Page 11 of The Woman on the Jury

It didn’t escape me that she was standing far enough away from the counter and the row to her side that she didn’t accidentally brush either of them.

“I love Pop-Pop, but I don’t think he even knows what a duster is. Let alone a vacuum or mop,” I admitted.

“Well, he did lose your grandma so young,” Lauren said.

That was true. Childhood sweethearts, they’d been each other’s everything. Until my gram died unexpectedly when my mom was just seven.

I remember her telling stories about literally growing up in the antique store and surviving off of bologna sandwiches. Which was still what my grandfather insisted on eating every single day.

I was trying to be frugal, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to bethatfrugal.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “I should have put in an effort on this place sooner.”

“Hey, you were allowed to live your life too,” Lauren said. And, coming from her, that meant a lot. Because I knew how hard it had been for her to walk away from her family’s farm when they’d been counting on her to pitch in once she finished high school. But Lauren had big city dreams. And she’d needed to be strong enough to follow them.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “But think of how many days I sat around the dorm, doing nothing. I could have been here. Fixing this…” I added, waving around.

Objectively, any outsider would tell me I was crazy to commit so much work to this. The logical thing was to keep it afloat until my grandfather passed, then just sell it. The antique store had an almost obscene amount of square footage for a shop in the city. And my grandfatherownedit. As well as the three floors of apartments over it.

It would sell for millions.

I would be set.

If not forlife—this was the city, after all, and millions disappeared faster here than most places—then at least it would make it so I would never struggle while I found a job that I loved.

Though after years and years of college, and still no closer to finding what my true passion was, I was all but ready to give up on the idea of a job that I loved.

“Hey, you’re here now. That’s what counts. Where’s that brother of yours?” she added, annoyed with Henry on principle. Everything about his mooching lifestyle rubbed her, a representation of the whole ‘boss babe’ lifestyle, regardless of how out of vogue it was to use that phrase anymore, the wrong way.

“Skiing and snowboarding,” I said, sighing as I leaned against the desk.

My gaze slid to her hand wrapped around her coffee cup, her perfectly manicured nails making me look toward my own hand, finding my nails short, jagged, and dirty underneath.

“How much did that manicure cost?” I asked, wondering if I could squeeze one in, maybe if I cut back on eating out for a week.

“Two-fifty,” she said with a little wince, knowing how expensive that was to, well, anyone. But she earned her money. She deserved to spend it however she saw fit.

“And if I didn’t get the designs?” I asked.

“Next time I go, I’m bringing you. We’ll get your toes done too. And, ah, when’s the last time you got waxed?” she asked with a knowing little smirk.

“It hasn’t been… oh God,” I said, eyes going round, realizing it had, in fact, been that long.

“A full spa day then,” Lauren decided. “Nails, toes, de-furrifying, and a facial. ‘Cause, yeah, your poor skin…” she said, shaking her head. “How old is that eye makeup?” she asked.

“Two days. I think,” I added. “I lost a lot of time on that stupid trial!” I reminded her. “I’m playing catch up now.”

“I don’t think spending a few weeks staring at that delicious piece of man meat was a waste,” Lauren said with a sly turn to her lips before taking another sip of her coffee.

She had, in no way, let me forget for even a moment just how attractive Cosimo Costa was.

“He’s a mafia capo,” I reminded her.

“And, somehow, that’s even hotter.”

“How is that hotter?” I asked, rolling my eyes.

“Hey, that kind of man has to have a good work ethic, and wouldn’t be on my ass about how much I work.”

---