Asking her to meet me here had been the worst decision in a very long line of bad decisions.
She didn’t know what it was like to live paycheck to paycheck and wouldn’t understand. That futon and the reclaimed wooden table beside it would never be more than dumpster filler in her eyes—items not fit for a proper household.
Granted, Ihadrescued the table from the side of the road on garbage day. But it wasn’t a horrible table. Some people paid a lot of money to buy new furniture that looked that distressed.
But it was too late to do anything about my furnishings now. Grandmother would be here in just a couple hours. I couldn’t very well trade sofas with my upstairs neighbor on such short notice… or could I?
I set the box of hors d’oeuvres on the kitchen counter and fished my phone out of my bag. One text message to Jovie was all it would take. Knowing her, she’d be more than happy to let me borrow her couch for the weekend while she was out of town. A simple trade would polish this phony facade I’d worked so hard to create.
But just as I was about to type out my text, I remembered the day she moved in. It had taken two burly men and a whole lot of grunting to get that couch up the stairs and around the corner. Unfortunately for us, we didn’t have a single man between us, much less two of them.
Movement outside the window over my kitchen sink caught my eye. My stomach jittered for some crazy reason when my gaze landed on Cash.
He was playing fetch with his new foster, and I had to admit, his form was good. He slung that ball like a pitcher in the major leagues.
There was no ignoring his broad back and beefy arms. He definitely looked like a man who knew his way around the gym. Between Jovie, Cash, and myself, I betted we could move that couch down the stairs.
Wait! What was I thinking?
I’d rather pet Jovie’s hairless cat than ask that bloated ego trip of a man for help! I was desperate to convince my grandmother I was mature enough to handle my inheritance, but I wasn’tthatdesperate.
Cash must have had a sixth sense or something, because he suddenly turned his head and caught me staring.
He winked at me. Again.
And I got all hot inside. Again.
Yeah, I’d definitely choose the cat over crawling to Cash for help any day of the week. I shivered at the thought of all that pink, wrinkly, furless skin. I made a quick note in my phone to get that poor cat a sweater for Christmas.
I crossed my arms and pouted like a spoiled five-year-old. It looked like I’d be receiving the unofficial Queen Mother of Connecticut on the old futon my last roommate left behind.
My phone rang in my hand while I was still obsessing over my futon’s squeaky frame. It was Jovie. “Hey, girl! Is your grandma gone yet?” she asked.
“No, she won’t be here for a few more hours.” I was more unsure of my plan than ever.
I looked at the sad little oysters, gleaming in the sunshine on my kitchen counter. Would they be enough to counteract the effect my unsophisticated decor was sure to have on my grandmother? The woman was notoriously unforgiving.
“Is there anything I can do to help you get your place ready?” she asked. “Or have you already hidden all the incriminating evidence?”
“Incriminating evidence? You’re hilarious. Yes, I think I’ve done everything I can do to keep my secret identity a secret. She’ll never know I’m a guitar-playing, hippy-wanna-be barista with dreams of winning a Grammy one day.”
“Good! What about those real estate investment books I lent you? Did you put them out?” Jovie asked.
“Yeah, I laid them around the room in strategic places. I should look sufficiently dry and boring—just like she wants me to be.”
“Without a shred of individuality or a single independent thought.” Jovie laughed into the phone.
“Yeah, I’ll look like the perfect drone ready to take her first steps into theexcitingworld of business.” I laughed right along with Jovie because nothing could have been further from the truth.
I was anything but a drone! I was a carbon copy of my mother—the woman she wished my father had never met. I was the kind of gal who marched to the beat of her own drum—literally. I had a set of miniature bongos hidden in my linen closet to prove it.
I’d never be a business tycoon like my grandfather had been or a real estate mogul like my grandmother. I was destined for the stage. Little stages. Big stages. I didn’t care. Performing was in my blood. Music was like a fire that burned inside. I had to get it out and light the world on fire with it.
But Grandmother would never understand.
I hated trying to make her think I was somebody I wasn’t, but it was my only chance to get out of the mess I’d made for myself. I could either convince her to make good on her promise to give me a sweet pot of cash to start out in life or lose every penny of my life savings.
Looking back on it, handing over all my hard-earned money for the chance to record at my dream studio might not have been the best decision I'd ever made. Especially when the balance of the forty-thousand-dollar price tag was due in October—just three months away. If I didn’t make good on that bill, I’d not only lose my recording time, I’d also lose my deposit!
