Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
But I don’t.
Me:
At least you’re a self-care queen.
Layla:
Crowning myself as we speak.
Silence crawls.
Me:
For what it’s worth, I don’t think people will be pissed. You worked your ass off.
Layla:
Some will but I can deal with that.
I can deal with a lot of things: Distance. Schedules. Plane tickets.
Living without Layla? Apparently I’m doing that too.
Layla:
You’ll crush your meeting on Monday.
Me:
Thanks. I’m actually looking forward to it. Time to pretend to be an adult. I feel like I’ve been fucking around a lot lately.
Typing bubble . . .
Disappears as I reread my sentence and realize that could be taken the wrong way. However, I don’t edit or correct it because what would be the point?
Layla:
I know what you mean about adulting. Too many distractions, which are . . . distracting. LOL
Me:
Right.
Not the word I want, but it’s the word I have.
Me:
I’m not looking for distractions.
Layla:
Of course. Me neither.
We’re lying.
Layla:
I should go throw my clothes into the dryer. They’ve been sitting in the washing machine all afternoon.
Me:
I should check on Benny . . .
Another beat.
Layla:
It was good chatting with you.
Me:
Yeah, same.
I’d make time for you, I’d make time for you, I’d make time for you . . .
Layla:
Night, Hayes. Good luck Monday.
Me:
Thanks.
Me:
You too.
Chapter 28
Layla
The office smells like kettle corn.
I suspect it’s Nancy’s candle, but am too lazy to get up and walk past her desk now that I’ve settled in.
Fall Fest has left a ghost—the kind that has vendors continuing to call with questions about outstanding invoices, boxes that have yet to be put in storage, and leftover goodies everyone says they don’t want to take home. The break room is full of junk food.
I pulled it off. There were no fires, no ambulance rides, no Facebook comments hating on anything we’d planned. The mayor shook my hand like I invented the event, and his single son, Tim, grinned at me until it got uncomfortable.
I stare at my computer, at a blank document titled Star Lake Winter/Spring Activity Guide.
Email dings. I open a note from a Mrs. Denise Knutson, who wants to know if pickleball will return to its regular schedule now that the godforsaken festival is over. She also wanted to make mention that a new paddle policy should be implemented because of “paddle hogs.”
Long sigh.
I type back, in the soothing language of municipal diplomacy, and thank her for her input.
Focus, Layla. You’re supposed to be working on the activity guide. It’s due at the end of the week.
I start breaking the document into sections: Kids. Teens. Adults. Seniors.
I plug in dates for youth basketball, open gym, craft nights. My fingers remember how to do this even as my brain tries to climb out the window and run back toward Arizona.
The door swings open without a knock, because privacy is a myth in this building. Margo sashays in and leans on the doorframe, donut in one hand, clipboard in the other. She takes a bite and swallows before walking all the way in and plopping into a chair.
“I come bearing news,” she announces.
“Do I need to brace myself?”
“Eh. Depends on what your thoughts are on the board approving more funding for next year’s festival, and Angelina already throwing your hat into the ring to organize it.”
I shake my head. “No. No way. June is a far better fit than I am!”
Margo neither agrees nor disagrees with me, instead barreling ahead with more news. “Grant from Parks says the new LED lights for the baseball diamond have arrived and he’ll install this week.”
This is not information I need to know, but I nod anyway. “Great, that place is way too dark with half the lights burned out.”
Margo wiggles her eyebrows. “Speaking of Grant . . .”
Oh, here we go. The real reason she’s in my office. “Margo.”
“What?” She shrugs innocently, taking another bite of donut. “I’m simply reporting that he asked if you were coming by the maintenance yard today.”
“When do I ever go to the maintenance yard?” Never, that’s when.
“Mm-hmm. He may have mentioned you looked cute at Fall Fest.”
I laugh. “He said that?”
“He did. The direct quote: She was running around in that green jacket, looking like a snack.” Margo pulls a face. “Men and their metaphors. Anyway, he’s single.”
“Yes, I am well aware that Grant is single.” I swivel to my screen so she can’t see my eyes roll. “It’s nice. I’m not . . . I mean, if he needs anything for the baseball field, he can email me, but otherwise, I’m not interested.” I went to school with Grant’s sister Casey, and the last thing I need is to date a guy whose entire family knows all the stupid shit I did as a teenager.
No thanks.
Margo watches me for a beat too long. “You okay?”
“Yup.”
She doesn’t believe me. “Does your sulking have anything to do with that vacation you were on?”