Page 64 of The List
“Yeah,” I mutter. “That’s probably true.”
She shakes her head and gives me a pitying look. Then she wraps her arms around me. “I love you, Simon.”
“Love you, too, Junebug.”
She lets go of me and turns to go inside the house. “Maybe you should get a girlfriend.”
“I’ll take that under advisement.”
“That one at the beach was nice. I like her.”
See? This is why I can’t have girlfriends. Junie met Cassie for two minutes, and she’s already attached. Another reminder why this could never work.
“Bye, Junie.” I step off the porch and head to my car. “I’ll see you on Sunday.”
“See you Sunday!”
She’s still waving from the porch as I pull away from the curb and head down the street. I glance at the clock on the dash and wonder if I should squeeze in another workout. It seems better than going home and noticing how big and empty my house is. It’s felt empty all week, which is stupid. I’ve lived alone my whole adult life, never once inviting a woman to move in with me. Why would I just now start feeling alone?
Because she got under your skin. Even though you didn’t let her in, she got in anyway.
Which is probably true, but I certainly fucked it up good now. There’s no way Cassie would want to talk to me again, even if I could have a more meaningful relationship.
Which I can’t. I can’t, right?
As I pull up the long driveway, I see my house is not as empty as I expected. At least the front porch isn’t. Two women sit on the wrought-iron bench my decorator put there because she said it made the house look more “homey.”
If the bench made it homey, the women themselves make it look like a fucking Pottery Barn catalog. One of them is knitting something out of navy blue yarn, and the other is reading a magazine. As I pull up, I see it’s Better Homes and Gardens.
Both of them look up as I pull the car to a halt, and I realize it’s Cassie’s sisters. They’re both here, and for a second, I think Cassie’s with them, too. My dumbass heart starts bouncing around like a superball in my chest, and it takes me a good thirty seconds to realize she’s nowhere in sight.
The sisters watch me get out of the car. Neither stands up, and I wonder what I’m about to walk into.
“Ladies,” I say. “What brings you here?”
Missy speaks first. “We’d like to have a word with you.”
She closes the magazine and sets it aside, then gestures to a nearby Adirondack chair that I’m pretty sure no one’s ever sat in before. Part of me wants to point out the social faux pas of inviting yourself to someone’s home and then giving the orders, but the truth is that I’m a little glad to see them. Maybe. I guess it depends on why they’ve come.
I ease myself into the chair and rest my hands on the arms of it. I feel awkward and out of place on my own front porch, and I just want one of these two to tell me how Cassie’s doing. If she hates me, or if she’s already forgotten my name.
“He does have nice hands,” Lisa says to Missy.
“That is a point in his favor.”
They’re talking about me like there’s some sort of score sheet I’m unaware of, and I feel a flicker of hope that’s Cassie’s doing. But no. Cassie is done with me. She made that clear.
I clear my throat. “How did you know where I live?”
“That Forbes article had a photo of the view from your back deck,” Lisa says. “Lake Oswego isn’t that big. It wasn’t hard to figure out.”
“Remind me to install a better security system.”
“We didn’t break in,” Lisa points out.
I don’t doubt that they could if they wanted to. These two seem crafty. Missy reaches below the seat and pulls out a jar filled with amber liquid and something that looks like mint leaves. She pours some into a glass then reaches into a small cooler at her feet and plucks a few ice cubes with silver tongs. She drops them into a glass and hands it to me, while Lisa produces a small glass jar filled with tiny cookies, each with an almond in the center. I take two, hoping they haven’t shown up here to poison me.
If they have, it’s an okay way to go. This is a damn good cookie.
