I push the door wider and walk inside. A woman, sitting at a big, brown desk greets me with a small smile on her face. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, hi.” I walk up to the desk. “I was hoping you could help me get a permit for renovations on my house.”
Her smile grows wider as her eyes dip down my body before focusing back on my face. “I might be able to do that. Please, take a seat,” she says, waving her hand at the textile chair across from the desk.
When I plant myself on the chair, she rises to her feet, unbuttons two top buttons of her white blouse with an already low cut, and walks up to me. I shift in my chair, feeling rather uncomfortable—it’s not that hot in the room. She pauses in front of me for a few seconds before placing her bottom on the desk. Right in front of me.
“What kind of permits are you looking for, Jericho?”
“You know my name?” I ask, confused.
She shrugs one shoulder, revealing a red bra strap. “Comes with the job description. So.” She pushes herself deeper onto the desk and places one leg over the other. “How can I help you, exactly?”
Trying to ignore her rather forward behavior, I focus onher face. “I need to apply for a building permit, Mrs. Randolph.”
“It’s Miss.” She smiles wider. “And it’s Jaqueline for you.”
Using a friendly tone, I say, “I’d like to apply for a building permit, Ms. Randolph.”
Her smile drops a little. “And I’m the only one who can help you with that.” She points her finger at the door behind me. “Considering the local hillbillies might not even understand what you need.”
So, she’s not local. That makes this easier for me because I can already tell we won’t be friends. Pissing off a locally born and raised city inspector versus a newcomer are two different ball games, where I might stand a chance with the latter since I’m one of those hillbillies, if she considers everyone from small towns in Maine one of them. I was born and raised in a small town about fifty miles away from here before we moved to Boston, and small-town politics work the same everywhere.
“What do you need a permit for?” She taps her long nails on the hard surface by her thigh.
“Full renovation. Electrical, plumbing, structural.”
She tsks her tongue. “It’s a lot.”
It’s not. It’s a standard practice.
“Sure. So can I apply here? I tried doing it online, but the website was down.”
“Was it?” The odd smile returns. “Hillbillies, as I said.”
This lady meets me for the first time and feels comfortable using rather narrow-minded words not many would use. All her forwardness is getting lost on me.
“Anyway. I can help you with the permits.” She bites her bottom lip and flutters her eyelashes at me. “Over dinner.”
Fucking great—I’m backed into a corner. Quickly rising to my feet and retreating behind the chair so there’s at least one barrier between us, I smile nervously. “Awesome. But I just moved here and need some time to adjust. Some other time.”I head toward the door, trying to escape the thick atmosphere I’ve been caught in. “Thanks.”
“Sure.” Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “Just make sure nothing gets started before you get those permits. Or I’ll have to punish you.”
“Sure,” I say as I close the door behind me and rush toward the exit.
So much for getting off on the right foot. There’s no way in hell I’m having dinner with that lady, so I’ll have to find another way to get my permits. I doubt she’s the only one in town—I just need more time to get acquainted with the locals.
Still mortified by my morning meeting, I pull into the grocery store off Main Street and head to the parking lot when an old Toyota Tacoma truck takes the spot in front of me before I can even blink. That car is not small, and it’s not so easy to maneuver it into a fairly small space. But this person does it in one go without slowing down.
Tapping my fingers on the steering wheel, I contemplate if I should go and ‘introduce’ myself. That’s what I would usually do—a way to show dominance and lack of fear. Old habits die hard. But I’m in my new hometown now, so starting my second day with a fight is probably not a good idea. I have zero doubts about who’d win it, but common sense prevails. For a moment.
But then the driver door opens, and a white boot dangles in the air, followed by a woman’s body with a flaming mane. When the witch jumps out, she flips her loose hair back and gives me a wink. Refusing to be impressed with her driving skills, I press my lips tighter and head forward to find another parking spot.
With zero luck. Looks like every single person of Big Love decided to get groceries at this exact moment.
After rounds upon rounds of driving around the parking lot, I finally find a spot and head to the store. By the time Igrab a cart, I’m fuming. Getting groceries shouldn’t be so complicated, and it sure shouldn’t take so much time.
While I’m peacefully grabbing things off the shelves, every single pair of eyes is trained on me. It’s to be expected in a small town like this where a new face is bound to stir some interest. Especially if it’s a guy. So I prepared myself for that.
