“See that you do,” Levi says, and then the line goes dead.
I sit there for a moment, the phone still in my hand, the quiet returning to the morning. I’ve always been good at keeping people at a distance, but now, with Bex back in my life, I’m starting to wonder if that’s the right move anymore. Maybe it’s time to stop running from the past and start figuring out what the hell I want for my future.
SEVEN
Bex
I’d woken up this morning with a sore wrist (lesson learned from flipping the bird, I guess) and to a bevy of emails forwarded my way from Levi. He’d messaged me last night and warned me that there was a lot to sift through, but twenty-three emails for my first morning, and over my first cup of coffee, already has me rethinking my salary negotiations.
The Porter boys have a lot of properties they own, and now rent out, around town. From the list Levi gave me, it appears I’ll be handling at least four apartment buildings. They have more, but they hired on-site managers for those, and they also own a few industrial warehouse spaces, too, but those are handled by a separate commercial management group.
Today’s mission is to go out to one of the units with two large apartments. It’s in town and used to be an old Victorian home that’s been redone with an apartment on each floor. Levi asked me to introduce myself to the tenants and also to take pictures of the damage done to the carpet in Mrs. Rosenblatt’s. She lives on the first floor, likes to collect glass animals and cross-stitched pillows, and apparently manages to clog her shower drain at least once a month.
“So, the last time this happened, you didn’t notice it was clogged?” Looking at the floor beside her tub, there’s a giant dark stain. It also smells a little like sangria in here, but never mind. I point my phone and snap a few pics. “And that was caused by only water?”
“I get distracted. Someone knocked at the door, trying to sell me something, and next thing I knew there was water pooling out from under the bathroom door and it went on to soak the carpet in the hallway.”
“But it was only water?” There’s something about the stain that doesn’t feel like it’s only from good ole H2O.
Her eyes widen as she bobs her head up and down with much enthusiasm. “I swear. Want to sit down for a minute and have a fresh-baked cookie?”
Things I could get used to, but not with the to-do list I’m currently being held accountable to. I shake my head as I snap a few more photos. “No, thank you. I wish I could, but I need to get back and take care of this with Levi.”
“Tell you what, I’ll pack one for you to go,” she says as she heads into the kitchen. “You know, I did call Austin about this last month. Left a message. Actually, I left two. Never heard back. Isn’t he supposed to be the person who we talk to?”
“He is,” I say, bristling when I hear his name. “But with his recovery and his therapy schedule, it’s better for the guys to have me stepping in now to help bridge the gaps.”
As the twinge in my wrist sends me a little reminder of my encounter with Austin the day before, even I’m impressed with how politically correct I sound. Better than, “No. Do not talk to Austin. He is the devil. Lucifer. The king of Hades.”
“That sweet boy has been through so much. I know he’s busy; I see him over at the high school at least once a week working out with the kids there.”
Do my ears perk up? You bet they do, especially when everyone around him seems to think he’s a recluse. I trail into the kitchen behind her. “He goes to the high school?”
“I think it’s him.” Mrs. Rosenblatt plops a few cookies into a tiny sandwich bag and closes its special seal. Blue and yellow make green. “It looks like him, and his truck. I’ve never bothered to go look closer to see if it is. I just thought maybe, since he’s busy working on his Achilles, he could be going there to lift his spirits.”
Interesting. But not for me to unpack right now. I take the small parcel Mrs. Rosenblatt holds out to me and tuck it into my purse. “Thank you. I’m going to go so I can get these photos to the guys and we can get started on fixing this for you.”
“That’s lovely, thank you.” She turns to me and holds out another couple of small bags of cookies. “Here. One for Levi and one for Austin, too. Can you pass them onto the fellas?”
Smiling, I take the other presents and add them to my bag. “Of course.”
In a few minutes, I’m back out on the street and climbing in behind the wheel of my car. I want to get things rolling for this nice woman, so I dial Levi’s number. I’m not at all surprised when it’s sent right to voicemail. He’d mentioned, as had Georgie, that his schedule was crazy.
So, I man up and dial Georgie. That’s right, I’m chicken. I know I’m working for the Porter boys, but Georgie is my security blanket. When it rings and rings and eventually goes to voicemail, I hang up and try again. Surely I am not going to have to do something I really don’t want to do already, am I?
When I’m sent to voicemail, again, I can only hang my head. There’s a flip in my stomach as I realize if I want to take care of this repair for this kind little old lady, I need to actually speak to Austin.
As I pull into the driveway, the gravel crunches beneath my tires, sounding louder than it should, like it’s trying to remind me that turning back is still an option. I kill the engine and take a deep breath, letting the crisp evening air fill my lungs. The scent of damp earth and fallen leaves is almost too peaceful for what’s ahead. I sit there for a beat longer, watching the sun dip below the horizon, like it’s saying,Good luck, Bex, you’re gonna need it.
The walk across the field is a mix of dread and determination. The cool grass brushes against my shoes, almost as if it’s trying to trip me up before I get there. The distance between my place and Austin’s feels annoyingly short, like the universe is conspiring to get me to his front door faster than I’d like. His porch light glows in the twilight, a beacon that says,You’re here now, no turning back.Each step feels like I’m walking to my doom—or at least to a conversation I’d rather avoid. But here I am, crossing the field like a woman on a mission, even if that mission is just to survive another round with Austin.
In no time at all, I’m ascending the steps to his porch, giving myself a pep talk to end all pep talks, and I knock.
The door opens, but only a crack. You could barely even slide a piece of paper through it, but even I can tell there's a grown man on the other side glaring at me.
“What?” he growls.
I dangle the two packages of cookies in front of me as bribes. “Gifts for you and Levi. Courtesy of Mrs. Rosenblatt.”
