“Yeah. I should probably stow it away for a while.”
“You look cute in it, but maybe we should go out and get you a few new things.”
She looks me in the eye, her expression as serious as I’ve ever seen it. “I’ve started a spreadsheet.”
I know what she means. She’s keeping track of the money she owes me. “Okay.” I’m never going to let her pay me back. “That’s a sound plan.” Setting plates on the table, I ask, “Are you gonna let me take you shopping?”
“I do need a few things.”
“We’ll go tomorrow, if you’d like.”
“Sure.”
There’s a knock on the door, meaning our friends are here. “Ready to meet my best friend and his amazing girlfriend?”
“I think so.” I’ve told her all about Harmony, so she knows not to expect any Monicas.
* * *
Brent and Harmonyleft a few minutes ago. Barney made an appearance during dinner, but the second he saw there were strangers in our midst, he hid again until just now. Harmony felt terrible about scaring Barney, but Willa assured her, “He’ll come back out tonight after we go to bed.”
I think dinner went well. Brent was low-key which I appreciated. He can be a bit loud at times. He knows Willa means something to me, so he was sure to be on his best behavior. As for Harmony, well, I’ve been replaced as the Saturday shopping partner. The pair are going thrifting tomorrow and leaving Brent and I alone to watch “sports.” At least that’s what Willa assumes we’ll be doing. She’s right, though, we’ll probably sit our asses on my sofa, drink a couple of beers, and track our women on our phones.
What?We just want to know they’re safe.
Yeah, dinner went well. Five minutes after they left, Brent sent me a text:
B:We love her. Congrats man. I’m happy for you.
When I asked Willa what she thought of them, she said basically the same thing. “I’m glad we’ll have a couple to do things with now.”
Goddamn. I’m happy.
Now, she’s folding her clean clothes while I use the remote to search for something we’ll both like. So far, we agree we don’t care for some of the housewife reality shows or the other reality shows with the non-celebrity celebrities. I’m rather relieved to hear that. I know some of those people, and many of them behave even worse in real life than they do on the show.
I scroll through the pages of show. “I’ve never seen that series before.” She points at the icon. “The New Adventures of Arsène Lupine? What is it?”
We read the description in tandem, but it’s Willa who sounds excited. “Ooh, it’s a French detective show with English subtitles.”
Jesus. If she starts speaking French, we’re in trouble because I’m pretty sure she’s too tired for any hanky-panky. “Keep your sexy French to yourself,” I mutter.
I’m not sure what response I expected, but the giggle that emerged wasn’t one of them.
“This will be good for me. I’ve forgotten a lot of French, and someday”—she sighs—“I’m going to Paris, and I want to be able to speak like I own the place.”
I’ll take her to Paris. I keep that to myself though. I don’t want to see that line item on her spreadsheet, for shit’s sake.
“Let’s watch it.”
“Great.”
We watch as she folds her clothes. It’s not a great show. Done in the 1980s. But she’s smiling. That’s all I care about.
When the first episode ends, I pause the screen. “Popcorn or more pie?”
“Better say popcorn.”
As I’m putting the package into the microwave, Willa drops a bombshell on me. “I’m calling an attorney on Monday. I’m also reaching out to that woman who I thought was going to hire me to ask her why I didn’t get the job. I’ll do that before I speak with a lawyer. I need to know if Gail screwed me the heck over.”
