Page 35 of The Foul Out

“I had a s’mores coffee today,” I admitted. “It’s the new one from Dunkin.”

Her lips turned up at the corners, and her eyes brightened. “The one with the marshmallow whipped cream?”

I nodded. “It’s amazing. I should bring you one this week.”

“I would like that.”

“Good.” I patted her arm. “How about you get dressed? Then I’ll take you down to the nurse to see about the dizziness.”

After we determined the cause—low blood sugar—and fed Eleanor, my day didn’t slow down. I dealt with a housekeeping issue and then argued with a food supplier about the rise in prices. The morning went by so quickly that I didn’t even have time to worry about the kids and how they were doing at Little Fingers.

“Knock, knock.”

At the sound of a soft voice in the doorway, I looked up from the paperwork I’d been sorting through. Zara, dressed professionally and looking flawless, was holding a brown bag and smiling.

“I hope I’m not interrupting, but the young woman out front said I could come in. I can come back later if you need. I’m on your schedule.” The Britishness of the wordschedulehad me smiling.

“Sure, come in.” I rushed to my feet.

“Sit,” she ordered, brow furrowed. “I brought lunch.”

Obediently, I dropped back into my seat. “Oh, you didn’t have to.”

“Nonsense.” She strode across the room and sat in the chair on the other side of my desk. “I wanted to,” she said. “If our boys are going to be friends, we need to get on too. Plus, I wanted to check in to see how you’re feeling about the social media stuff.”

How I was feeling? I supposed I didn’t have a lot of feelings about it. “No one is egging my door anymore, so that’s good, right?”

“I would hope so.” With a laugh, Zara passed me a container. “It’s a cobb salad. No dairy, no gluten, no dressing, no peppers. The lovely woman I spoke with when I called this morning said that would be acceptable.”

I winced. The order made me sound as uptight as both Eleanor and Kyle had claimed.

“I’m vegan, so if anyone understands a difficult food order, it’s me.” Zara pulled a second container from the bag and set it on the desk in front of her. “But back to the other thing. Have you had any issues since Saturday?”

I shook my head. “The Uber driver who picked me up from Langfield Corp and brought me to work this morning didn’t drive away when he saw who I was, so that’s progress.”

“I’m shooting for a higher bar here, darling.” She laughed. “What about on your socials? I don’t have your handles, so I haven’t tagged you, but that doesn’t mean people won’t find you.”

“I don’t have social media.” I shrugged. Growing up, our budget had been tight, so as a teenager, I didn’t have a cell phone or a home computer. When I started college, I was busy studying and working. Not only did I not have the time, but I also didn’t care to join the craze. And now, I had even less time. Dull was an apt way of describing me.

“Huh.” Zara shook her head, looking amused rather than bored or judgmental. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a person who didn’t have any social media.”

The trepidation that usually came when people commented on the topic swirled, though her kind expression lessened the severity.

“I don’t have time.”

“Makes sense. It’s such a bloody time suck. This morning, I fell down a rabbit hole and spent an hour watching giant waves.”

“Waves?”

“Yes.” She chuckled. “I kept watching videos of huge waves hitting all over the world.” She shrugged, the move causing the neckline of her gold sweater to slip off her shoulder. She yanked it up like the garment had personally offended her. “I think I’m entirely too bloody bored all the time.”

She pulled out her phone and turned it toward me. On the screen was a video of a wave hitting the coast of Portugal.

“See why I was desperate to have lunch with you? I’m going insane.”

I laughed. “I very much doubt that.”

“Oh, trust me. Boredom is the worst kind of torture. Asher thinks finding help for me will fix it. But honestly, why is Grey in day care? So I can go to the gym? Play tennis? Or that god-awful pickle ball game? I feel like I’m doing a whole lot of nothing. And how is that fulfilling?” Zara stabbed at her salad, and as she held up her fork, she eyed me sheepishly. “I’m sorry. You’re busy. The last thing you need is to listen to me whine.”

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