Page 46 of Never Your Valentine

I inch up another step. “Someone’s feeling threatened by superior craftsmanship.”

“If this desk was a true gentleman, he’d carry himself upstairs.”

I take another step up. “The guy at the thrift store put this into my Escape with one hand.”

“What was he, the Hulk’s cousin?”

I pull, Grant lifts, and we make it up two more steps. “You’re doing great. Very determined. You’re sort of like a poodle trying to move a couch cushion.”

Grant’s gasp is half outrage, half laugh. “Insulting and condescending. Big talk for a woman who got this desk for twelve dollars and a coupon.”

“Good taste can’t be bought.” I’m pretending to love the desk more than I do. The light blond finish doesn’t match any of the furniture in my apartment and it has too many drawers. But this desk was cheap, available, and small enough to fit through my door, so it’s the one I have.

We’re almost there. I grunt as we go up the last step. My biceps are killing me and my armpits are damp with sweat.

“You know what can be bought?” Grant asks. “Movers. You can hire them.”

“Why? I have you.”

“You owe me,” Grant pants as we reach my door. “Big time.”

“I made pot roast last night. Roasted vegetables, the whole works.”

“Is that why the hallway smelled like heaven?”

“I have leftovers for days.”

“Not sure what that has to do with me.”

“I packaged up half of it for you.”

“I’m suddenly interested in getting this desk through your door.”

Grant and I lift and shimmy, and we get it into the corner of my living room. Grant levels it while I get the plastic container of food out of my fridge.

He peels up one corner and sniffs, then makes a yum sound in his throat that sounds very much like a bedroom noise, which is not a problem because we’re just friends, and very incompatible, and I’m not going to be thinking about that noise later at all.

“If this tastes as delicious as it smells, then I’m not even mad about the desk.”

“Oh goody,” I say. “Because they had this matching armoire that might⁠—”

Grant speeds out of the room so fast I feel a breeze in his wake. I hope he hears my laughter as he clomps down the stairs.

Ted Ender: I’m going to come right out and ask. Can I buy your building?

Annabelle: How did you get this number?

Ted Ender: I can have the offer on your lawyer’s desk at 8:00 on Monday morning

Annabelle: Not interested

I’ve been trying to do laundry all day, but Grant’s been tying up the machines. We’re a little fuzzy on who actually owns the washer and dryer, so I’m not sure I can object, but I hate the way he keeps texting me “ten more minutes,” every ten minutes for an hour.

After I’m sure he’s washed half the clothes in Michigan, he texts me one last time.

Grant: Your Highness, the washer is at last vacant. The royal laundry chamber awaits your majestic presence

Annabelle: If the machine smells like your socks, I’m raising the rent for emotional damages