Page 9 of The Man Next Door
Zona grabbed a cookie. “It’s only an aftershock, Mom. Not a cosmic warning.”
Right? Right.
Chapter3
ZONA HAD LEFT WORK AND WASat Stater Brothers grocery store in the candy aisle, hovering over the Dove chocolates, when Gracie called to see how she was doing. The cookies were long gone, and Zona needed chocolate. That was how she was doing.
“Chocolate emergency?” Gracie teased.
“Every day is a chocolate emergency.”
“So, what’s the latest?”
Zona sighed. “Nothing, really. Mom is pushing me to move on with my life and find the last good man left on earth.”
“Oh? And where is he?”
“Next door. She’s already met our new neighbor.”
Gracie laughed. “Lucky you. Is he hot?”
“He’s a regular jalapeño, but it wouldn’t matter if he was on fire. I’m not looking to get involved with anyone,” Zona said, and picked up a bag of dark chocolate bites. They were only a temporary fix, she knew that. She needed... something. Therapy, probably. Or, as Angel Ram would say, a plan.
“I wasn’t looking either, until Bradley came along,” said Gracie.
The Ken to Gracie’s Barbie. Zona told herself not to be jealous.
She frowned at the bag in her hand. She’d already splurged on the cookies. She put the bag back and walked away.
“Just so you know, I put the bag back,” she said.
“You have my permission to eat as much chocolate as you want,” Gracie said, making Zona smile.
“I need a more lasting fix. I’ll get there,” Zona added, talking more to herself than her friend.
“You will,” Gracie said.
“Yes, I will,” Zona said.
She walked out of the store and into the late-afternoon sunshine. The sun’s rays felt good on her shoulders. Maybe she’d go home, get out of her work clothes, and take a nice, brisk walk on Big Dalton Canyon Trail. It was hot out but not horribly so, and she could use the solitude to... feel sorry for herself.
Stop that. No feeling sorry. You’ll be fine.
“Maybe I need a side hustle. A job waiting tables somewhere. Minimum wage is pretty good these days. Plus, there’s tips.”
“Seriously?”
“Why not? I did it in college.”
“Yeah, when you were young. You’d probably be the oldest one at the restaurant, and you’ll end up with varicose veins.”
Okay, so Zona wasn’t twenty, but she wasn’t that old at forty-two. Forty was the new... what? Twenty? Thirty? “My veins will be fine.”
“What about your pride?”
“I can keep my pride and still work.”
Which, considering her financial state, she would be doing until she was ninety. It was a good thing the women in her family lived a long time. Her grandma had made it to eighty-nine.
