“A terrible thing, it was.”
“He said the landlord was responsible,” I ventured, hoping we were talking about the same thing.Justin hadn’t mentioned anything about devil worship.
“Yes, and he lived there too.Imagine sharing a home with that kind of evil and not even knowing it.”
“I met him once,” Richard supplied.“Levi Sykes.Went to drop off a cheque for young Justin, and he answered the door.Seemed like quite a normal fellow.”
“Richard!Anyhow, those lawyers of his tried to say poor Justin was involved.Lawyers are the scum of the earth.”
On that point, I could certainly agree.“They really are terrible.”
“But Justin’s one of those rare gems.When we decided to downsize, we knew we wanted to move into one of his houses.He doesn’t cut corners, you see.Everything’s built to last.”
Downsize?What had they downsized from?A castle?
“He does seem nice.Thank you again for the dog food.”
A phone rang from deep within the house, and Marion startled.“That’ll be Bunny.We’re supposed to be talking about the church’s Easter supper.I don’t suppose I could convince you to bake another cake?”
“Uh, sure I can.”
She grasped both of my hands in hers.“Lovely, lovely.I’m so relieved to have met you.”
Relieved?That was an odd word, I mused as I hurried back along the driveway.But the neighbours seemed nice, at least.Our neighbours in Maine had mostly avoided us, especially after Ridge threatened to sue one of them for trespass after he accidentally mowed three feet of our lawn.
I headed home, determined to enjoy my time here for as long as it lasted.
A Sprinkle of Happiness (and a pinch of reality).
That was the name of my new blog, or it would be if I found the courage to publish it.
Last night over dinner—I’d made a lasagne with garlic bread and a green salad—Justin said I was welcome to use his kitchen any time if it meant he’d get more food like that.So it seemed I was trading cooking skills for rent, and I was A-okay with that.But when I asked about the local area and whether he knew of any restaurants that might be looking for waitstaff, he’d suggested prioritising my passion rather than settling for the first job I could find.I’d almost sobbed into my pasta.
The thought of having the freedom to connect with people again, to speak from my heart and cook the dishes I loved… If I could encourage even half of my old subscribers over to a channel, I might be able to support myself, but it would take time.I’d have to start over with a new merchandise line.With branding.And then there was the cookbook I was supposed to be producing, but I didn’t know how to get in touch with the publisher because Ridge had handled that.
Such a mess.
And speaking of mess, there was a more pressing issue.With all the drama, I’d forgotten to buy sanitary products yesterday, and I’d used most of the stash from my purse already.Justin hadn’t asked questions when I’d begged for another ride to the grocery store, just said he’d swing by between meetings and take me.I’d have to make him an amazing dessert this evening.Maybe Key lime pie, or a raspberry pavlova, or…or a chocolate-covered strawberry cheesecake.Yes, that would be perfect.I’d need to pick up some strawberries, though.
My phone rang, and it was Justin.
“I hate to do this to you, but I’ve been caught up at work.”
My heart plummeted.The words were entirely too familiar—I’d heard them at least three times a week for the past five years, minus the semi-apology at the beginning.
“I understand.”
“I left the BMW in the garage.The key’s in the console table in the hallway, and if you need money, there’s a hundred bucks in an old sunglasses case under the passenger seat.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I said automatically.
“Yeah, I do.I’m the one who’s rescheduling at the last minute.”
“Will you be home for dinner?”
“I hope so.”
“I’ll make something that’s easy to reheat.Is there anything else I can do to help?”
