Fortunately, the walls in the old building were thick; she only ever heard him if he slammed out his front door.
“Girl, I’m talking to you.” The older woman pointed a cane in Erin’s direction.
“Go sit down while I get your plate, Tilly. I swear, you’ll love it.”
The woman gave a loud harrumph before scuttling to her table, which was big enough to fit four in the small dining area of her two-bedroom apartment.
Honestly, dealing with Tilly was like dealing with her grandmother all over again. Erin had loved Grandma Freddy, though the woman had alienated most of her family with her crabbiness and old-fashioned ways. But it was Grandma Freddy who’d taught her to bake, to sew, and to prepare to be a good wife to some lucky man someday. Just as her grandma wanted girls to act like ladies, she’d also taught her grandsons and nephews to act like gentlemen.
She would have been appalled at how terribly Cody had treated her granddaughter.
Much like Tilly had been when she’d heard the full story. Except Tilly hadn’t offered sympathy, only a “dogs will be dogs” before hiring her on the spot. For two cooked meals a day plus a bit of cleaning once a week, Tilly had knocked off three hundred dollars from Erin’s already cheap rent. Tilly had also agreed to a month-to-month term, as Erin didn’t know how long it might take her to get back to Kansas.
If she even wanted to go.
It had only been a week, but she’d started to enjoy her time on the west coast. She felt independent, so pleased not to have to tuck tail and return home that she even forgave Smith for ignoring her attempts to be friendly.
Still burned from Cody, she wasn’t looking for a new man in her life. But it wouldn’t kill Smith to stop and chat for a few minutes once in a while. Besides Tilly, he was the only person Erin knew. Yet he treated her as if she had the plague, darting away anytime they happened to leave their apartments at the same time.
Erin sighed and grabbed the chicken pot pie she’d fixed for lunch. A good thing Erin could cook, because Tilly had finicky tastes and only liked homecooked meals. “McDonalds and Subway bedamned,” she liked to say. Which always caused Erin to grin because who the heck said “bedamned” anymore?
She cut two slices of the pot pie, one for Tilly and one for her. Tilly had insisted on them sharing lunch for the past week, and Erin had no problem enjoying at least one meal a day she didn’t have to pay for. Plus, Tilly kept the loneliness at bay.
Using Tilly’s fine china, she prepared for lunch. Everything looked lovely. A lace tablecloth covered the old oak table. Delicate plates and crystal glasses filled with ice cold water were accompanied by cloth napkins and actual silver silverware. She lit the candelabra centerpiece and sat down to share a meal.
Tilly studied the table, sniffed her approval, then started to eat. Taking her cue, Erin dug into her pot pie. It was delicious, though it could have used a touch of onion.
“Passable,” Tilly said after she’d cleaned her plate.
“There’s a lot more left. May I get you another helping?”
“I suppose.”
Erin bit back a grin at the older woman’s patronizing air, recognizing the look of humor in her sharp blue eyes. It was as if Tilly played the part in a play, the grand lady to Erin’s peasant worker. Yet instead of being insulted, Erin played along, charmed, because as Smith had said, Tilly had a good heart.
Erin had watched her landlady interact with the tenants a few times. Saw the warmth when she dealt with the children, or the compassion she hid behind her bluster when she allowed one hard-working family to slide a few days on their rent. The woman loved to talk about “her people” because she felt responsible for them.
In a city this size, it would be easy to get swallowed up in the vast population, everyone too busy to notice anyone else. But with Tilly in charge, no one got lost. And Erin needed that right now. A lot.
“So, did that nutter call again?” Tilly asked when Erin returned with her second helping.
“He did.” Cody the Jerk had called twice more since her disastrous arrival last week. Not to apologize, but to talk. “I haven’t answered.”
Tilly slapped the tabletop. “Good for you. What a fuck-knuckle.”
Erin had been taking a sip of water when Tilly let that slip. She choked it down, her eyes watering, and blinked at her employer. “Wh-what did you say?”
“He’s a fuck-knuckle.” Tilly grinned. “I overheard Smith saying it the other day. I think it applies. What kind of man breaks a girl’s heart then doesn’t offer one apology for it?”
“You know, I’ve gone over and over that conversation in my head. The one Cody and I had before I moved out here. And Tilly, I just don’t remember being anything but honest with him. I swear, I wasn’t sarcastic when I said I was moving out here. I was nothing but sincere.”
“I believe you. You’re a little too wide-eyed-innocent to be lying.”
Erin frowned. “Is that a compliment?”
“Well, honey, let’s face it. You’re no slammin’ seductress. You’re pretty in a wholesome way. A good girl kind of way.”
“Do you think that’s why he got another girlfriend? Because he wanted a slammin’ seductress?” Had Cody been upset because she wasn’t sexy enough? The few times they’d made love, she’d thought it meant something. He’d been so nice and tender. And, well, a little on the boring side. She’d wanted hotter, naughtier sex, and more frequent sex at that. But she’d kept that to herself, because as Grandma Freddy always said, a lady was only a lady if she acted as such at all times. And no one wanted to be the town slut.
