Page 44 of An Introvert's Guide to Life and Love
I whip my head around to see Leo carrying a bin of dirty dishes, smirking in a way that makes his cheek dimple. I look back at my laptop to see what he sees: a gnarly spreadsheet full of graphs and projections.
“It is kind of awful sometimes,” I agree.
He grabs my empty plate that held a chocolate chip cookie ten minutes ago.
“You should try working at a coffee shop,” he says, putting my plate in his bin.
“Also awful?” I ask.
“No!” He seems momentarily horrified by the misunderstanding. “It’s the best. I get to chat with people, neighbors and regulars—like yourself. I’m on my feet and working with my hands—no time to get bored or gloomy.”
“Ha! It sounds like you know what that’s like.”
He nods. “After college, I worked at a consulting firm for a year. Most boring, gloomy year of my life.”
I look around the cheerful, sun-filled café and back at Leo. He is alarmingly handsome, tanned from the roots of his dark hair all the way to his fingers, and he has veins running down his arms and hands. I bet he works out. A lot.
“You’ve convinced me. When’s my first shift?”
He laughs, a rich sound that betrays his French background. I wonder if he whitens his teeth.
“Hey, would you like to get dinner sometime?” He asks it without a hint of self-consciousness, shifting the bin from one arm to the other.
I feel my mouth drop open, and then close it at once. So what if it has been literal years since anyone has asked me out? I straighten my shoulders and try to act like someone who is used to this type of attention, even as one of the voices in my head cackles maniacally.
“I wish I could say yes,” I say truthfully. (I mean, look at him!) “But I’m heading back to Seattle in a few days.”
The cackling voice stops laughing and adds,Plus we’re holding out for a certain redhead.
We are not, I chide her.
“Ah well.” Leo shrugs with a friendly wink. “Hope you enjoy the rest of your vacation. Say goodbye before you leave, yeah?”
I nod and wave as he returns to the other side of the counter.
We are, too, the voice in my head says. I ignore her.
At fourP.M., I decline a meeting and put an away message on Slack saying that I have an appointment. Which is true: I have an appointment with Alan at Pebble Cottage. I just hope Kat doesn’t notice that I’m offline in the middle of the afternoon, Seattle time.
I pull up to the house in Gramps’s car and immediately notice the familiar red bike parked in the grass. I have a sudden urge to check my hair and teeth in the car mirror. Of course Daniel is here, too. As my property manager, he’s supposed to be involved in all things Pebble Cottage. I just wasn’t expecting him. Although, now that I think of it, he did reply to Alan’s latest email withGreat!!So maybe it was implied that he would join us. I just wish I could act normal around him. But I’m a spaz on the best of days, so when it comes to a property manager I shared a hot make-out session with that I now have to pretend never happened, there’s no hope for me.
I hop out of the car and greet them both in what I’m pretty sure is a normal way. Strong start.
Alan gives me a nod, sliding his phone into the front pocket of his overalls. Daniel, wearing skintight black bike shorts and a white T-shirt, smiles and bounces on the balls of his feet as he says hello. Is he always this happy? Maybe it’s the bike-riding endorphins.
“I still don’t know how you ride a bike everywhere in this heat,” I say, wiping sweat from my hairline as we step inside. He glances at me, like he wants very much to launch into a lecture on the benefits of biking, but then Alan starts to talk.
He guides us from the small bathroom to the boiler room, explaining what he’s fixed and pointing out the improvements. I’m filled with a gut-sinking sense of impostor syndrome. I have literallyno idea what any of this means. He could be completely screwing me over, and I wouldn’t know it. I would just nod and smile and give him my money. I’m familiar with this just-smile-and-nod feeling, because I’ve felt this way at work many times. But now that it’s about Pebble Cottage—my house—the feeling is more troubling, because my ignorance could cost me huge sums of money. On the one hand, I’m relieved to have Daniel here, because he actually does know what Alan is talking about, and his interests are aligned with mine now that he’s my property manager. On the other hand, I really,reallyneed to learn about all this house stuff. I don’t want to feel like it’s just a matter of time before I become the victim of a con artist.
Back in the entryway, Alan claps his hands together and says, “So, that’s everything. Daniel’s already set up the payment plan. Give me a holler if y’all need anything else.”
“Thanks, Alan. Talk soon,” Daniel says, walking him to the door.
“Thank you!” I call after him.
“So.” Daniel’s tone is businesslike. I startle, realizing that we are now alone in my empty house. “Have you given any more thought to the…” He gestures from the retro carpet to the brown walls.
“Um.” I take it all in: the dark living room, the carpeted hallway. What’s some carpet and paint, really, when it comes down to it? “Yeah, I’m thinking I’ll just take care of it.”
