Page 13 of Fireworks & Forehead Kisses

“Oh, hi Dorothy.”

“Mrs. Wolfe asked me to call to check and see where you were.”

“Oh, um, I thought I wasn’t... I got a text saying that I was fired.”

“She thought that might be the case. That was a miscommunication. You were not fired. Can you be here in ten minutes?”

“Um…”

“Okay, great. See you then.”

The call disconnected, and I stared down at my phone in confusion.

I wanted the job. It was good money. But that text wasn’t up for interpretation. Was it?

I pulled up the message I received from Declan Wolfe and reread it. It clearly stated that I was fired. But he wasn’t the one who had hired me. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to go out there. I really needed the money. And Stella intrigued me. She fascinated me, actually. Plus, I was dying to see what other art she had.

The audition had to be submitted by noon today, and it was 10:15. I knew it was stupid to even consider turning it in, but forsome reason, I really wanted to do it now. I was an idiot to have left it this long. And this was a real job. Real money. I couldn’t pass this up. I’d always had an issue with procrastination. Why did I leave things until the last minute?

Thanks to my degree in psychology, I knew the answer to that. The root of procrastination can be fear of failure, being overwhelmed, lack of motivation, poor time management, seeking immediate gratification, avoidance coping mechanism, perfectionism, anxiety, and low self-esteem. Honestly, it could be a combo plate of at least a half dozen of those suckers.

“See you later, Mr. Purrfect.” I kissed my tabby on the top of his head, grabbed my purse, and was out the door.

When I got in my car, I noticed that the change oil light was still on. I’d noticed it a few days ago. The problem was, it would continue to be there until I actually did something about it. There was that avoidance rearing its ugly head. I was working a shift at Southern Comfort this weekend. I would use my tips to pay for an oil change. Also, my brakes were making a funny noise, so I was probably going to need to get them looked at as well.

Note to self: Tips go to car servicing, not online shopping.

“Sorry, Suzie Q.” I patted the dash. “I promise I’ll start taking better care of you…and me.”

I always named my cars. When I relocated to Firefly Island eighteen months ago after my sister moved here with Luna, I bought this used baby. She was a silver, four-door Honda Accord, and as soon as I sat in her, the name came to me: Lady Silver Suzanna Accordania, I was watching a lot ofBridgertonat the time. Suzie Q for short.

Oil changes, checking the pressure on the tires, getting her washed, vacuumed out, and replacing windshield wipers and fluids were all things responsible car owners did. And I wanted to be just that. It was time for me to grow up.

On the drive to the Wolfe Estate, I made a mental plan for how I was going to get my life together. I wanted to start waking up at the same time every day, exercising, eating better, creating a budget, and doing a chore chart. Those things might seem like no-brainers to other people, but as a creative person, my days tended to just sort of run together. Structure and routine were foreign concepts to me. Last night, I’d stayed up until three painting. It was eleven when I sat down in front of my easel. It felt like I blinked, and four hours passed by. Time management and I were strangers, but we needed to become friends or, at the very least, acquaintances.

As I turned down the drive lined with cypress trees, I still couldn’t get over just how much the house looked like the one in The Notebook. When I parked, I decided to take photos of it so I could show Skylar. I’d mentioned the resemblance, but she hadn’t seemed sufficiently impressed for my liking. Since a picture is worth a thousand words—not a picturebirthsa thousand words, which is what I used to think it was—I knew this would do the trick.

When I got up the steps, I lifted my hand and was going to knock on the door when it opened.

“Hi, Dorothy.” Dorothy was wearing a navy-blue cardigan that perfectly matched her eyes. “I love that color on you.”

“Thank you, Miss Thompson.” Dorothy smiled.

“It’s just Ashley.”

Dorothy gave me a quick nod as she held out her hand. “Mrs. Wolfe is waiting for you in the sunroom.”

“Great.”

I walked into the back room and found Mrs. Wolfe on the sofa. She was wearing a tan cashmere sweater with beige slacks and black ballet flats, looking as stylish and classy as ever. There was a dog lying on his side at her feet.

“Who’s this?” I smiled widely.

“Rufus,” she introduced me.

When she said his name, he rolled off his side and stood up, then came over to me.

“Hi.” I bent down and scratched him behind his ears. “Hello, handsome boy.”

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