Page 60 of Catching Feels

GoodTimesOnly: I’ll take an IOU, close quarters and all …

He sends a picture of … my vibrator.

GoodTimesOnly: You stole my vibe!

SportsManSam: Compulsive and out of character. I’ll overthink that later, but not tonight. Sleep well. *zzz emoji*

I have so many things to say, scream, rage about, but that’s counterproductive to Nour’s game and could affect Rome’s, too. Plus, it’s not valuable information for my little research project.

“I’m not feeding into his superstitions; I’m treating myself,” I tell Elle, who’s been eyeing me suspiciously since I dog-napped her when the boys all left for their morning workout, or wherever they go after breakfast, showering, watching Real Wives, and napping.

“CeCe gave me the play by play; I wasn’t asking for it,” I quip as I turn the corner. “And you of all … animals shouldn’t judge them because, hello, you clearly have a routine if we’re ending up right back here and you’re the one in the lead.”

I open the door and walk in. “Good morning, Burt. Ellie dragged me along to?—”

I stop when I see he’s sitting on the floor, leaning against the counter, his hand over his heart.

My own heart starts beating at a scary pace, but I remain calm.

“Are you in pain?”

He manages to groan out, “Phone.”

“Okay, but we need to get you on your left side first, okay, Burt?”

I make quick work to help him into position then call 9-1-1.

Within two minutes, they arrive, and they all seem to know him. Apparently, he’s a retired firefighter.

When they wheel him out, he’s still conscious and able to give me some instruction.

“Treats, behind counter. Lena will be here soon. Funeral prep for Willie.”

“You get better. Ellie and I will hold down the fort.”

“Thanks, kid.”

Standing in the middle of chaos, I feel all that energy start to fade as my phone rings. It’s Mom, and she’s using FaceTime.

When I answer, “Hi, Mom,” tears start to fall.

“Oh, Jillian, what’s wrong? Do you need me? Are the boys?—”

“Rome’s good, Hudson’s on his way back to you, and I’m fine.”

“Well, what is it, sweetie?”

I tell her what happened with Burt, and then I walk out and show her the sign. “Etta’s mom.”

“Etta’s.” She sighs.

I briefly explain how we found this place and that it’s closing down.

“But that’s not why you called. Tell me something good.” I smile.

She flips the camera. “We have a vegetable garden. It’s bigger than I expected.” Which is putting it mildly. “Ten rows of raised beds with four across. They’re eight feet long, Jillian. We’re going to have beans, and peas, and cucumbers; tomatoes, and all different kinds of squash and zucchini; onions, and garlic, and a whole box of herbs.” She moves the camera. “This is the salad box. All different kinds of greens. We can come right out here and snip what we want off whenever we want it, and it’s all organic, Jillian. I played in aged horse manure for two days.” She laughs. “There’s lots more to do, but isn’t it beautiful?”

“It’s perfect.” I smile as she turns the camera back to face her. “You’re glowing.”

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