Page 28 of Three Strikes and You're Mine

“If you got your work done, he mostly laid off,” I replied, unwilling to divulge any more details than that. The restaurant world is small, and while I might be taking a hiatus from working in the city for now, I want to be careful not to burn any bridges permanently by running my mouth to veritable strangers. All I need is for word to get back to my old boss…

It’s still brisk in the mornings here, which I love. I want to take full advantage, so after breakfast, I head out on a run. Then I spend time in the garden, harvesting huge sun-ripened tomatoes and zucchinis. After, I fertilize, water, and clean up the beds a bit so it’s easier to tell what’s growing where. A few times, I need to get tools from the backyard shed. Ned, of course, hates this.

“I’ve got it all organized in here” is his explanation for why he doesn’t want me invading his space.

I look into the shed to find it’s a complete war zone. There’s no rhyme or reason to any of it.

“Ned, I could help you clean this up.”

“Now, don’t start changing it. I like how I have it.”

“But you can’t actually see anything in here. It’s a mess.”

A hammer that was precariously placed on the edge of a table falls to the ground, punctuating my point.

It takes some arguing, but I do manage to convince him to let me organize the shed.

“Just a little,” I promise.

It ends up taking me two hours. By the time everything is in a state of cleanliness I deem acceptable, I have dirt caked under every fingernail, dust in my hair, and enough spider webs sticking to my body that I can’t help a shiver of disgust from running down my spine.

“What do you think?” I ask Ned as we stand back to examine my handiwork.

“It’s okay,” he says with a disgruntled frown.

“See how all your rakes and shovels are hanging nicely now, and your trowels are all set there. I bet you didn’t realize you had six of them, did you?”

His glare tells me I’m not getting the thanks I’m searching for.

“Right.”

Ned leaves me to go into town. Now I’m alone alone. Instead of showering, I change into my bikini and head straight for the pool. I swim a few laps and luxuriate in the water, floating on my back with my face tipped up toward the sun. I’m out there for an hour before I take a break, wrap a towel around my waist, and head into the kitchen.

Summer calls for focaccia bread, so I make two batches. One I’ll let rest in the fridge until tomorrow like you’re really supposed to. The other I’ll bake today. While I wait for them to rise, I head back outside. I lie by the pool and read, only ever bothering to pry myself off the lounger when I get too overheated. I take another dip, then I check my focaccia and let it rise for another hour.

Once the dough is ready to go in the oven, I add some toppings. Though it’s tempting to go overboard, I keep it simple so Harper won’t be scared off. Just the universal favorites: olive oil, minced garlic, freshly chopped basil, thyme, and rosemary, and then a liberal sprinkle of coarse salt and freshly ground pepper. Already my mouth is watering thinking about taking the first savory bite.

It’ll only need to bake for half an hour, so I stay inside and fix myself a big green salad for lunch with beans from the garden and enough tomatoes to have one on my fork for every bite.

My timer for my focaccia goes off right when I’m in the good part of my salad and my book: i.e. lover boy has finally admitted his feelings for the heroine and now he has to grovel and chase her. Ah, bliss.

I take a slice of bread and my book back out to the pool, where I read until the afternoon sun proves too powerful for my heavy lids. I turn on my stomach and close my eyes, promising myself I’ll only be out for a few minutes.

Harper’s face is the first thing I see when I stir awake hours later. Her little nose is nearly pressed right up to mine.

“It’s okay, Dad—she’s not dead!”

I startle and sit up. “Dead?”

Harper laughs and sits back on her heels. “Yeah, you were laying so weird.”

“I was asleep.”

She shrugs, unperturbed by the truth. “We went to the beach today.”

“I can tell,” I say, wiping sleep from my eyes.

I’m slightly disoriented. What time is it? I reach for my phone to check and see it’s well past 7:00 PM. I also have three missed calls from my dad and a slew of texts from my mom. I tried to call them earlier while I was making my focaccia dough, but they were out at lunch. Knowing they’re probably worried, I fire off a quick “All is good, I’ll call later” text.

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