Page 268 of Small Town Firsts
I reached around to the hand crank that changed the angle of my desk. I needed a little more height when I was standing. The heavy iron base had been a bitch to get into my studio, but I loved its antique design.
The scarred teak tabletop suited my earthy side. The antique desk had been a rusted heap headed to the landfill when I’d found it. It had taken a lot of TLC and a healthy bit of bribery for a metal worker friend of mine to get it back to working order. Even more bribes had been necessary—one of which required me to do readings at a bachelorette party for free—to get it up to the second floor of my apartment building.
My sanctuary.
I lived in a small studio in a converted Victorian just outside Kensington Square’s business district on the outskirts of Syracuse, which was one more reason I’d said yes to April. I could literally walk to work.
As I drew the bit of reflection on the window beside Sylvia’s sleeping form, one of the blobs sort of looked like the sleek, triangular shape of a cat’s face. Before I knew what I was doing, Istarted enhancing the image and a gray cat came out of my damn fingertips.
I slumped back into my chair with a frown.
The comic was about the random life of Sylvia, the rescued fox, and her owner, Roz. It did not include a cat.
I reached for the eraser, but I couldn’t quite pull the trigger.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I couldn’t stop the grin as I swiped open my phone to read April’s text.
April:
Thanks so much for helping out. Caramel and coconut things are bonus for bribery. Mr. Shaw has a sweet tooth. I know mornings aren’t your forte so you can definitely use that for backup.
I wished I could refute that, but I could not.
I hated and also loved that April knew me so well. Between the podcast and my bookings for tarot readings, I made a good living. Not a great one, but a decent one, thanks to the advertising we’d been able to add to the podcast. Because of that, I didn’t feel the need to do the nine-to-five schlock like the majority of my friends.
Yet another reason I’d said yes to April. Temping for her would give a nice boost to my not-so-cushy savings account.
Me:
Funnily enough, I already went with the bribe for Monday morning.
April:
Is that right? You’re still emailing him?
I tapped my finger along my top lip. Should I mention to April that we’d texted fast and furiously last night?
Nah.
I’d been a little too unprofessional in those texts. And maybe that clip from the podcast hadn’t been the smartest move. Not that PMS was any better, texting me out of the blue on a Friday night two steps away from midnight.
I’d just change the subject for safety’s sake.
Kind of. Oh, and BTW, sending me wine is also a good bribe.
April:
Already ordered and should arrive Monday. Did I say thank you?
Yes. Perhaps the thank you should require more than just wine. This guy is a piece of work. Am I going to murder him by Friday?
I was kidding. Mostly. I’d tried to put PMS out of my head. Yeah, I’d definitely put him in my phone as that. Preston Michael Shaw, Esquire—seriously? Could you get any more pretentious? I couldn’t wait to see what kind of repressed suit I’d be working for. Add in a little too much wine last night while I was editing the podcast I did with my other bestie, Luna…
Yeah, I should lock my phone down when there was alcohol involved. Things never went well.
And I’d probably given him the wrong idea about thirteen times based on my re-read of the text messages today. What had I been thinking?
