“But you’ll love it. Your workshops are more popular than you can handle. My place is way too small for you. And if you don’t snap up Mr. Madeiros’s building when it hits the market, someone else will. If I have a CrossFit gym next to me, it will be all your fault.” Sadie shudders.
She levels me with another hard look. “You could find the time to make this work if you stopped doing every favor anyone asks of you. And if you raised your lesson prices above dirt cheap.”
“I’ll think about it,” I say noncommittally and take a sip of coffee. I know I should raise my prices. When I factor in the costs of my equipment, I’m not making what I should, even at the cut-rate rent Sadie gives me on her old storeroom. But I also know that so many of the town’s families can’t afford to pay more. And then there are all the workshops that I do for free. I would never stop those.
My phone rings, and I’m thankful for the distraction. Butterflies take flight in my stomach when I look at the screen.
“It’s an unknown number,” I hiss. “Maybe it’shim.”
“Him?” Her eyes get big. “As inhim? Ronan Masters has your number?”
“Yes.” I shake my head. “I mean, no. Well, kind of. He wanted to set up art lessons for his daughter.”
“Hurry. Answer your damn phone.”
“H-hello?”
“Hey, Poppy.” I’d know that voice anywhere. My heart rate kicks higher.
“H-hi.” I try to sound breezy, as if celebrities call me every day, but my stuttering gives me away. “What’s up?”
Sadie makes swooning gestures. I shoot her an exasperated look and turn away so I can concentrate.
“I want to schedule that art lesson for Belle. She won’t stop talking about it.”
“Oh, sure.” I strive for boss-babe vibes. Unbothered and professional. Making an appointment for a Hollywood superstar? No biggie. “When would be good?”
Yes. Nailed it.
“How are Sunday mornings at ten? My schedule is chaotic now, but that’s the day I most often have off. Unless you don’t work Sundays, in which case I understand.”
Sundays are wide open for me.
“No, Sundays are fine. I can…rearrange a few things on my schedule,” I lie. Rearrange things like sorting my laundry. Or color-coding my pens. Or baking large quantities of cookies and eating most of them myself. But I don’t want him to know that my social life is pathetically lacking.
“Great. We’re not in the hotel anymore. I’m renting a house on Lake Road. It’s number fifteen. It’s the—”
“The big historic white house with the wraparound porch on the lake.” I try not to sound too besotted. If I weren’t swooning for him, I’d be swooning for his temporary digs.
“It really is a small town.” He sounds disconcerted.
Great, now he thinks I’m a stalker.
“Sorry. It’s big news when a celebrity rents the old Hastings estate. It’s such a large place, but I imagine you need privacy to keep all the ladies away,” I tease. “The women in town are disappointed that it’s not an easy location for snooping.”
I hear a commotion in the background.
“I’ve got to go. They’re calling me to set,” he says. “See you Sunday.”
“Okay. Bye—” But he’s already hung up. He didn’t ask how much I charge. Though I suppose with people as rich as he is, it doesn’t matter.
“Bye,” I repeat into the phone, even though the line is now dead.
Sadie stares at me, hanging on every word.
“You’re going to Ronan Masters’s house!Oh my God.” She shakes her booty, making sexy swivels with her hips.
I roll my eyes. “Relax, Shakira. I’m teaching his daughter art. He might not even be there.”
