Jolene nods and reaches for the baggy. “Sure, thanks.”
Isabelle, who has been demonstrating her ability to bike in tight circles as quickly as possible, stops a hair away from my left foot. “Did you ever eat a bacon ice cream cone?”
I stare down at her cute little face. “I can’t say I have.”
“Lucky you,” Jerry says.
“Don’t mind him. He’s one of those irritating vegans. He also has an irritating habit of playing bass at all hours of the day and night,” Dolores says, rolling her eyes. Turning to him, she says, “Jerry, go put some damn clothes on. You’re going to scare away our new tenant with those hairy legs.”
My eyes grow wide as I wait to see how Jerry will react. To my surprise, he bursts out laughing and shakes his head at Dolores. “You old flirt.”
“Who you calling a flirt?” she says.
The front door opens, and Bree comes hurrying down the steps with a dishtowel in her hands. “Leo, hi.”
Her hair is dripping wet, and she looks much lovelier in her house clothes—a navy-blue V-neck T-shirt and a long, colourful skirt that fits her curves much better than that dull beige suit. She glances at Jolene, her face screws up in confusion. “Did you take an Uber here?”
“Yes, yes, I did.” This was a terrible idea, wasn’t it? There is literally no way Brianna won’t figure out Jolene isn’t my Uber driver, especially when she sees her hand over a wad of cash in a few minutes.
“Oh, that’s nice,” Brianna says, waving to Jolene. Peering up at me, she says, “Shall we go back and have a peek at the suite?”
“Let’s do this.”
We start up the driveway, and Jerry holds up one hand for a high five as we pass. “Welcome to the neighbourhood.”
“Thanks, mate.”
“Come on by if you ever want to jam.” Pulling a rolled-up cigarette containing what I can only assume is weed, Jerry starts for his house.
Isabelle zips past us on her tricycle, clearly thrilled to be in the lead. “The big house is mine,” she says pointing to the two-storey building. “And the little one is yours. It used to be where I keeped my trike, but you can sleep there now.”
“Thanks.” I chuckle a little as Bree and I exchange a look.
“You’re welcome,” Isabelle says, coming to a sudden stop in front of the garden shed. She parks her tricycle next to the wooden porch and steps up onto it, obviously feeling very important at her first foray into being a landlord. She gives me a very serious expression, tilting her little head at me. “Hey, you is the full-bummed man my mum was staring at on her ‘puter.”
Full-bummed? “What’s that?”
“Nothing!” Bree says urgently, her entire face and neck turning bright pink. “Isabelle, why don’t you go inside with Auntie for a drink?”
“I’m not thirsty,” she answers without taking her eyes off me. “Were you really sad when the Queen telled you to go home?”
Bree rushes over to her daughter, takes her by the shoulders, and turns her toward the house. “I thinkDora the Explorermight be on. Why don’t you go see?”
“No, thanks,” Isabelle answers, shaking her head. “I think I’ll stay out here. Him is funny.” Turning to me, she says, “You can’t be full-bummed if you’re going to live here, because the police will come collect you and put you in jail.”
I’m left speechless for the first time in, well, in longer than I can remember, actually. My mind races to catch up while Jolene, who has followed us, glares at me as she takes a bite of baggie bacon. A completely mortified Bree gives her aunt a pleading expression.
“Come on, Izzy,” Dolores says, holding out her hand. “Your mum clearly wants you to keep me busy so I don’t embarrass her. Let’s go feed the cats.”
I can’t help but grin as they walk up the three steps into the house.
“Sorry about that. I wasn’t staring at you. I Googled you—for safety reasons—and that picture popped up, but I wasn’t gawking at your full-bum—nakedness… You. My computer froze and…” Bree’s voice trails off, and she turns to unlock the ocean-blue door. “You can’t be too careful when you’re renting out a flat to someone you don’t know very well. Especially because you’ll have to come in to use the loo.”
She risks a quick glance in my direction, and I do my best to stifle a grin. “Absolutely,” I say with a firm nod. “Safety first.”
She closes her eyes for a second, then opens them, wearing a guilty expression. “Exactly. So like I said yesterday, it’s really small.” She steps aside and lets me go in.
I walk into the bright space that smells of fresh paint and look around at my new home, my stomach dropping with a thud as I set my bags down. I’m no longer going to be living in a beachfront mansion, complete with a steam shower, hot tub, and a king-size bed. I’ll be here, in a garden shed, sleeping with my feet hanging off the end of this small mattress. But beggars can’t be choosers, can we?
