Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 42882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 214(@200wpm)___ 172(@250wpm)___ 143(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 214(@200wpm)___ 172(@250wpm)___ 143(@300wpm)
“I’ve been walking her every day,” I admitted. “She likes going to the little creek at the end of Newell Road. Makes her muddy as fuck, but Mr. Holcombe has a hose right by the back door with hot water to it and everything.”
I didn’t add that I’d been the one to plumb the hot water to it after Mr. Holcombe had complained about how hard it was to wash off muddy paws in winter. But now that there was a warm water supply, Binnie was living a life of luxury.
Lane studied me while he ate his dinner. “That’s awfully generous of you, Jay.”
Heat flooded my cheeks. I decided to walk over to the window and look out in hopes they’d cool before Lane noticed. “Nah. Not a big thing. I have time and two good knees, right? Hey, your car running smooth?”
“Mmhm.”
“Good. Good.” I glanced down at the driveway, squinting to see if there was any sign of his tires being underinflated. “If your tire pressure gauge lights up, let me know, and I’ll add more air. Sometimes when it gets this cold, that light comes on and makes you think you’re fixing to get a flat. It’s just the temperature, though. Tires need a little extra in the winter.”
I felt his eyes on me as he ate. Being in his apartment, surrounded by the fancy scents of his home and signs of his private life, made me nervous and excited.
He kept the place neat as a pin. No clutter anywhere. There was a framed photograph on the wall that looked like something out of a modern art museum. Colorful graffiti bathed the underside of a city bridge, the modern spray paint contrasting with the historic metalwork of the struts.
Surrounding the photo were several framed diplomas—fancy college degrees I didn’t have and never would.
There was also a pair of novels on a side table with thriller-type titles. On the bottom of the stack was a book on mutual fund investing and one on customer service. My eyes were hungry for more information about him. It seemed everywhere I looked gave me just enough to want more.
But also enough to know a man like him would never be into a guy like me.
I thought about what he might see if he went next door to my place.
Cozy crocheted afghans in an eye-watering variety of colors covered every bed and chair, giving the place an off-kilter, mismatched look… but they’d been gifts from my grandma and her friends for running their errands and fixing their faucets, and love was hooked into every stitch, so I couldn’t pack them away, could I?
Pictures of my family papered the walls… but I had a huge clan, and they all came by my place regularly. I’d hate to have someone feel they weren’t represented.
I had bunches of financial papers strewn over my desk because owning the Suds Barn wasn’t all about the dancing and the cleaning—it required a lot of paperwork—and because someone in the Thicket always needed something, and since I had a little bit of money put aside, I liked to help where I could.
And my garage… well, best not to think about what all Jay might find down in the garage. At least none of the noise seemed to be making its way up here… yet.
I swallowed and pointed to the customer service book on the nightstand. “You probably don’t need that. Everyone in town says you’re doing great and you really know your stuff. I don’t have any animals, or I’d be able to say for myself too.” I paused, considering. “Well, I guess I do have some now, don’t I? With the peacocks and all.”
“Peacocks, as in, more than one?” I could hear the amusement in his voice.
“Yeah. It’s a long story.”
“Long enough to let me finish this food?”
I glanced at him over my shoulder and sighed. It wasn’t that there was anything particularly embarrassing about the story, really. But it seemed like the kind of silly thing Lane Desmond would never get himself involved in.
Yet another thing we didn’t have in common.
“D’you have any idea how many people want peacocks at their wedding and in their kids’ portraits?” I began.
Lane’s eyes danced. “You starting a rental peacock enterprise?”
“Not starting one, exactly. More like acquiring one. See, I have this friend…”
“All your stories start like that, Jay,” he said. If I wasn’t hallucinating, it seemed like there was affection in Lane’s voice. “And before you start telling me about it, you need to know that if I’m doing well in customer service here, it’s because of you, not me.”
I turned to look at him in confusion. “How d’you mean?”
“I told you a couple of months ago I was having a rough time of it, and you went out of your way to introduce me around. Sang my praises and dropped the right words in several people’s ears. Don’t tell me you didn’t because I heard all about it from Alva.”