Page 4 of A Perfect Match
The strawberry blonde goddess had shown up in the club, bought me three shots, and then rocked my world in every way imaginable…before ghosting me.
Moving to Bayshore is officially the end ofthatchapter as well.I’m tired of thinking about her.Tired of heading to that club on the off chance she’ll show up again.I never got her name and she never called me, even though I gave her my number.I should really take that as my sign.
So this new venture in Bayshore needs to be clean slate.
No more pining over a woman I barely know.
I only have room for what’s ahead.New horizons.New ventures.All that exciting next-chapter shit.
“All good to go in?”The producer of the reality TV show, Pat, shields his eyes from the afternoon glare as he looks over at me.
“Green light, buddies.”
Pat is overseeing the show alongside a three-dude crew.We’ve met a couple times before this, going over the logistics, the show plans, what filming a renovation process will actually look like.This is part of a new reality TV series that follows small business owners through various stages of their business plans.For my episodes, the attraction will be coming into this dusty, forgotten space and turning it into a gourmet restaurant.Pat is sure that my previous stint on the food truck challenge will bring in a lot of viewers.I’m just happy to have a little extra financial padding as I dive headfirst into this exciting but scary chapter.I sure need it, because the mere thought of what happens if I miss a loan payment has had my palms sweating since we closed the deal on the building.
The parking lot is chaotic as the camera crew unloads and other patrons arrive, presumably for the store next to mine.I gave my neighbor’s shop a quick check during my visit last month, but it was closed the day I came.I’d seen all I needed to that day—coffee, marshmallows, and desserts.Not direct competition, so nothing I needed to worry about.Probably some kooky old lady known as the go-to spot for kid’s cakes.I’m looking forward to a quiet and innocuous relationship with my new neighbor, who I plan on introducing myself to as the next item on my to-do list.
My phone buzzes—it’s a Cleveland number.It takes me a moment to place it, but when I do, I swear under my breath.It’s the bank.
“Hello?”
“Mr.Krueger.Do you have a moment?”
It’s rare that someone actually calls me by my full last name.Friends from high school and college firmly labeled me asKru.Barely anybody calls me by my first name, Herman, because I don’t like to admit that’s my first name.It’s much snappier to go by Kru.
“I do.”I brace myself for bad news of some sort.Getting the loan was hard enough; maybe they’ve had second thoughts and need all the money back.“What can I do for you?”
The bank rep goes on to inform me in her calm customer-service tone that there was a problem issuing my debit cards for the bank accounts I recently opened.Relief threads through me.So I don’t need to return all the hundreds of thousands of dollars—excellent.We can continue as planned.
Before I can even swipe out of the call, a sharp voice pierces the air.
“Hey!What are you guys doing out here?”
The voice sounds feminine.Possibly enraged.And it’s coming from directly behind me.I pocket the phone and turn, finding a short, tightly packed strawberry-blonde bombshell staring straight at me, closed fists propped on her hips.
I blink once, then again.I’m not able to comprehend what I’m looking at.
Because the woman in front of me is the woman I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since she ghosted me last month in Cleveland.
I open my mouth to say something, but I’m at a loss.She can’t be my elderly bakery neighbor…can she?
“Your van is blocking the entrance for my customers,” she says, leaning in with narrowed eyes.“My customer can’t make it up the curb cut.You guys have been parked here for almost half an hour.”
I still can’t process who I’m seeing.I smile in spite of myself—she recognizes me, right?Did I imagine her?Or is this her identical twin?
“It’s not funny,” she snaps.
“Do you—” I cut myself off.She clearly doesn’t remember me, which is fucking awkward, and not a great testament to myskills.The longer I stand here staring and not saying anything, the angrier she’s getting.I can practically see her annoyance coming off her in comic book curlicues from the top of her head.
“You need to move that vehicle.”Her voice is practically a slap across the cheek.She gestures to the back of the van.“Barb just had hip surgery.If she falls, you’re getting the medical bill.”
Fuck.I feel bad.Beyond the end of the van, I see someone assisting an elderly woman using a walker.They’re attempting to step up onto the grassy divide that separates the parking lot from the storefront sidewalks.My brain rumbles back to life.
"I will assist Barb myself," I tell her."We're unloading here, and the van will be moved as soon as we’re done.”
“You’ve been hogging the entryway for a full half hour,” she reminds me.“There are about two hundred other places for you to park in this lot, but you chose the one spot that would ensure my customers can’t enter safely.”
“It was a mistake,” I begin.Because it was.I’m definitely not the type of guy to be an asshole to people, much less paying customers.
