait.
My leisurely phone call pacing has found me at the corner of the greenhouse closest to the outside entrance, where Blake has most of his tools and equipment stacked up and laid out. His large black tool trunk sits at my feet, the lid closed but the latches unsecured.
“No,” she replies flatly.
“What? Why not? What happened to what’s-his-face?”
“Turns out the face was the only redeeming quality he had to offer.”
“Oh. Well, I’m sorry to hear that. I was looking forward to meeting that face.”
“Annie.” The tone of Steph’s voice quickly dismisses that conversation. “...How’s he doing?”
“Remy’s great,” I say, squatting down to the floor. “He closed a big deal last week and is a day or so away from closing another one.”
“Oh. That’s great…but…”
She wasn’t asking about Remy.
I was almost positive of that before I answered her question, but was hoping I was wrong or that she’d just let it go if I played dumb. Suddenly needing to do something with my hands to distract myself, I open the tool trunk. My eyes are immediately drawn to the spray painted stencil writing on the inside of the lid, Blake’s last name branded on the upper half andLandscaping & Designunderneath it. I can’t believe the amount of tools crammed into the case. Though they’re not the newest or nicest, I can tell every one has been cleaned and perfectly organized, not a single one straying or without a dedicated place.Of course.
“I sort of meant Blake,” Steph finishes.
“Blake’s fantastic,” I say, a little too quickly, picking up a random wrench to fiddle with for no reason. “The greenhouse looks great. He managed to keep most of the original frame, so it still has the same bones, aside from a few rotted sections he had to rebuild. But he’s restored or replaced every panel of glass and put in this new tile that looks straight out of a magazine. He also made these potting tables from scratch. I think he used cedar wood–”
“Annie,” Steph cuts off my ramble. “I’m very happy for you about your new greenhouse and your cedar wood, but come on. Howishe?”
I let out a deep sigh. “He…” My eyes fall shut. “He seems okay, Steph.”
“Really?”
“I think so? I mean, we haven’t really talked much, but–”
“This man has been in your house for nearly two weeks and you ‘haven’t talked much’?”
“Not about that,” I mutter. “Not about any of that.” When I let my eyes fully open again, I’m staring at the toolbox lid once again.
Di Fazio
Landscaping & Design
