Page 92 of Say Yes to the Hot Mess

“Sorry,” Scarlett says, biting her lip and looking back and forth between us. “I know I’m crashing a moment here. But you got in a good kiss—”

“Were youwatchingus?” I say, trying not to laugh.

“And he’s been so grumpy, and I can’t figure out why. I just put him down in his crib to come see if you were home. Also, before I forget,” she says. “I was looking at apartments online before that little man decided he was unhappy, and I emailed you two possibilities. So let me know what you think when you get a chance.”

I nod. “I’ll look either tonight or tomorrow morning,” I say, trying not to let my disappointment show. I’d love to live with Scarlett, but Ireallydon’t want to move.

I guess the time for that complaint has passed, though. I think it’s fair to say Dex likes having me as a neighbor, but he hasn’t said anything about me staying, and I’m not going to ask again.

“Well, goodnight, Dex,” I say, shooing Scarlett away with one hand as I go up on my tiptoes to kiss Dex on the cheek.

“Goodnight,” he says. Even though he smiles, however, he looks suddenly troubled about something. I want to ask him what that face is all about, but Scarlett was right: Archer does not sound happy.

“Talk to you tomorrow?”

His smile becomes more real as he nods, backing away. “Tomorrow, Sugar Booger.”

I just laugh.

Twenty-Two

Dex

I wakeup the next morning with a crick in my neck and a pain in my lower back.

I don’t understand how it’s possible to hurt so many muscles while sleeping. I’m not a crazy sleeper; I don’t toss and turn or anything. But somehow, after a long, restless night, I’m aches and pains all over.

I’m blaming it squarely on Maya, though I’ll certainly never tell her that.

Round and round my head she went, in and out of my dreams—her kisses and her smile and, occasionally, her wrath. It didn’t help that I heard Archer three times in the night.

Maya didn’t show any sign yesterday of not wanting to move. In fact, she hasn’t brought it up in a while. But the thought of her not living next to me, not being a stone’s throw away…I don’t love it. In fact, when Scarlett mentioned finding them a new place, both my mind and body immediately rejected the idea—despite the fact that I was the one who wanted it in the first place.

If my personal preference were the only thing to take into account, it would be easy enough to ignore. She doesn’t meet the age requirement, regardless of how much I like having her close. Case closed.

But it’s the other things that are giving me pause.

Sheusesthe amenities specifically designed for our older residents. She doesn’t use them in the same way, it’s true, but they ease her burden all the same. And at the end of the day, we have the age requirement to make sure that only people who might need those amenities will end up having them. That’s the goal: to ensure that our units go to people who actually need them.

Maya needs them. Would it be wrong, then, to let her stay?

I’m starting to doubt my original decision. In fact, I think…well, I think she should continue living here.

I set these thoughts aside for now, partly because they’re getting me nowhere, and partly because I have other things to worry about right now. Specifically, my Viagra dealer.

Drug dealing. At asenior center. Never in my wildest dreams did I imaginethat’swhat I’d be dealing with, but here we are.

I make one stop before I go to my office, in and out in no more than three minutes. Then I’m on my way. My steps are brisk as I walk, my eyes sharp as they land on Josephine.

“Josephine,” I say, keeping my voice as neutral as possible. “My office, please.”

I realize I sound like a principal calling in a disobedient student, but let’s be honest: it’s basically the same situation. Because Josephine has been up to no good.

It was her stooped, hunched figure we saw on the security tape—her slow shuffle to locker twelve.Hercareless actions that left Sunset Horizons open to all sorts of legal trouble, especially because she’s a freakingemployee.

And I’m not putting up with that for one second longer. Before I send her on her way, though, I’m going to get some answers.

It takes Josephine a million years to move from the front desk to my office, and part of me wonders if she’s going slow on purpose. I wouldn’t put it past her. When she finally rounds the corner, though, I gesture wordlessly to the chair across from my desk, and she sits with a softoomph.

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