Page 85 of Story of My Life
“My sister, Laura, is taking you shopping to pick out finishes. Light fixtures, tile, that sort of thing,” he said. “Here’s her number. She said give her a call any time after ten.”
I sagged in relief. Thank God I wasn’t actually dating. The mental gymnastics alone were exhausting.
Gage crossed to me and handed me a piece of paper with a phone number scribbled on it.
“Thanks,” I said. “No Melvin today?”
“He’s taking a shift at the store with our mom. Fewer bathtubs to get into there.”
“Gage!” Cam barked from the back of the house.
Gage’s grin was like the sun poking its head out from behind rain clouds. “I don’t think he likes it when I’m alone with you.”
“He’s probably just afraid I’ll corrupt you with my big-city ways,” I joked.
“I’m tempted to hang out in here all day,” Gage said. “I could help you unpack your books. Maybe take you and your friend Zoey to lunch?—”
“Hey, dumbass!” Cam appeared in the doorway, looking like the entire world was irritating him. “Are you gonna help us get the counters out to the dumpster or are you gonna stay here and keep runnin’ your mouth?”
Gage looked my way and grinned. “Definitely leaning toward stayin’ here.”
Cam grabbed his brother by the back of his neck and marched him out of the room, rattling the glass door with a slam.
“Well, that was…interesting,” I said to the empty room.
I gavethe whole writing-a-book thing a valiant effort, but I was so wound up about my fake date and the incessant demolition and bickering noises that I threw in the towel by nine.
It was still too early to call Laura, but I needed to get out. Some fresh air would do me good, I decided, guiltily checking my pathetic word count for the day. I had a date tomorrow with Cactus Cam Bishop. The words would flow like a barrel over Niagara Falls this weekend, once I was topped off with Camspiration. I could afford to take some time for myself today, I rationalized.
I tiptoed out the front door—not like a coward avoiding the attractive men in my house, but like a thoughtful client who didn’t want to distract the crew from their very loud job. I congratulated myself on getting really good at rationalizing and took a deep inhalation of summer humidity.
Bees and other insects buzzed noisily in my overgrown yard—a novel sound that delighted this big-city procrastinator. It was so…peaceful.
At least until heavy footsteps thumped across the porch roof and a powder-blue toilet sailed through the air into the dumpster in my driveway and shattered on contact.
“For the love of—” I abruptly cut off my tirade when I spied my spiderweb-covered bike leaning against the porch railing.Escape.
I carried it off the porch, ducking instinctively when something else smashed into the dumpster behind me, and wheeled the bike around the side of the house. I found an oldnozzleless hose near the library windows and proceeded to rinse the neglect off my old friend.
Both tires were flat and the brakes were a little sticky, but I was confident I could get it in leisurely-ride-around-town shape in no time.
“Now where did I put that tire pump?” I muttered to myself.
“Hey, neighbor!”
Yelping, I jolted and hosed down a four-foot section of fence, regaining control just before I sprayed the floating head.
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry,” I said, shutting off the water.
“My fault. I should have started with a gentle wave or something. I spend a lot of time talking to people on screens, and sometimes I forget how to not be weird face-to-face.” The head belonged to a young Black woman with a short shock of turquoise hair held back by a thick headband. She had a fanciful tattoo that wrapped around from her chest to her shoulder.
“Are you a romance novelist too?” I joked.
“Ha. No. I’m a game designer, video, not board. I live next door in case you were worried that I was some yard-hopping weirdo,” she said, hooking her thumb toward the cozy cottage-like ranch house behind her. “Felicity.”
“Hazel,” I said with a wave. “I live here now.”
The sound of glass shattering in the dumpster had us both flinching.
