Page 25 of The Ruse of Romancing
Uh, should I be worried? That doesn’t sound like writing, and neither does it sound like you’re very safe out there.
Dani:
[Shrug emoji] I mean, how safe are any of us in the grand scheme of things?
Joane declared I need a break from writing to “refill my cup.” Whatever that means. So now I’m following her home to be given a hobby that involves a piece of someone named Carl.
Do you think she’s about to induct me into a cult? That could lead to some really good book inspiration!
Avery:
Unless you’re planning to put a cult in this second book, maybe stay away from whoever Joane is?
Wait, what do you mean, “a piece of someone named Carl?”
Dani! Do I need to call the police? Send an SOS if you’re really in trouble.
Motion outside my window had me looking up from my phone to find Joane waving at me as she climbed into her own car, a well-loved white sedan with a Sugar and Sea Bakery bumper sticker proudly sitting next to the license plate. It probably wouldn’t hurt to leave Avery hanging until I had more information about Carl and his pieces, so I followed Joane from the parking lot and over a couple of blocks to a cute little green house with thriving flower beds. While dated, the house was welcoming with freshly painted shutters and large windows.
It didn’t look like the house of a serial killer or a swinger or a cult leader. Though, I wasn’t sure exactly what the house of a serial killer looked like. Probably more red and fewer flowers.
Joane pulled into the garage, and I followed behind her, making sure to park off to the side so she could move her car if needed. I wished Scooter or Tiffany could see me and take notes. It really wasn’t that hard!
“Come on in,” Joane called, and I followed her through the garage and into the house.
I was immediately greeted by a little dog, its tail wagging furiously as it jumped up on my legs to gain my attention. Maybe this was Carl, and I was about to become an animal fur artist. At least he was a small dog, so there wouldn’t be too much fur to work with.
“Down, Franklin,” Joane said, trying to nudge the dog away from me. “Let her at least get into the house.” There was humor in Joane’s voice, and I had a feeling Franklin’s enthusiastic greeting was standard behavior for the little dog that looked to be some kind of miniature poodle mix with his curly, caramel-colored fur.
Though learning the dog’s name did leave one very important, glaring mystery. Who was Carl? I hadn’t seen any plants inside, and there weren’t any other animals hanging around.
Deciding I could wait a few more moments to learn Carl’s identity, I kicked off my shoes and knelt to give Franklin some attention.
“Aren’t you a cutey!” He immediately rolled over to his back on the worn, yellowing linoleum, welcoming belly rubs. I gave Franklin some thorough attention before Joane opened the backdoor and ushered the dog outside to do his business.
“Little attention hog,” she muttered affectionately under her breath. “I got him for Spencer when he was in high school to help him navigate the divorce. I always assumed he’d take Franklin with him when he bought a place. Well, Spencer now owns both a house and a bookstore and yet, I still have Franklin.”
“Well, I’m glad you still have Franklin. I always need more dogs in my life,” I said.
Even though he was significantly smaller, Franklin had me missing Hercules. I’d have to ask Avery to send me a photo when I sent her my all-clear text. Just as soon as I figured out who Carl was.
I pushed to my feet, taking a moment to soak in my surroundings. The entrance from the garage led straight into the kitchen. The room was dated, but clean, reminding me in many ways of my kitchen growing up. The walls were a cheerful blue, the cabinets an orangish brown. The appliances and countertops appeared to be the only things that had been updated with the appliances being stainless steel and the counters being stone, though even those had obviously seen some years.
As if reading my thoughts, Joane waved a hand around the room.
“Before our divorce, my ex-husband tried to update the kitchen in an effort to placate me and save our marriage. He got as far as new countertops and appliances before he realized two very important things. First,” she held up a finger to underscore her point, “he hated home renovation and was not, despite the many remodeling shows he watched, cut out to be a handyman. And second,” she held up another finger, “he’d rather divorce me than finish the renovation of my dreams. Instead of bringing us together, it just created more fights, including an argument about why on earth he’d buy and install new counters and appliances before painting, the idiot.”
“Oh Joane, I’m so sorry!” I said, not really sure how to react to her bland, straightforward assessment of the end of her relationship.
She gave a carefree shrug. “I’m not. I got new appliances out of the whole thing and no longer have to live with the man. Not to mention, the settlement I got from the divorce gave me enough money to open Sugar and Sea Bakery.”
She stopped next to the island, looking around the small space. “I probably should spruce the kitchen up a bit more, maybe slap a fresh coat of paint on the walls, but I spend most of my time in the bakery kitchen, which is much nicer and has all the bells and whistles this old lady could ask for.”
I joined Joane at the counter, pulling out one of the stools situated there and sinking onto it.
“As long as it works for you, I don’t see why you need to update it,” I said, loving how, even though this was my first time in this kitchen, it somehow felt comfortable already.
“I like the way you think! But that’s enough about me and my kitchen. It’s time to give you a hobby,” she said this with all the excitement of a daytime television host giving away cars.
