“This is awful. Just awful,” I pant out as I round the edge of Alamo Square Park, talking to my brother on the phone while Simon lags behind me on his leash. Even the Painted Ladies can’t make up for the pain of running. “I think I might be dying.”
“That makes two of us,” my brother deadpans as I slow my pace. Or slow my pace even more, since I wasn’t going that fast in the first place.
“Please. You’re not suffering,” I say as my lungs seize and my legs bark at me.
Simon barks too—nothing but canine expletives as he waddle-trots alongside me, expressing his displeasure with exercise.
“Oh, I would say it’s suffering, listening to you breathe as you run,” my brother says.
“Hey, not everyone is naturally aerobic like you. You were born part cheetah,” I say.
“And you were born half hyena. Why are you even calling me while running?” he asks.
“To be nice?” I retort as my heart threatens a mutiny. It’s beating so fast from ALL THIS CARDIO.
But that’s not true—I’m calling to be nice. And I’m calling to gloat about my handywoman accomplishments at his home.
“Also, why are you running with Simon? I thought he hated running,” Adam says.
I slow even more. Fine, I’m walking now. “He does,” I say, and my dog side-eyes me. “But humped the neighbor’s dog, so it seemed like I should try to get his excess energy out, and I read that exercise could help. He can’t do the elliptical with me. Ergo…running.”
“Wait. Did you just say your dog humped the neighbor’s dog?”
I didn’t see what was confusing about that. Even so, I give a simple: “Yes.”
“Skylar,” my brother chides because he has never not played the role of the older brother who knows best.
“It’s fine. It was over a week ago. He’s not even upset anymore,” I say.
“But he was then? Is it the hockey player?”
“Yes, but everything is good,” I reassure him. “Plus, it turned out he’s my brand-new client,” I say, then quickly explain the coincidence.
I leave out that I might also find Ford Devon ludicrously handsome, surprisingly entertaining, delightfully sarcastic, and full of layers that are fun to peel back. I was legitimately touched to learn about his care for his parents and impressed, too, that he’s as fond of his mom and her overbearing ways as he is. He’s a kind man underneath a rough exterior, and somehow, that’s hot to me.
“But everything is fine, right?” Adam presses.
“Of course it’s fine. Why are you so worried? Is itbecause of Jessica?” I ask, wondering if there’s more to his crush on the artist neighbor.
“No, it’s just…well, I was cautious to pursue something with her because,” he says, then sighs, and I can tell this is hard for him. “You never know when you’re going to need a neighbor’s help, you know? I have friends who’ve gotten into arguments with their neighbors. They argue over yard signs and such, and then before you know it, it turns into a fight over property lines and other things, and then someone’s stealing your mail and your packages. And they know too much about you and could hurt you.”
He’s always been the bossy big brother, but I hear real worry in his voice. Good thing he doesn’t know I like to check out the neighbor when Ford’s shirtless on the back porch. That I touched his arm the other day in the store. That I maybe have thought about him late at night when I was alone.
“Look, it’s all good. We were literally texting last night about plants. Ferns, Adam.Ferns. We’re not arguing about property lines or putting dog poop bags in a neighbor’s bins.”
“See? That’s another thing to worry about. People don’t like it when you use their bins.”
“But again, I’m not using his bins.”
“Things can go south quickly,” he says.
I hate to admit it, but Adam’s not wrong. “Yes, Dad,” I say.
“Skylar,” he chides.
“I hear you,” I concede. “But don’t worry. It’s all good.” I shift gears, finally getting around to gloating about my accomplishments. “Adam, have I mentioned the rod in your closet fell yesterday, and I hung it back up?”
“Um, thanks.”
