Page 13 of Suddenly Entwined

Chris’s sister didn’t say anything. Not with words. But she smiled through half of our conversation, clearly entertained. I laugh, removing the clips one at a time and imagining what I must have looked like. Forty-year-old dad pumping iron in the middle of the night, shirtless with accessories to boot. It’ll be a miracle if Chris isn’t razzing me about this tomorrow.

I might have been a pretty crap landlord today, but tomorrow, I’ll be better. That’s all I ever try to be. A little better tomorrow. And at least Carolina had a laugh, even if it was atmy expense. So Chris’s sister thinks she’s funny, eh? That’s okay. Cause I can be pretty funny too when I want to be.

Chapter seven

Carolina

The second the door shuts behind me, even though it takes a little elbow grease, I burst out laughing. This whole evening was ridiculous and I must be overtired, because I’m unable to control my laughter, bending in half with my sides aching at the mental snapshot of that big, burly man covered in pink and purple hair accessories. This place better be soundproof, I think, still chuckling as I hang up my purse and dripping coat. There’s no way in hell he remembered those were in his beard, and while I know it could have said something about the adorable additions to his face, I swallowed my words and my laughter until now. God, I want to see the look on his face when he notices.

It’s actually a relief to know that he didn’t show earlier because he’s a jerk. He forgot. These things happen. If anyoneknows about making mistakes, it’s me. I scarf down the meatballs standing at the bar which isn’t exactly a celebratory moving day dinner, but it’ll do. I pop the leftover meatballs in my fridge before making a beeline for the comfort of the beautiful shower. With a shower cap covering my head, I moan as wonderfully hot water beats down on my stiff shoulders. I could cry at the thought of having to do this damn shift almost every night this week. What do you call yourself if you aren’t a morning person but also aren’t a night owl? Perpetually tired? With every drink I serve I’m less and less sure this is the job for me.

I lather strawberry body wash onto my loofah, scrubbing every inch of my body to rid myself of the lingering scents of the bar. Removing the showerhead, I rinse the bubbles from my skin, easily recalling Berg’s bare chest.

Grouchy, maybe. Old?

“Not from my point of view,” I say, my words echoing off the tile.

Based on the accessories, he’s not only handsome, but clearly a total softie when it comes to his daughters. Why is this guy single again? Of all the things I expected to see on my trip home from work, a hot, bearded man cooling down after a workout laden with accessories was not it. But, he’s Chris’s friend, and my new landlord, so I need to file all those images of broad shoulders and brooding expressions under off limits. I twist the shower to cold, yelping when it’s more than I can take. A cold plunge person, I am not. Shivering, I step out, rubbing my arms vigorously with a fluffy white towel.

***

I groan, kicking my legs as I attempt to unravel myself from the sheets. I slept terribly and I’m utterly confused why there’s so much noise outside, although only the faintest hint of sunlight is hitting my windows. My house is also freezing. Shitty door, no outdoor light, and crap insulation? Great. Thanks, Chris. There’s squeaky little voices somewhere, which must be Berg’s daughters, but there’s also the occasional thud that might be against my door. Is one of the kids knocking? Sliding out of my warm bed in only my undies and a tank, I shove my feet into my slippers, shivering as I go to the window and pull back the blinds.

“What the hell…”

Berg’s truck is still there, parked next to my car, but behind it is the tail end of another pickup entering the driveway. The tail lights switch from red to white and a god awful beeping noise fills the morning air. Berg saunters into view, heavy cargo work pants clinging to his ass, as he lifts a hand to beckon the truck up the drive. Another gust of cold air swirls around my bare legs.

“Good morning, new neighbour lady!”

I gasp, jumping a foot and pressing my hand to my chest as the most adorable little brown-haired girl bounds into my bedroom without a care in the world. She adjusts a purple stuffed animal under her arm while I tug the hem of my tank lower, scanning the pile at the foot of my bed for a sweatshirt.

“Um, hi?”

She has to be Louisa. I recall all the stories Chris has relayed to me about the vivacious little girl.

“She’s not a neighbour. She’s a tenant,” another girl corrects, sauntering in behind her.

The older sister, then. Natalie.

“Is that…my lipstick?”

The younger child presses her poorly painted lips together.

“I really like the colour,” she whispers, eyes round.

Do I even want to see the state of my bathroom?

“So, usually we knock when we want to come into people’s houses…”

“We didn’t used to knock when Chris lived here,” Louisa says.

“Risky,” I mutter under my breath, finally locating an oversized sweatshirt and some sleep shorts and pulling them on.

“Besides,” the older auburn-haired girl adds casually, “Can’t really knock if there isn’t a door.”

If there isn’t a…

“Pardon?!” I screech.

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