Page 56 of Time for Change

Verycomfortable.

When the chicken is ready for the oven, I get to work on the potatoes. “How was the rest of your workday?” I ask, glancing over and noticing she’s adding everything I set out to the salad.

“It was good. Busy, but busy means tips, so I’ll never complain about it. How was yours?”

“Fine. Caden teased me all fucking afternoon about taking tomorrow off, but I don’t care. I never take days off unless absolutely necessary,” I answer, mixing together the boxed potatoes. “Sorry this isn’t homemade.”

She chuckles. “I don’t care, really. I’m pretty easy going where food is concerned.”

“As long as it’s not peanut butter,” I reply with a knowing smile.

She returns my grin and nods. “As long as it’s not peanut butter,” she confirms. “I’m sorry if he’s giving you a hard time about tomorrow.”

“I’m not,” I quickly state, almost interrupting her. “I’m looking forward to it, really. We’re both cut from the same cloth, me and Caden. We rarely take days off unless we have to. It’s part of owning a business. We’re both determined to make it successful, and that means putting in the time and energy at making it thrive. He’s only giving me a difficult time because it’s out of character for me, and he’s enjoying ruffling my feathers about you.”

She stops what she’s doing and asks, “Why me?”

I give her my complete attention. “Because I haven’t dated much, hardly at all since my divorce, and he can tell I really like you. So he’s pushing my buttons, just to get a rise out of me. It’s part of the best friend code, but also just how he is. He’s rarely serious, unless it’s about work.”

She nods and returns to the salad. After a minute, she bumps me with her shoulder and says, “Just so you know, I like you too.”

I grin, probably goofily, and finish the potatoes, placing them in the bottom oven. “In about five minutes, I’ll add the chicken, and then give you a tour, if you want.”

“I’d love one,” she informs me, taking the dirty cutting board and knife to the sink, while I dispose of the discarded salad makings in the trash.

We chat about my kids for those brief five minutes, and the moment the chicken is in the oven and the timer set, I extend my hand and ask, “Ready?”

Stevie readily takes my hand and allows me to lead her into the living room. “I know you’ve seen all of this already,” I state unnecessarily.

“I hope it’s okay I put my coat in the closet and my bag on the bench,” she tells me, referring to the small bench the kids use for putting on their shoes.

“That’s perfect. If you want, we can take it upstairs now.” When she nods, I grab the bag and carry it as we ascend to the second floor. “The kids each have a bedroom and share a bathroom,” I tell her, letting her poke her head inside the rooms as we go.

“Your daughter’s room is exactly what I’d picture for a nine-year-old girl. Lots of color and Taylor Swift posters on the wall.”

I snort. “She wants to go to a concert, but apparently thinks I’m made of money. Who can afford those ticket prices?”

“I’ve never been to a concert, so I wouldn’t know what is considered a fair price.”

I pause in the hallway and give her my complete attention. “If you could go to one concert, who would it be?”

She starts to blush. “You wouldn’t believe me.”

“Try me,” I reply, reaching for her hand and bringing it to my lips. I let my mouth dance lightly across her knuckles and watch as her cheeks darken more.

She releases a long breath before stating, “Mötley Crüe.”

My eyes widen a little as a smile spreads across my face. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. I’ve always loved their edgy sound, and their lyrics are super catchy.”

“They are,” I agree, taking a few steps and leading her to my bedroom. “You know, the place you work was named after them. Your brother and his friends were huge fans in college.”

She grins and nods. “I know. I read all about it in the about us section on their website. I swear, that wasn’t planned or copied. I’ve always loved them and was completely shocked when I read it was their favorite too.”

“Fate,” I state as we cross the threshold to my bedroom. “This is my room.”

I release her hand as she walks forward and runs her hand over the blue comforter, glancing around to take in the entire room. “Neat, organized, and clean. Exactly how I pictured it.”

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