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“I don’t want to startle you,” I begin, but she lets out a little squeal anyway and almost drops the tote. “Shit, that’s what I was trying to avoid.”
I hurry up and take the tote from her, frowning at just how heavy it really is.
“Good God, what do you have in here? Rocks?”
“Candles,” she says, catching her breath. “They’re orders that I’m filling.”
“You have a candle business?” I ask as I follow her to her car, still carrying the tote. “I thought you were a preschool teacher.”
“I am,” she says as she opens the back of her SUV and gestures for me to set the container inside. “I do both.”
“That’s a lot of work.”
She grins and pushes a button, but the hatch doesn’t close. “Damn it, this thing is acting up again.”
With a sigh, she pulls it down manually and closes it.
“I’ll take a look at it for you.”
“It’s okay, it’s just a pain. I can close it myself.”
“If you have the button, it should work,” I insist. “I’ll check it out tomorrow.”
“You don’t have—”
“Are you this stubborn with everyone, or just me?” I interrupt.
Her mouth opens, then closes again, and that line between her eyebrows deepens with her scowl.
“I’m already imposing on you enough. I don’t need you to fix my car.”
“Cars are my thing.” I shrug and watch as she walks to the driver’s side door, feeling disappointed that she’s leaving.
I’d like to talk with her some more.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to bring over some laundry this evening.”
“I don’t mind. I told you, come over whenever.” And I mean it. I’ve started to enjoy her. I want to know more about her, like this whole candle business that I just found out about. When we’re not fighting, Cherry’s beautiful and smart, not to mention funny as hell. And I love that she has the patience to work with preschoolers. I never would have thought I’d say this, but I want her around.
“Yeah, but don’t you have to do your own laundry sometimes?”
“I’ll catch up with it this weekend.” I open her door for her. “Do you need help with that at the post office?”
“I’ve got it, thanks.”
And with that, she shuts the door and takes off.
“See you,” I mutter and sigh as I turn back to the stairs. “Do I smell bad? That woman can’t get away from me fast enough. Not good for the ego.”
When I’m inside my condo, I text Sarah to let her know that she can come by anytime, and she quickly replies that she’s on her way since she just left work.
So, I hurry up and wash my hands, and by the time I’m finished changing my clothes, the doorbell rings.
“Hey, Sarah,” I say as I open the door.
“You have excellent timing,” she says with a smile. “I had literally just sat in the car after work.”
“I’m glad it was convenient for you. Come on in.”
I step back, and Sarah walks inside, then whistles. “I know I have my own water view, but it never gets old, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Do you want a seascape?” she asks, pacing around my living room, taking everything in. “Like, on this wall here, above the sofa? I could do a nice big seascape, and then it’ll feel like you’re surrounded by the ocean. But if you want something different, I totally get it. I can do a meadow, a forest, you name it.”
“Hmm.” We stand together in the middle of the room, shoulder to shoulder, pondering it. “It really would look cool if there was an ocean scene up there to mirror what’s going on outside.”
“Right? I couldn’t agree more.” Sarah walks over to the windows, taking in my view. “So, I can make the painting look exactly like this,”—she points outside—“or I can switch it up.”
“Let’s switch it up.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” She smiles up at me. “Can I paint a dog into the scene? Maybe with a ball?”
“Honey, you can do whatever you want with it, and I’ll proudly display it. What do I owe you?”
She nibbles her bottom lip. “Tanner would roll his eyes at me right now because he’s an art dealer, but honestly, I don’t want you to pay me for it.”
“Absolutely, not. Your husband is right, you don’t work for free.”
“But sometimes, I do. It can’t all be work. There has to be some art that I do just for fun, because it feels good. Otherwise, I’ll burn out on it. So, since you’re giving me so much artistic rein, I won’t charge you for it.”
“I don’t feel right about that,” I reply, shaking my head. “I want to pay you.”
“Let’s work out a trade,” she suggests. “I don’t know what that is yet, but we’ll figure it out.”
“Deal.”
We shake hands on it, and then the front door opens, and Cherry walks in carrying a basket of laundry.
