One voice. Singular.
I meet Everly’s gaze. She’s sitting at the counter with a plate in front of her, remnants of eggs, bacon, and toast obvious. Sheis lifting a coffee cup to her smiling lips. She’s dressed in dark green shorts and a khaki-colored tank top. Her hair is pulled back, and she has sunglasses propped on top of her head.
“Hi, Everly.”
“How did you sleep?”
“Okay, I need a new bed.” I glance around. “Have you seen Bruce? I need to ask him about it.”
She points toward the kitchen, but then says, “Just get it. It’s easier to get forgiven than get permission from Bruce. And he’ll laugh. He moved that shorter bed up there on purpose.”
I sigh. “He did?”
“Yeah, Shane, the guy who lived up there before you, was also a hockey player. Not as tall as you, but definitely too big for the bed that Bruce’s got up there.”
I realize everyone’s listening in, so I grin. “Well, he got me.”
“He’ll be thrilled that it bugged you, but admire that you just took care of it instead of whining about it,” she advises me.
I nod. “I’ll be sure to get an extra heavy one that makes it hard to move out.”
She grins. “There you go.”
“What are you up to today?” I ask.
“Work,” she says simply.
“What do you do?”
“Landscaping and lawn care.”
“Really?”
“Yep, I own the business,” she says proudly. “Quinn works for me. And a few other guys. Have you ever used a riding mower?”
I grin at her. “What do you think?”
She laughs. “I’m going to guess you had gardeners growing up.”
“You would be right.”
“And in Portland, you live downtown in a high-rise with very little grass around. And you think the grass that is there always magically just stays the same length.”
“I do live downtown in a high-rise. There is some grass. I guess I’ve just never given it a lot of thought.”
She sips from her cup. “Yeah, I’m not going to offer you a job.”
“I didn’t realize that was a possibility,” I say with a chuckle.
Two older men shuffle up to the register and lay money down. One a ten and two ones, the other three fives. Then they each give me a frown and tuck a dollar bill into one of the jars next to the register.
They move toward the door.
I lean around to look at the front of the jars. The sign says, “What is worse?” again today, but the front of one jar says, “Biting into a chocolate chip cookie to find out the chocolate chips are raisins”, and the other says, “Alex Olsen”.
My jar is winning again. And those two men just tucked money into my jar.
I blow out a breath. “Having gardeners growing up isn’t helping me.”
