five
Stallone
“Oh, thank you so much, Stallone,” Mrs. Beasily, the old lady who owns the laundromat, clenches her patent leather coin purse in front of her and watches as I load up two bundles of firewood in the trunk of her old red Buick. I’ve already given out half my load of wood today. If my calculations are correct, I should be able to head home within the hour.
“It’s my pleasure.” Her trunk smells like dog food, and I’m grateful when I get to shut it, and turn to head into my truck. I left it running with the heater cranked, and it’s comfortable.
Her frail, bony fingers find my forearm, causing me to pause on my heel. “What do I owe you?”
“Not a thing.” I shake my head, adding a please-to-serve-you smile to my face. “It’s my pleasure. I just hope you stay warm.”
“Oh, goodness.” She squeezes my arm tighter, and I fight the urge to wince as I’ve never been much of a person who enjoyspeople in my space. “How about I bake you a potato pie once the power comes on?”
“I didn’t know potato had a pie.” One of my brows hikes above the other into a quizzical expression. Nothing about that word combination sounds appealing. She’s still got hold of my arm, and I frankly don’t care to argue if it extends this encounter. “Sure, but only if you go home now, because it’s too cold for you to stand out here.”
Her eyes spring wide for a moment, but she bows her head a bit and says, “All right. I’ll see you soon.”
“Stay warm.” I toss a silent wave up, as snow crunching from nearby footsteps draws my attention to turn the opposite direction and I freeze. The woman I had just spoken to earlier at the coffee shop is headed this way. Her hood is pulled up tight around her head, adding a little extra fluff of fur trim around her face, but that doesn’t take away from her gorgeous icy-blue eyes. I wave at her, curious about what she’s doing. She said she didn’t need any wood, and it’s way too cold out here to just stand around. She waves back and when she smiles, her smile is mischievous and focuses right at me. “Did you change your mind about needing some firewood?”
She shields her face from the blowing snow. “No, I don’t need any. I was just going to stop over—”
“Stallooone!” A shrill noise that frequents my nightmares cuts through the air, stealing both of our attentions. My eyelids crash down, and I know who it is before I ever complete my blink.
Nora Worley.
The single most annoying woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. She can never say a smooth Stallone. It was always crooning out, Stalloooone,drawing it out like a game show host who’s being choked. I grunt and brush my hand over my whiskers, turning enough to see her walking this way. “Stallooone Hart,” shecroons out again, her hips swaying in an exaggerated way until she stops a few feet from me and the coffeehouse lady.
“Did you need some wood?” I ask with a straight face. No time is ever a good time to have to see her, but this is the worst timing, because I really was interested in talking to the coffee shop lady. I flicker my gaze back to her, hoping she doesn’t walk off. She’s biting her bottom lip—which in my humble analysis—doesn’t look like a good thing.
“No wood.” Nora’s voice is unnaturally loud like she’s trying to speak over a crowd that isn’t here. “I need you to call me back for once.”
“You called?” I blink, terrified she might have my phone number. I never gave her that, and if by chance I had given her my number, I’ll change it.
“No, I didn’t call. It’s just proper manners to call people aftera date.” Her T is extra enunciated, making it sound even more terrifying.
“Date?” I choke out an echo, as I have no idea what she’s talking about. I haven’t been on a date in over a year, and I certainly would never go on a date with her.
Her lips pinch together momentarily before she says, “Remember, two nights ago, we had drinks?”
What are you even talking about?
Coffeehouse girl starts to slide her feet, backing away, and I feel the strained expression on my face that wants to ask her to stay, but I have no idea where this conversation is going.Nora is clearly delusional!
She may say something I don’t want anyone to hear. Instead of calling out for her to stay, I flash my palm to her and say, “Stay warm.” She gives me a mellow smile and turns to trudge back to the coffee shop. The sight of her leaving sends a ping of disappointment right to my gut. My annoyance at Nora’spresence quadruples, and I blurt back, “I didn’t go out with you. I grabbed a to-go dinner from The Grove and went home.”
“Right.” She nods as if I’m a small child not understanding instructions. “Remember we sat together at the bar and had drinks, and we laughed. It was such a nice time.”
I jab my hand through my hair, resisting the urge to yell at this woman. I ordered a drink while I waited for my food, and she plopped down next to me and talked about her hair salon business the whole time.
I wasn’t listening.
Maybe I’m good at pretending.
She thought that was a date?
I almost vomit in my mouth.“That wasn’t a date, Nora. You can’t go around saying it was.”
She perks an over-tweezed eyebrow at me. “You hugged me extra long when we left.”
