He gives me a number to call when I’m ready to order the unit, and I thank him as he walks out to his van to go. Leaving me staring into the distance wondering where I’m going to get that kind of money from right now.
I can’t ask Spencer, even though he and Amelia would loan it to me in a heartbeat. Grabbing my phone, I tap on the app for my bank and stare at my balance. This would make the largest dent in what I have managed to save over the years. A scary thought when you have no income coming in.
The realization hits me that I am going to have to work. Seeing as I need a new heating system, I can’t take the time now to worry about who it is I’m working for. I need a job and I need it fast.
Sighing, I text Georgie.
Let Levi know I’m going to call him in the morning about that job. I can start ASAP.
In a matter of seconds, she answers.
WOO HOO! He’ll call tomorrow. Thank you!
Leaning my head against the window, I stare out into the yard, willing this issue to go away. I let my eyes wander over to the front garden beds, which need to be cleaned up a little more, then over to the magnolia trees that line one side of the drive, right where I’d left my car. While I stare at it, something waves in the air, like an errant piece of paper flapping in the wind but seemingly stuck to my windshield.
Curious as to what it is, I head outside, snatching the small piece of paper from its spot behind my windshield wiper and read it. A surge of rage-like heat fills my body as I let the dumb words written on this stupid piece of paper sink in.
If your dog ever, EVER poops on my property again, I will scoop it into a shovel and bring it to your front porch for you to deal with.
To think I ever thought this man was hot. Not just hot, but hot. The kind of hot a man can be when his insides match the outside. But this is the sign that the guy I thought he was isn’t there anymore.
I’m stunned. The way he’s acted since I arrived is unstable. Irritating. Ridiculous. First, the welcome note. Then, his unhinged incident with the spraying of the mud. Now this?
Fine. You wanna play, football boy, we can play.
I look around the yard, searching for something. Anything. I can’t stop the tiny devilish sneer that pulls my lips upwards at the corner when my line of vision lands on one of Harley’s little stinky treasures over by a magnolia. Bingo.
I quickly head inside and grab a small baggie and a paper bag. On my way out, I spy some ribbon sticking out of a bag from my present wrapping station (still need to unpack that), and grab a piece. It’s Christmas ribbon too, so even more perfect.
Once I have his present prepped, I stomp across the field to Austin’s, toss the present onto his porch with a note attached to it of my own, and knock on his door. Within seconds, old man crank bottom opens it, eating a giant red apple, wearing an old football jersey, and glares at me.
I point to the gift. “There. Wrapped up for you in a spectacular package. Is this better? Is that how you want your feces?”
“Do you think I was worried about the presentation?” he says between bites as he steps out onto the porch. “It’s the gift that keeps on giving that I worry about.”
Do my eyes get pulled to his lips, watching the way they glide across the skin of that piece of fruit as he wraps them around it and takes each big, delicious bite? I could smack myself; since when do someone’s lips become this seductive while they’re eating? I start to contemplate this when the movement of his jaw as he chews each bite so mindfully drags my attention there. When the chewing stops, my eyes flick to his, only to find him staring at me. Yep. Caught in the act.
I shift my gaze away as he snickers. Ugh. What is my problem? This is a man with an apple. A good-looking man holding an apple. A good-looking man with a sexy jawline who appears to be enjoying eating this apple in front of me.
I need to get a grip.
“I don’t really care that it bothers you, Johnny Appleseed. This”—I hold the note he left me in the air—“is insane.” I tap the side of my head with my pointer finger. “You’re making me crazy and I just moved in.”
“That’s got to be a record,” he says as he takes a lazy bite out of the apple.
“Or a statute of limitations,” I zing back.
I don’t know what comes over me, but it’s like I am sitting in silent witness as my hand lifts itself into the air and all of my fingers clench into a fist except one. I’m not proud, but yes, I hold up my middle finger and flip this man the bird like an unrelenting explorer who has discovered a new mountain range and is lifting their fist in the air. I also do it with such dramatic force that it feels like I may have tweaked my wrist.
“You’re such a lady. Perfect addition to the South,” he purrs.
I’m so mad I’m spitting tacks. “You’re insane. I do not know how anyone on this earth can deal with you.”
“Well, good thing you don’t really have to,” are the last words I hear as the door slams in my face.
With a sickness floating in my tummy, a lightbulb suddenly turns on over my head in true cartoon-realization style.
I have to work with him now.
