“I still haven’t gotten a car,” I say while striding toward the property line, so we don’t have to keep shouting.
Kevin is covered from head to toe in a bright yellow raincoat, full-on with matching pants and hat. He looks like a duck. “What kind of car are you looking for? I’ll keep my eyes open for you.”
“Something basic and used,” I tell him before explaining, “I’m not sure how long I’ll be living in Elk Lake, and I don’t want to invest in anything else until I know for sure.” Even thoughFinley and I had a fun night together, that’s not enough reason to relocate permanently. Especially, as I still work for Constance.
“I have a friend selling an old Mustang,” he tells me. “It’s a convertible. It’ll be fun in the summer.”
“Hard top or soft top?” I ask.
“Soft top,” he says. “The ’90 Stang didn’t have a hardtop option. But don’t worry, he recently replaced it, so it’s in good shape.”
I suppose that would be fine. If I do decide to put down roots here, I’ll simply get another car and save the Mustang for summers. “When do you think I can go look at it?” I ask.
“I’ll call him tomorrow and tell him I have a live one,” he says with a smile. “Text me and I’ll drive you over sometime in the afternoon.”
“I’d hate to put you out,” I tell him.
“He lives ten miles outside of town,” Kevin says with a grin.
“In that case, how about if I hire you to drive me?”
My neighbor shakes his head. “You can take me to the pub for a beer if you decide to buy.”
I extend my hand for a shake. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Kevin.”
“Pickles,” he reminds me.
“Pickles.” I nod my head. My neighbor is a character, and I’m lucky to have him in my life. Not only does he offer food recommendations, but he’s helping me find a car before giving me lessons on how to drive better.
Now, if only I can settle things with Constance, maybe Elk Lake stands a chance of becoming my long-term home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
FINLEY
I barely slept a wink last night. Instead of nodding off to Dreamland, I kept thinking about Thomas. He’s such a great guy. The thing is, I’m not sure if all the flirtatious banter was really flirting or if he’s just being friendly. I’m guessing most people would be able to figure it out. Yet, as a neuro-sparkly person, I’m left wondering.
When my eyes finally pop open, after what I’m sure is only an hour of sleep, I reach over to my nightstand and grab my phone. I pick it up and call my mom.
“Finny!” She says delightedly before adding, “Hellooooo!”
“Hey, Mom. How are you doing?”
“I am flummoxed.” My mother tends to use words that make her sound like she’s closer to two hundred years old than the sixty she’s nearing.
“What’s got you confused?” I ask.
“I have a chicken in the sink and I’m not quite sure what to do with her.”
“Are you defrosting it for supper?” I ask.
“Oh, no. She’s alive and well,” she says. I hear some splashing in the background.
“You have a live chicken in the sink,” I repeat, hoping that doing so will bring some clarity.
“Bernadette,” she says before explaining, “In my thirty years of owning chickens, I have never had one who behaves as oddly as she has been acting.”
“What’s she doing?”
