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“Nope.” Let him judge me for that. I’m an A+ mom.
That stops him, and he looks like a trout for a split second before he regroups. “It’s all old people on this street. Your kid will hate it.”
I let my eyes wander leisurely over the manicured yards and Halloween decorations. Then, without another word, I pull my phone from my pocket and dial a number.
“Hello, is this Arshneel?” I ask, reading the realtor’s name on the For Sale sign. “My name is Paige, and I’d love to schedule a showing of the Orchard Street house, today if possible.” I listen for a minute. “Seven o’clock is perfect, thanks.”
Mr. Brown’s mouth thins and tightens as he listens. I put my phone away and smile. “Nice meeting you, neighbor. But just so you know, anything you need to borrow, I won’t have.”
I walk past him and continue down the street, around the corner, and four blocks back to Handy’s Hardware, where I have to break the news of my potential house purchase to my boss, who is going tohateit.
Chapter Two
Paige
IwishIwasn’tsuch a good person. Then I wouldn’t mind crushing people so much. But I am, so I do.
It’s a weird feeling to hold two opposite emotions at once—in this case, joy and dread.
Then again, however good of a person I joke about being, there’s not a better human on the earth than my boss, Bill Winters.
I enter Handy Hardware through the back, hoping to give myself a chance to pull it together. Maybe I could roleplay this? Practice it?
A scarecrow stands in the backroom, and I stop to consider him. I pulled Scarecrow John from storage last week and brought him over so I could try out some window concepts for November. Right now, he’s standing there in a plaid shirt with a stupid grin on his face.
I’ve definitely dated dumber guys than Scarecrow John. Might as well try the roleplay. He’s got nothing but time, and he’ll be a non-judgy audience.
I clear my throat. “So, Bill, I need to tell you something that might upset you.”
The scarecrow’s head lolls forward.
“You’re already taking it badly.”
The head drops to the ground and bounces once.
“Drama queen, much?”
Maybe I should try something else, like shoving a bag full of Bill’s favorite candy at him and breaking the news when he can’t hear me over the crunch of his toffee.
Except even Evie, my seven-year-old daughter, would see through that. No point in stalling since my stalling tactics suck.
I set my purse on the office desk, tie my black canvas apron around my waist, and pin on my name tag, the white letters spelling out, “Paige, Manager.” The title gives me the same glow of satisfaction it did when Bill promoted me three months ago. Everything about this place makes me happy, which might be strange for a woman who dreamed of becoming a theater set designer.
From the vanilla and pine smell of the lumber section to the sharp scent of an open can of paint, I love it all. In some ways, it reminds me of working on the sets for our high school plays, back when my life was uncomplicated.
I also love that this is a place where people come to fix things that are broken or to breathe life into their project plans. And I love that I’ve put my own stamp on Handy’s by making the front windows a seasonal attraction. I switch up themes to entice customers to treat themselves to everything from a new grill to a tray of flower bulbs.
When I step out on the sales floor, I spot Bill behind the checkout desk. His hair shows as much gray as brown, and his weathered skin betrays how much time he spends outdoors puttering in his garden, but he’s not yet sixty, and he looks like a man with plenty of energy to enjoy life.
“Morning,” I say, trying to keep a smile on my face that says,I’m not about to break your heart.
“Morning, kid,” he answers, smiling up at me.
You’d think a grown woman of twenty-six would resent being called a kid, but I love it. It’s what he calls his daughters too, and they’re both older than me. But when he and his wife, Lisa, declared they were adopting Evie as their honorary grandchild two years ago, it turned out I was part of the package. Now they tell everyone they have three daughters.
“I have some news,” I say.
His forehead furrows. “Your face says I’m going to hate it.”
