Page 52 of Manors & Mischief

Just this morning, I was so excited to be going on a date with him, but now I’m a little off kilter. What’s the point if I have to sell the manor and move back home? My parents, at least, will be thrilled by this information.

The thing is, I knew buying the manor with such little money left over wasn’t smart, but it was something. It felt like making a decision toward the rest of my life instead of staying put where I was year after year. I was in a slump. A slump that told me if I didn’t do something, I’d have to continue to do what I was doing until I died.

It was the urge to not die a slow death that made me pull the trigger. I wanted to do something. I wanted to be someone. It was like my heart was always somewhere else and that’s never a good way to live.

So, do I regret buying the manor? Heck no. I could never. But at the same time, I can still agree that it would’ve been wiser to wait until I had better means.

The thing is, who knew when that time would come? Carpe diem and all that.

By the time I get myself dressed in regular clothes and put on a little makeup, I’m feeling a little better. The Lacheys don’t sound like the kind of people who make empty promises, so I’m sure they can help at least get the fine reduced or waived all together. Now that I know I can’t do these things without permission, I’ll be much more careful.

I step back and lean my head against the wall, patting the space next to me like I’m comforting an animal, but I’m talking to a house. “It’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out. We’ll bring so much life back to you before you know it.”

Lastly, I drag the costume to my room and put it back in the garment bag so I can return it to the costume parlor tomorrow.

After checking myself in the mirror again briefly, I grab a sweater and head downstairs. The grand entryway never ceases to amaze me. It’s like the stairs are a lit path toward a dream. I prefer this view over the view from coming into the house any day. I walk slow, taking it all in.

Devon catches my eye this time, though, and I decide that I like the view even better with him in it. Gone is his costume, and the first time since I’ve met him, Devon has on a crisp pair of jeans and a dressy flannel. White, blues, and greens crisscross over his torso. Behind his back, he pulls out the tip jar. “I don’t think you counted this yet.”

My heart does a little leap in my throat. “I haven’t.”

“I thought it might make you feel better.”

“Did you do it yet?”

“I thought you should do the honors.”

I push out all of the negative thoughts trying to bring me down and open the tip jar, pulling out the wads of bills stuffed inside. I line up all the like bills first, and then put them in order from biggest to smallest value before counting.

The higher it goes, the more shocked I am. I even start over afterward to make sure I’ve counted correctly. When I’m sure I have, I peer toward Devon. “There’s $812 dollars in here.”

He breaks into a smile. “See, everything’s going well! That’ll go a long way with everything you want done.”

I take a deep breath, still rattled a little. I wasn’t even going to put out a tip jar. That was Devon’s idea. Imagine if he hadn’t been here.

“Thank you.”

He tilts his head. “For what?”

“For helping out. For giving me your feedback and ideas. I’m sure I probably would’ve messed everything up by now.”

“You know how much the manor means to me,” he states. The way he looks at me though, tells me there might be something else he’s decided means a lot to him too.

Fear runs through me. It’s scary being here by myself, going through this, and thinking these things.

“Are you ready?” he asks. “It’s seven.”

I stuff the money back in the tip jar and place it on the small table in the foyer. At least that’s a positive thing that happened today. That, and what we’re about to do. Even if nothing happens between me and Devon, it’ll be nice to get out of the house and behave like a regular person having a good time instead of a business owner resident worrier.

“I thought you weren’t going to pick me up at seven.”

He checks his watch. “Technically, it’s 7:03 now, so I haven’t picked you up at seven. Also, I didn’t really pick you up since I never left the house, so I’d say I’m sticking to my promises.”

He holds his arm out, and I loop mine through his while he leads me out to his truck. I expect it to be a work truck with stuff everywhere. Receipts, maybe. Take out bags. But Devon keeps his truck nice. He helps me up into the cab, and then I wait, letting my gaze roam over everything while he jogs around the front of the truck and gets in the driver’s seat.

“I’m just going to warn you now,” he says. “If you think people are staring at us while we’re at the hayride, I can confirm that you’re right.”

“Why would people be staring at us?”