I wondered why he’d made that decision but then decided it didn’t really matter, did it?
I’d barely managed to scoop one teaspoon of my stash of coconut sugar into my travel mug when I heard the men on the other side of the wall begin talking again.
But this time in almost whispers. I guess they either didn’t realize how good my hearing was or how thin the walls were, because I could hear everything.
It was Mr. Cooper who spoke first.“She’s such a nice girl.”
There was a pause that I wasn’t sure what to do with and then a response of,“Yeah.”
That was probably the nicest thing he’d ever said, other than the occasional compliments he gave one of my paint jobs.
Then Mr. Cooper kept talking,“You should—”
The response came in the form of one word.“No.”
No.
No what?
What the hell was Mr. Cooper trying to say before Rip had cut him off? He should what? Tell me thank you? Buy me a card? Be a little friendlier? Not be so abrupt with someone who was slightly fonder of him than he probably deserved? I had never said anything to Mr. Cooper, or anyone at the shop, about finding Rip attractive or anything like that. I couldn’t see him making such a forceful “no” to Mr. Cooper suggesting he tell me thanks or buy me a card being worth that, but…
There was no way it would be anything else. Like Mr. Cooper would tell him to be interested in me. And like Rip would even put thoughts into his head like that.Yeah, right.
I couldn’t even—
What was I doing? Was I really going to let a dumb dream about my dad get me down? Was I trying to feel sorry for myself? Was I going to get flustered because Rip didn’tlike me? I knew damn well that had never even been a possibility in the first place. He could barely talk to me without huffing and puffing half the time. He’d agreed I was a nice girl, not that I was pretty or that he should ask me on a date or anything like that.
I needed to get to work and forget all of this. I was going to ball all this up and just… throw it away. I’d done it enough over the years. I could do it again.
And I did. I wrapped up the tiny bit of hurt I felt at the idea that Rip would never be interested in me, my dream about two people who didn’t know what kindness was if it kicked them in the face… and I dropped it into the imaginary trash can that was full of other things I didn’t let hurt me anymore.
I was fine. The heart is more resilient than anyone ever gave it credit for, and I liked to think mine was a bad bish.
I rushed through pouring way too much milk into my cup, mixing in the coffee, giving it all a stir, and then hauled my ass downstairs so I could get to work.
I was fine. I was loved. I had everything I really needed. And my sister had made cherry pie, and I was pretty sure she’d put some into my lunch bag. That was definitely something great about today.
I’d been at Cooper’s for so long I could have gotten around with a blindfold, luckily. Down the stairs and straight forward was the main floor where the repairs and remodels happened. Down the stairs and to the left, then straight, I could take the hall that would lead to the part of the building where I worked. It wasn’t anything fancy, but there were two big bay doors. One that led into the hallway connected to the main floor and another that opened to the parking lot surrounding the building. The rest of the room was pretty sparse, containing a desk with a computer and printer on it, three different machines used to agitate the paint, a big industrial sink with soaps and products beside it, and a couple of chairs. The big, white booth set up against a corner took up a third of the room.
I’d already dropped off my things when I’d first showed up. I set my tumbler on the desk and went to unlock the drawer to get the folders for the projects I’d be working on. I opened the first one and had just started reading through what needed to be done, when my ringtone went off.
With my eyes still on the folder, I opened the drawer my purse was in and pulled my phone out.
I only hesitated for a second. It was the same number that had called and texted me last week. The one I had ignored.
Screw it.
I answered it. “Hello?”
There was a sound on the other end of the line before a voice I didn’t recognize answered, “Hello, can I please speak with Miss Luna Allen?”
Miss Luna Allen? That was formal. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had used the m-word on me. “Hi, this is me.”
“Oh,” the unfamiliar male voice answered. “Hello, Miss Allen. How are you today?”
“I’m doing great,” I lied a little. “How are you?”
“I’m well. Thank you for asking,” the man replied. “My name is Julius Randall, and I’m calling on behalf of Miss Eugenia Miller.”
