Page 25 of An Introvert's Guide to Life and Love
“It’s old-fashioned,” Alan pipes up.
“It’s vintage,” I argue.
“Well.” Daniel shrugs and glances back down at his tablet, probably so he doesn’t have to look at me. “Anyway. The more updates you make to the house, the more you can charge for rent.”
“Okay.” The idea of upping the rent mollifies me somewhat. The more I can charge each month, the less stressed I’ll be about going into debt for all the repairs and updates.
We head out to the front lawn. Alan promises to send us an updated estimate this afternoon, and then he drives off in his white van. Daniel and I stand there, side by side, watching him drive away.
“Thanks for your help,” I say, just as he says, “Look, about the other night.”
Oh, this should be good.I turn to face him expectantly. I can tell this makes him nervous. His ginger eyebrows twitch. I’m not used to being the one who makes other people nervous.
“That was pretty out of character for me,” he says. “If I had known who you were—if I had known you were a client—I never would have…”
My face flames. But honestly, I’m glad he didn’t know I was a client. That kiss was worth this embarrassment. He’s clearly distressed, though, his eyes as worried as those of a Labrador who’s been yelled at, so I want to end his misery. I slap his arm in an attempt at a friendly gesture. (Damn, forgot how hard his biceps are.)
“I wouldn’t have kissed you if I knew who you were, either.”
He exhales in relief and runs a hand through his hair. It sticks straight up with the humidity.
“Don’t worry about it,” I continue. “I’m serious. And I really am leaving tomorrow, so. We won’t see each other again. It’ll just be emails and phone calls from here out. Please don’t drop me as a client because, clearly, I need your help.”
“I won’t drop you.” He slaps my arm back playfully, but he’s so strong that I wobble sideways. “I’ll find you the perfect tenants. It’ll be good.”
“Yes, great! Perfect.” I twirl my keys around my finger. “Well then…”
“Glad we cleared that up.” He laughs, and I can tell he is trulyvery relieved. It’s a little annoying, actually. I would prefer for him to pine after me, but I guess that wouldn’t be professional.
“Of course. Me too.”
“Won’t happen again.” He cocks his fingers at me, winking, as he heads back to his bicycle.
“Bye!” I give a mock-friendly wave as I climb into my car.
As I drive away, my mood melts from amusement to mortification. Until an hour ago, the memory of that kiss was funny and sexy. It made me giggle, that I would do something like that, and that it was surprisingly hot despite the guy being a total stranger. But now? Now it’s like remembering saying something embarrassing in front of a group of people. I kissed Daniel McKinnon. Now he thinks I’m the type of person who kisses random strangers in bars. And there’s nothing wrong with that, but it’s not who I am. I mean, not usually. I wanted him to think I was a levelheaded homeowner who knows what a sump pump is.
I drive down palm-tree-lined streets and tell myself to take a deep breath. It doesn’t matter what he thinks of me. I’m leaving tomorrow, and I won’t have to see him again. Our conversations will be brief and professional and won’t veer too far from the topics of tenants and home repairs.
See, this is why I’m better off being a hermit. When I’m out in the world, interacting with people, I embarrass myself. It’s just what I do. I say the wrong thing, make the wrong face, kiss the wrong person. This trip has been a—not fun, exactly—an interesting interlude, but I’ll be glad to get home. Back to my normal routine and my solitude.
“Hey, Gramps,” I call, letting myself into the condo.
There’s no answer. I duck my head into the kitchen, expecting to see him at the table with his newspaper, but he’s not there.
“Hello?” I check the living room, but he’s not in his armchair. Maybe he’s taking a nap? It’s only elevenA.M., several hours earlier than his usual afternoon nap time.
“Gramps?” I whisper, poking his bedroom door open with one finger.
His bed is empty. The sight of his crisply made bed fills me with a sudden panic. A second later, I remind myself that he’s a fully grown man, not a lost toddler. He’s probably down at the pool or taking a walk.
I clomp down the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. At the pool, there’s one woman swimming laps and a few other people sunning themselves in lounge chairs, but no Gramps. I definitely thought he would be at the pool. He doesn’t eventakewalks. Just to check, I stand at the gate to the beach path and scan the beach, one hand shielding my eyes. There are a couple of families lounging under umbrellas, one jogger, and a few people walking slowly in the surf. No sign of Gramps.
So maybe he’s in the breakfast room, or… I mean, obviously he wouldn’t be at the gym or the tennis court. I walk back toward the building, anxiety fluttering in my chest. Where could he have gone?
I could ask someone if they’ve seen him this morning. Maybe the next-door neighbor or—Angela. Angela seemed like the kind of person who would know these things.
I speed walk from the pool to the gazebo, where I’d seen Angela with that exercise class when I first arrived, but there’s no one there. I decide to try the tennis court. By the time I get there, sweat is dripping down my back. The sun beats down unforgivingly from straight overhead.
