Page 61 of Faking it with my Off Limits Neighbor

I shake my head. “You’ve done a fantastic job, guys. I can’t thank you enough.”

“You just make sure that this Troy fella knows who helped him out,” Dave teases. “I want free gourmet meals for a month.”

I giggle at him and at the others, who are nodding in agreement. “Don’t you worry. I’ll let him know.”

“All right, Charlie,” Mike says, lifting a hand and waving goodbye. “Well, we’ll see you around.”

“Thank you again,” I say as the three pile out of the door.

Once more, I’m left with the Heatons, and as I look around, I heave a sigh. All of the work requiring power tools is done, but the place is a mess. It’s going to take me ages tomorrow to clean up all the dust, plaster, and debris.

“Don’t you worry, darlin’,” Mr. Heaton says, placing a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll be back tomorrow to help you.”

“Of course we will,” Mrs. Heaton says, as though it would be ridiculous for them not to be.

“Thank you so much.”

“No, Charlie,” Mr. Heaton says, holding me with a steady gaze. “Thank you. What you’ve accomplished here is nothing short of a miracle.”

The following morning, I get to the restaurant at seven. We don’t have much time. Troy and Milly will be coming back today. I work for a few hours, and then Mr. and Mrs. Heaton arrive.

Mr. Heaton hauls in this great big beast of a thing. It’s clearly an industrial machine, but I have no idea what it’s used for.

“Work smarter, not harder,” he says, pointing to it. “This baby will vacuum and clean the carpet at the same time.”

“Wow,” I say, totally impressed. “We can definitely use that.”

Mr. Heaton sets it up and gets to work while Mrs. Heaton helps me put all the finishing touches on the dining area. We polish glasses and cutlery, fold napkins, and set out plates. We wash windows and wood frames; we fix drapes and clean light fittings. By the time all three of us are finished, the place is completely spotless, and no one would ever know of the construction that went on here for the last two days.

My phone pings about an hour later. I check my phone and read Milly’s text.

“They’re back,” I announce to the Heatons.

“Right,” Mr. Heaton says. “Time for us to leave.”

I give them both another huge hug, thanking them for everything they’ve done, and once they’ve left the restaurant, I make the call to Milly.

26

Troy

Completely stunned at Milly’s words, I spin the truck around in the middle of the street and go back the way we’ve just come. I can hardly think straight, but I’m wondering how it’s possible that the restaurant could be on fire. I haven’t been there in over a week. If I’d left the gas on accidentally, surely this would have happened far sooner.

So why is there smoke coming from the restaurant? Is this arson? Is someone trying to put me out of business before I’ve even had the chance to open? But if that is the case, who would do such a thing? I don’t have any enemies in Cherryville. I never did.

None of this is making any sense.

I’m tearing through the traffic on the main street, slamming my horn at anyone who gets in my way.

“Move, will you?” I bellow.

Weaving in and out of the lanes, I hear a lot of horns blaring back at me, but I don’t care. The panic is rising. I still have some capital left, but otherwise, I’ve put my all into this place. It isn’t just about the money. It’s all the time, effort, and energy it’s taken out of me.

Milly is hanging on for dear life, her body thrown back and forth around the cab as I maneuver around the slow drivers in front of us. She looks a little worried, but not terrified. To be honest, I can’t take her fear into consideration right now. This is an emergency.

Five minutes later, I turn onto the street that leads to the restaurant. It only then occurs to me that I haven’t heard any sirens, which is pretty strange. There’s smoke coming from my restaurant. Surely someone has called the fire department.

I fly around the next corner, my eyes open wide, looking for signs of fire as the restaurant comes into view.

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