“Yep.”
“Not very subtle, is it?”
“Maybe I’m not a subtle person, Ms. Lloyd.”
“Well, you tell him I’m still mad at him.”
“About the ad?”
“Yes,” she sniffed, glancing at an enormous bouquet she’d received that morning. “He’ll have to do a whole lot better than flowers if he wants to make it up to me.”
“I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” Uma moved toward the door. “You have a key I can use to get back in later?”
“Not after dark. I won’t—”
“Do you have a key? Yes or no?”
After a brief hesitation and a huff that might have been for show, Ms. Lloyd pulled a key on a chain from around her neck and unlocked the bureau in her dining room. She rifled around for a bit, found a key, and pushed it hard into Uma’s palm, keeping her hand there as she spoke.
“You lose this, I will never let you back into this house.Ever.Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The look she gave next was pure Black Widow, lips pursed in disapproval, one eyebrow higher than the other, eyes wide, unblinking. It was her judgmental,don’t try to play me for a foolface.
“Oh, stop it,” said Uma, before walking out the front door and locking it behind her—five times.
She could tell Ms. Lloyd had a million things she was dying to say, but she wouldn’t give her the chance. There would always be time later on for insults. Over a game of rummy, perhaps, or during one of their contentiously healthy meals.
The new-Uma, new-shirt high carried her halfway down Ivan’s drive before she realized he wasn’t home. The little cottage-like structure, up until then always blazing with light and heat, was cold and dark; no Squeak to greet her either. She stood in front of his empty workshop, deflated. Her left arm throbbed hot and tight beneath the sparkly cardigan, even in the cool night air.
He’d apparently gone out for the evening. Probably publicly unveiling his gorgeous face, sharing it with the world. She pictured him in some bar, surrounded by women, neck deep in cleavage. It pissed her off. He’d shaved forher, damn it. Then she’d gone and skipped a night at his place—one night.
Absurd though it was, for a moment she was convinced he’d taken off to punish her.Maybe I’m overreacting, she thought.Maybe not every man punishes you for perceived injustices.
The walk back up the porch steps was a sad death march compared to the twinkle toes she’d pranced out on.
“What, d’you get stood up?” Her boss’s voice was perkier than ever before.
“Nope.” Uma smiled tightly and made her way to the kitchen.
“I found it odd, actually, that young Ive would be home on a Saturday.”
“Why’s that?”
“He’s never around on Saturdays. Has a standing date, I believe.”
No way would she take the bait. Uma swallowed the oily ball of jealousy that rose up to clog her throat, glanced down at the six-pack in her hand, and considered her options. It was too cold to sit out on the porch, drinking alone, and Ms. Lloyd was already being insufferable. She could imagine her saying “There goes the neighborhood” in that irritating, singsong Scarlett O’Hara voice she put on.
And Uma wanted to show off her new clothes, damn it.
That decided it.
She ran up to her room for her purse and car key, ignoring Ms. Lloyd’s pointed stare from her perch on the sofa.
“Change of plans. Headed out for drinks instead.” Uma purposely kept it vague. The woman didn’t need to know that those drinks would be solo.
Sounding smug, Ms. Lloyd called, “Don’t stay out too late!” before the door slammed.
