Page 9 of Heartfelt Goals

“You know, one of these days, you are going to have to realize just how wonderful you are and take a chance on something new or exciting…”

Laurel sighed heavily, closing her eyes as she shut off her car.

“Promise me if you ever if that chance for adventure, you’ll say yes.”

“We both know I’m going to die an old maid, unwashed, and in front of my laptop, late for a deadline.”

“Laurel, don’t be so hard on yourself. Now, take the groceries in, feed the both of you, get a shower, and relax. Things are going to be okay.”

“That’s why I called you.”

“Love ya, girl – and don’t be a stranger.”

“Phone works in both directions,” Laurel countered, causing the two of them to chuckle knowingly. Both were busy with their lives, families, and time had a way of slipping fast – but that was what she loved about Madeline. They could reconnect over the simplest of things whether it was five hours or five years – like nothing had been missed.

Ending the call, she got out of her car, glared at the sports car, and loaded up all the bags on her arms, trudging her way toward the elevator.

Thankfully, it was empty.

3

LAFRENIÉRE

"You’ve gotto be kidding me." Dustin’s voice was sharp as he pressed the phone to his ear, his free hand curling into a fist at his side. He forced himself to take a slow breath, reining in his frustration. "You’re telling me that rusted-out hunk of junk actually runs—and someone called to complain that I parked too close?"

“Yes, sir.”

Unbelievable.

He ran a hand down his face, his pulse kicking up. “I assumed it was abandoned. You guys said before that a tow truck couldn’t even get in there because it hadn’t moved in—what? Years?” He let out a humorless chuckle. "Meanwhile, I’ve been goingout of my wayto avoid scraping the Corvette on the other side, thinking I was doing that guy a favor. That Toyota looks like it should’ve been sent to the scrapyard a decade ago. The hood is practically disintegrating, the tires are rotting—are you sure it even runs?"

“Yes, I’m positive,” the office manager responded, unfazed. “The owner has been a resident for six years now, and?—”

“And I’ve lived here for two. What does that have to do with anything?” His jaw tightened.

"If you could just put a little more space between the cars, that would be appreciated.”

Dustin exhaled sharply. "How about giving me a different parking spot—one that’s nowhere near that heap of metal?"

"If one opens up, I’ll be sure to let you know."

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"How about this—reach out to the owner of the rustbucket, ask them to park on the street, and I’ll pay for both spots?"

There was a brief silence. “I can certainly reach out to them, if you’d like.”

“I’d be happy to?—”

“You know we can’t disclose resident information,” the manager cut in smoothly.

His patience snapped. “Which is exactly why Ichoseto live here.”

“And why the other resident did as well. We take privacy very seriously.”

Dustin let out a rough laugh, shaking his head. “What, am I parked next to some big-shot executive? Or maybe the Coyotes' owner?”

“Complete privacy for all guests,” the manager reiterated, their tone immovable.

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