Page 8 of Last Love

“But yeah. I see your point. And movers do fuck up shit all the time.” He comes to an abrupt halt; I assume because his car is the opposite direction of mine. “I can help you out. I can find a friend or two to help me move your shit with care.”

“Seriously?” Relief prepares to plop onto my shoulders for the first time all morning. “You don’t mind?”

“Nah.” He nonchalantly shrugs. “It’s cool. I’ll keep my next couple of weekends flexi to fit it in.” Another sly smirk slips onto his face. “I’ll use the extra cash to buy the future Mrs. McCoy something sparkly.”

There’s no stopping my head from falling to one side in another round of curiosity. “Does she know that you refer to her that way?”

“Oh yeah.”

“And she likes it?”

“Loves it,” he gushes prior to chuckling. “You know depending on the day.”

I lightly laugh, shake my head, and sigh, “Thanks for being willing to help, Merrick.”

“Anytime, boss lady.”

He parts one way on a wink leaving me to go the other with a second victory for the day under my belt.

Sure, my life is currently nothing more than a contorted, overcooked, unproperly sugared pastry, but moments like this prove it doesn’t have to stay that way.

That it won’t.

That if I just keep pushing along, one day at a time, eventually my life will shift.

Eventually, things will cool down.

And eventually the cards will resume falling in my favor.

I just need eventually to hurry the fuck up already.

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