I close my laptop and throw on a playlist. Dishes during Harry Styles, vacuuming through Coldplay, and laundry through a mix of Dashboard Confessional’s catalogue. Eagerness and hesitancy throughout it all.
At quarter to one, I walk through the doors of White Pine Assisted Living Center and a staff member directs me to a large room off the main hall. Nobody’s in here yet, giving me a chance to take it in. It’s a multipurpose space with a large wall of floor-to-ceiling shelves full of books. They’ve put simple fall decorations on the round tables and a gas fireplacemakes the room cozy. There’s great natural light and the city blazing with red, orange, and yellow trees as a backdrop out the windows makes the room dreamy on a day like today.
“Is this her?” a voice asks, and I turn to the doorway to see Max escorting two women into the room. The one with the short and stylish gray bob, wearing a burnt orange kaftan, eyes me up and down. Leaning into Max, she says loudly, “You weren’t wrong. She’sverypretty.”
“Stella,” he mutters and helps her into a chair. Then he pulls a chair out for the other woman, more conservatively dressed in a cozy cotton tracksuit.
The second woman pats him on the cheek and whispers something that makes him look at me and bite back a smile.
“Stella, Opal, this is Nola. She’s here today to offer us some competition.” I wave hello and he says, “Nola, this is my grandma, Stella, and her best friend, Opal. Opal’s daughter is none other than our fearless leader, Principal Bennett.”
Ah. Nepotism. I pull out a chair on the opposite side of the table, content to finally understand this small world connection that landed him his job, and Stella clears her throat, nodding her head at Max.
He steps over and takes the back of the chair, scooting it in as I sit. Both women have a pleased look by his actions, and I clear my throat. “Thanks so much for letting me crash your game today.”
“We love having visitors,” Opal says. She’s short like me and reminds me of my grandma as she properly straightens out her Bingo card and chips. “Oh, Max, dear, can you please put my money on the front table?”
He takes the bill she’s waving at him, and Stella’s too, as another group comes in, calling Max’s name and stealing his attention. I watch him walk away, wearing simple jeans and aplaid flannel shirt, rolled midway up his forearms. Similar to what he wore the night at the bar. I like this look on him—I’m not blind; I can acknowledge and appreciate when there’s a good-looking man in the room.
Stella clearing her throat brings my attention back to the women across from me. They both have conspiratorial looks on their faces and I need to shut that down now. “How long have you two lived here?”
“I’ve been here two and a half years and Stella got here last year,” Opal says, cut and dry. She’s friendly but holding back to let her friend vet me.
“How did you meet my grandson? He hasn’t told me.” Stella’s mouth forms a straight line, and she leans her clasped hands on the table in front of her.
I sputter a cough. At first glance, they appear to be two kind grandmothers who are up for a fun day of Bingo, but I can tell underneath that exterior they are two women who are bored with their lives and looking to give Max his best one yet. That means putting all their energy into finding him a wife. Little do they know, I can take them. “My daughter is in his P.E. class.”
They twist in their chairs to confer privately in front of me. “Do you know if Lisa and the board frown on teacher/parent relationships?”
Opal’s face goes serious. “It’s not appropriate. Especially where Max would always be the P.E. teacher for her child, it would be wrong for them to start anything up.”
“Don’t you have any pull? Can’t we simply donate a new wing to the school or something?”
“Stella, what is it with you and paying your way for everything? First for the carnival and now Max’s love life.”
“Hi, um, can I jump in here a second?” They give me theirundivided attention. “You don’t need to worry—we aren’t dating. The truth is, we hardly know one another. He gave my daughter a bad grade, then we were forced to work together at the carnival dunk tank the other night, and here I am today.”
Stella’s eyes suddenly sparkle in recognition. “You’rethatwoman? What’d you say your name is again, sweetheart?”
“Nola Adler.” My name causes her to sit ramrod straight, and I watch her try to place how our paths would’ve ever crossed before now or how she’d have heard of me, with being relatively new to the area. My hotel accounts are nothing to scoff at, but I’m not a local celebrity name by any means.
“Adler, Adler.” She lets my last name roll around in her mouth and soon her eyes go wide. “Adler, the artist?”
“Yes,” I say, letting my eyes move to the corner of the room where Max is still caught up with the group of older men next to the fireplace. I’m not embarrassed by what I do for work, but I don’t want Max to find out about my profession and my own downfall in front of his grandmother. The way she’s eyeing me makes me think if she’s heard of me, she probably knows that piece of my story as well. I attempt to hurry this along before he comes back to us. “I am an artist and I specialize in curated landscapes for brand-name hotels across the country.”
“You’re—” she begins just as Max breaks away and heads back to us.
“Yes, at the height of my career, I painted a piece that was seen in the abstract art community as a huge failure and now I’m building my way back into their good graces.” It comes out at two-times speed and I’m hopeful I’ve answered enough.
“What’d I miss, ladies?” Max settles into the seat next to me and takes in the table.
“Did you know you two have a lot in common, Maxford?Our new friend was just telling us she, just like you, destroyed her good name in her chosen profession.” Stella gives me a small smile and clucks. “However, Nola, if you would’ve let me finish”—her eyes still don’t leave mine and I’m intimidated by the way her presence holds the space—“I believe my assistant reached out to you earlier this week and is still waiting on a reply from you.”
It’s her turn to watch me puzzle out information. The only email I haven’t responded to this week was the one from GoldenDesert LLC. My assistant, Callie, couldn’t find anything else on the company and then we got sidetracked by The Grove Hotel wanting to meet about a new piece for their lobby. Wait. My earlier stalking taught me Max grew up in Palm Springs, which is in the desert. California is the Golden State . . . There’s no way the elusive GoldenDesert LLC is the woman across from me.
I raise a brow in understanding and she offers a nod. “Jaqueline was about to give up on hearing back from you, but I’ll let her know I’ve not only found you but you’ll meet me for lunch on Tuesday at noon. I’m very interested in hearing your pitch.”
“My pitch?” With the exception of the first two years, my whole career has been clients reaching out to me, and we collaborate on their style and color schemes before they set me loose. I’ve never had to fight for a project before—and not one I didn’t know was legit until right now.
