“Mr. Lundberg said I’d always have a position with Maid for You, if I ever need it. I didn’t tell him I was being poached by one of his clients, though. So maybe when he learns that, he’ll change his mind, but at the moment, I do have this job to fall back on. And you know I have book club with our current landlord. Lynn’ll help get us placed in the event of a fall out. I’m sure of it.”
Fawn chuckles. “Naturally you’ve thought things through.”
Well. Obviously. It’s a big decision to make. I need to know all the angles and risks.
If nothing else, it keeps me from going insane.
“I’m coming up on his house now, so I’ll have to let you go, but I should be home in four hours, at the latest.”
“’Kay. I’ll have some kind of dinner waiting for you.”
I brighten. “By any chance, will it be Taco Bell?”
“Well, you know I can’t cook. Your choices are Taco Bell, Maruchan ramen, or Bojangles.” She gasps. “Or, since you’re getting us a lovely new home without rent, Icouldbe convinced to goallthe way to Bear’s for squash casserole and steak.”
I do love Bear’s. But the owner’s wife is in my book club, and if she sees Fawn there, they’ll get chatting, and Fawn is not the best at tactfully withholding information of this kind. Becoming the local chatter for a hot minute is likely inevitable, but I’d prefer a hot minute before I have to deal with it. “Taco Bell, please.”
“You got it.”
We hang up as I reach the end of Mr. Anders’s long drive, park, and gather myself to head in.
Prompt as ever, he opens the door after I knock, gives me a gruffPeters, and returns to his office, so I head to the cleaning closet and get to work.
?
You’re actually not serious.
Swallowing hard, I press my clutch, and turn my key, and…sit in the silence.
Complete silence.
Utter silence.
A dead battery would cough a little, I’m pretty sure, which means it can’t be a—
“Peters?” Muted, Mr. Anders’s voice slips from beyond my window, so I twist toward him and scream. His brows shoot up.
I remember myself, smooth my hair scarf—dappled in little purple butterflies today, to match my apron—and get a breath as I pop the door. “Yes, sir?” My words wobble.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
Dread rises, builds, chokes. “Um.” I force a smile. “Yes, and no. Actually, probably more no than yes?”
One of his brows hitches higher than the other. “Your car won’t start,” he states.
I grimace. “My car won’t start.”
Leaning in the doorway, he locates the tab for my hood, pulls it, and begins folding up his sleeves. Mortified, I watch him circle to the front of my car, stop, and prop my hood before he stands there, tattooed arms crossed, and glares down into the guts of my vehicle.
Stumbling out of the driver’s seat, I position myself beside him.
He reaches for my battery, fidgets with the connection, then grunts.
“I…don’t think it’s the battery,” I offer. “I’ve had a dead battery before. It complains a little more before going out.”
“Hm.” He cuts his fingers back through his hair. “Well,” he cusses, low and conversational.
I startle, whipping my attention to his face.
