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“But of course you may find something similar at a cheaper price at another store. These suppliers are top end, but I feel like this shape of couch is what we are after.”
“Awesome. Thanks so much for your help. I really appreciate it.”
“Send anything that you find to me, and I’ll just check the color and dimensions. You don’t want to order something and find it’s too big or small for the space when it arrives.”
“Good thinking.”
“Let’s touch base next week—maybe Tuesday I can come over on my way home from work.”
“Can’t wait. Thanks so much, Joel. Have a great week.”
“Bye, Jules.” He hangs up, and I smile at him calling me Jules. He has that kind of personality where you feel like you know him already.
I hang up and slump onto the stool. I really wanted to get this house perfect as quickly as I could. I need more money, much more money.
I think for a moment. I wonder if I could get an extra shift a week at a nursing home. They are always looking for nurses. Hmm, that’s a good idea, actually.
I’ll make some calls today. I could squeeze in one shift a week, two some weeks.
Operation Hot Bitch is on. Don’t mess with me, world, because I will cut you.
I grab Barry’s leash, and he and I go out front. I’m so sore from running extra fast all week that I have to stretch a little extra. Being in a bitch mood sure does up the ante on my training schedule. I hold on to my mailbox and pull my foot back to my behind. I feel the stretch all the way through my quad. Henley’s garage door goes up.
I pretend not to look as he drives out in his Range Rover.
I glance at my watch. It’s 5:40 a.m.
Surely he doesn’t work a sixteen-hour day every single day.
He pulls onto the road and catches sight of me. He waves as he drives by as if we don’t even know each other, as if Saturday night didn’t even happen.
Did it?
Or was I just so high on his pheromones that I invented the entire thing in my head?
His car turns the corner, and I exhale heavily.
Ugh, I hate men.
“Juliet.” I hear Carol’s annoying voice from behind me, and I close my eyes.
Give me strength. Not now, Carol.
“Juliet,” she calls in her singsong voice. I turn toward her and fake a smile.
“Morning, Carol.”
“Hello, dear.” She comes bustling across the street. “What are you doing next weekend?”
Decapitating Henley James’s voodoo doll.
“Nothing much.” I smile. “Got to get going on my run.”
“Oh, that’s good, because I’ve taken the liberty and organized a little welcome-to-the-neighborhood party for you.”
“What?”
“Just the street family—we want to welcome you.”
