1
Rio
“SO, NOTHING?” MY NAILSburrowed into my phone-free palm. I still held on to hope that somehow, this time, the answer would be different.
“Nothing new.” The real-estate agent’s irritation on the other end of the line was loud and clear. “What were you expecting to find withyourbudget?”
Some common courtesy maybe?
“The one on Canal Street is still available,” he continued.
“Canal Street?” The C stuck in my throat. Phone conversations had always been the bane of my stuttery existence, though thankfully, technology rendered most of them redundant. Pushy and patronizing people were a special breed that exacerbated the problem. “No wonder it’s still free.” I exchanged ‘available’ for ‘free’—which was easier for me to pronounce—almost without noticing.
“Not free.Available. Properties like that don’t come free.”
“That’s what I meant.”
“That’s what you stuttered,” the man mumbled as if to himself, but I could have sworn he did it loud enough for me to hear.
“Excuse me?” Yep, two throaty syllables back-to-back. I’d usually say ‘pardon’ instead—but his rudeness had pushed my bitch button. Now I twistedly relished in making him wait for me to utter the word. “It’s a moldy dump, that’s why it’s available. Great if you want to die of fungal spores,” I let my stutter party.
“Sorry we weren’t able to help you with this budget. If anything new comes up, we’ll be in touch, Ms. Maddigan.”
That didn’t sound like an apology.
“Please don’t bother.” I pressed hard on the red key to end the call; the only plus of old technology was hanging up on someone with a bang.
I finished packing the gift basket I’d begun before the call and tied the pink bow around the handle.
Ten more to go.
June’s Rain Health Shop received a bridal order, and my hand-made products starred in it.
I switched my phone’s camera to video mode and started filming as I packed another basket. Promoting health-products gift bundles for bridesmaids was my latest marketing idea—and so far, it was working.
Being busy kept my looming anxiety at bay. If I didn’t find a place soon—somewhere in the Riviera Shores area—I’d have to share a house with Owen when he returned to the U.S. And I couldn’t do that to myself.
Owen Wheaton.
My brother’s best friend.
The stuff wet dreams were made of for millions of women around the world.
My former crush. My once-upon-a-time protector.
My first.
“Rio, I finished restocking the teas. Can I take five?” Dharma, our new-ish employee appeared from one of the aisles.
“Sure.”
“No luck?” She scrunched her nose.
“Nope.”
“You’ve only been looking for a month. Took me six to find my place.” She smiled encouragingly then disappeared through the back.
Except for June, my friend and the shop’s owner, and Ruby, my best friend, no one knew why I was so keen on moving out of Owen’s house, where I had been living for the past year, taking care of his grandfather.
