Page 19 of The Shop on Royal Street
“That’s a good start. And I’ve already arranged for a dumpster and portable potty permit.”
I stared at him, speechless for a moment. “What? Why? I don’t remember asking you for help.”
He held up his hands, palms facing me in surrender. “I know. God forbid that anyone try to do anything for Miss Independent. Trust me, I know better. But before your offer to buy the place, I’d pretty much resigned myself to either demolishing it or renovating it myself, so I’d already got the ball rolling before you even showed up. I’d be happy to cancel everything and let you start from scratch. But there’s always a wait for permits, and I know you’re eager to get started.”
“Oh.” I swallowed, wondering if that powdery taste in my mouth was from eating crow. “Thank you.”
“See, Nola? That wasn’t so hard, was it? Does that make us even over losing your mother’s guitar in the fire?”
“Don’t push your luck.” I turned my attention to the gift bag. Beneath the tissue, and wrapped in more tissue, were four gleaming brass house numbers, along with the same numbers in cheap black and gold sticker form. “Why both sets?” I asked, holding them up.
“Mimi thought the brass ones were enough, but I figured you wouldn’t want to get them destroyed by all the paint and construction mess that’s about to happen. So I thought you could stick these numbers on the old mailbox for now.”
I was surprisingly close to tears, which said a lot, because I never cried. Something else I’d learned during the first fourteen years of my life. Without looking up at him, I reached for the box.
“Here,” Beau said, handing me a pocketknife. “Do I need to add one to your list?”
“Thanks, but I’ve already got one.” I sounded shorter than I’d wanted to, still unable to untangle my feelings about Beau and why his kindness irritated me when even I knew it shouldn’t.
I stabbed the knife into the packing tape and slid it across the top. There were more foam peanuts and Bubble Wrap than necessary, but considering that Melanie had probably stood over the UPS Store employee to make sure it had been wrapped to her specifications, this was not entirely surprising.
After cutting through all the layers, I peered inside and started laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Jolene asked, tapping her way into the kitchen.
I held up the machine, already labeled with my name. “It’s from Melanie. She said she was sending a housewarming present.”
“But what is it?” Jolene asked.
“A labeling gun,” Beau and I said at the same time. He shrugged. “I’ve known Melanie for a long time.”
“It’s an old-fashioned kind,” I explained. “There are digital ones now, but Melanie likes this type, where you have to turn the dial at the top for each letter. She says the clicking noise is soothing.”
A note fluttered to the floor and Jolene picked it up and handed it to me. I recognized Melanie’s handwriting and I once again felt that unwelcome warmth in my eyes. Blinking rapidly, I read it in silence.
Dearest Nola,
Congratulations on your first house! It’s not exactly what your father and I had envisioned, but we do understand why it is the best choice for you right now.
We are all so very proud of you. Always remember we’re only a phone call and a short flight away. JJ and Sarah send hugs and kisses and have been asking when they can come visit. No pressure, of course, but fall break at their schools is early October. I just wanted to let you know that we all miss you.
With much love,
Melanie
PS Please let me know Jolene’s and Beau’s birthdays. I bet they don’t already have labeling guns.
I took my time folding up the Bubble Wrap and gathering peanuts to return to the box so that my eyes had a chance to clear. “Well, then,” I said cheerfully. “I’d better get started with my spreadsheets. Thank you both for coming.”
Beau looked at Jolene. “You didn’t tell her?”
“Tell me what?” I said, belatedly remembering what Jolene had said right before we were distracted by the UPS truck. About why she was there.
Jolene gave me her warmest smile, the one I’d seen her use on drivers of cars who blocked intersections as she walked across, as slowly as possible. It made me nervous. “So, like I was saying, I ran into Beau at the office this morning and we had a little conversation. We figured that with both you and me having full-time jobs, getting this house spick-and-span and actually livable could take forever. At least longer than you can afford your apartment lease. Unless you’ve already budgeted paying your mortgage and lease at the same time for at least a year.”
She looked at me expectantly, as if she really believed that I had thought of anything past buying the house.
“Beau said if you officially hire JR Properties to help with the renovations, I can tag-team with you here to do what’s needed, and to manage crews to do the things we can’t do ourselves. We’ll just need to set up a schedule so that our real jobs don’t suffer, but Beau says you’re an expert with schedules because you were trained by the best.”
