Page 63 of Tasty Cherry

She unfolds her long legs to stand and reaches a hand down to me. “Well, it’s time we get up and face the world.”

“Even a manager who might be upset about his tortilla chip tower?”

“Nobody saw it. Can’t prove anything.”

I laugh at that. “If you’re Bart Simpson, who does that make me?”

We push our carts as Brooklyn thinks it over. “In the Simpsons world, I think you’re the sexed-up teacher who seduces the principal.”

If only she knew I had no power to seduce anyone. But I like that she thinks I could. It’s exactly what I was going for when I started this whole wretched business of ditching the cherry. To seem experienced. “I can live with that.”

“Let’s get some revenge. Do they have itching powder in grocery stores?”

“Unlikely. But you could always smear petroleum jelly on his door handle. And if you ever get in his apartment, put plastic wrap over the toilet.”

She laughs again. “Mila, you look so sweet and innocent, but behind that pretty face is one malevolent bitch. And I mean that in the best way possible.”

We head to the checkout, and I fairly glow with happiness. A new bestie, and an amazing man on the sly.

This job is working out so much better than I could have possibly hoped.

22

SEBASTIAN

Idon’t hear from Mila until the next morning.

Despite what happened the night we met, and in the haunted wing, I don’t feel we’re close enough for me to ask her what she did last night. I play it light when she texts.

Mila: Brooklyn, Owen, and I are walking the castle today. Any highlights we should hit?

Me: Go out to the barn and meet Jed. He’s from Avalonia, where those laughing miniature donkeys originate. He has lots of great stories.

Mila: Are these the donkeys about to give birth?

Me: Yep. You all will be helping.

Mila: It sounds fun. And possibly gross.

Me: The miracle of life is often gross.

I wait after that to see if she will offer up a block for time for us, but no more texts come.

I sip coffee on the back porch, looking at the mountains. It’s warmed up again, Colorado being its normal indecisive self.

Arya slides the door open and drops into the chair next to me, bundled in a blanket. “Oh, it’s not cold anymore.” She lets the blanket fall to her lap.

“It’ll be a nice weekend.”

“You spending it with this new girl?”

I haven’t told Arya about our torrid scene in the haunted wing, nor do I plan to. “She texted me this morning, but we haven’t made any plans.”

“Hmmm.” She holds her mug with both hands, her black hair a snarl of a messy bun. I wonder why she never dates. I haven’t seen her with a boyfriend, or even trying to acquire one, since she moved in with me the first time.

I have a sense something went sideways with a guy while she was in college and I was working in Denver.

When I decided I hated banking and came back to Boulder, everything changed on us. Mom moved to India.

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