Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 139147 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 139147 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
“She’s home. It’s fine.”
“Rachel—”
“Okay, Cap. I’ll sleep on it,” I gave in.
“Good,” he murmured.
“Can we talk about songs again?” I asked.
“Give me your favorite.”
“What? By genre?”
“Of all time.”
“Are you crazy?” I demanded. “I’d have to go into a deep meditative state. That is, after spending three straight days creating a playlist that might last three straight weeks that I’d have to fully listen to in that meditative state so I can decide. And I’d probably have to listen to that playlist twice. And take notes. Which will take me out of my meditative state. Which would mean I’d have to start from the beginning. To wit, that’s impossible.”
He’d started chuckling halfway through my diatribe.
“Okay, then, movie,” he suggested.
“Favorite?”
“Yeah.”
“By genre?”
He burst out laughing.
I smiled, listening to the deep timbre of it, which, frankly, was beautiful.
In fact, it might be the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard.
When he was done, he asked, “How about top fives?”
“By genre?”
He started laughing again.
I smiled again.
When he quit, I asked, “How about you?”
“‘Baba O’Reilly,’ The Who,” he stated instantaneously. “And four-way tie between Fargo, Shawshank, Memento and Babe.”
My heart thumped.
“Babe?”
“Don’t dis. That movie’s the shit.”
“It totally is,” I agreed.
Cleo, now in full Labrador mode, rounded me and curled into my front. I curved around her.
And Cap and I talked music, movies, TV, books, fave foods, and this segued into me learning he’d only lived in Phoenix for a little over six months, and since he was a foodie and liked to cook (a man who liked cooking! heaven!), I told him my top spots for good eats and made sure he knew about AJ’s Fine Foods grocery store (he did).
I was drooping and trying not to when he said quietly, “Gonna let you go before you fall asleep.”
I didn’t want him to.
But I had to work the next day, and at a glance over my shoulder, I saw it was nearing midnight, so considering he probably had to be sharp for what he did, I had to let him go too.
“Okay.”
“Call me tomorrow with a definitive about…”
He let that hang.
Being protective again.
Right, so he was a good guy.
He came on strong.
But he was a good guy.
“I will.”
“Later, Rachel.”
“You can call me Raye,” I told him.
“Okay, baby,” he whispered, then, “Later, Raye.”
“Later, Cap.”
“’Night.”
“Goodnight.”
He disconnected.
I threw my phone on the bed and wound my arm around Cleo.
Her tail wagged twice.
“I think he’s a good guy,” I told her.
Her tail wagged again, this time more than twice.
“Yeah. That was exactly what I was thinking,” I said.
And after that, once I programmed Cap into my phone, Cleo and I righted ourselves in bed and went to sleep.
SIX
WHOA DOGGIES
I woke with Cleo shoved up against me and Cap on my mind.
This meant I woke with a smile.
I did my morning thing wondering if Cap silenced his notifications when he was sleeping so a text wouldn’t bother him.
I decided he wasn’t a centenarian who didn’t know how to work his phone, so if he didn’t want to be bothered, he’d see to that.
So before I left my apartment, I tapped in,
Good morning!
FYI, I’ve decided it’s a definite yes for EF. If you could let me know how to sort that, it’d be great
I liked talking to you last night. I’m glad you called.
Have a fab day and see you tonight.
I tacked an emoji face with hearts around it at the end and hit go.
I then leashed up Cleo, grabbed my bag, shoved my black-rimmed, cat eye Prada sunglasses on my nose (another online reseller score) and headed down to my car.
On my way along the landing, I saw Patsy wearing her work blouse and skirt, though she had Crocs on her feet, because she was out watering the planters.
“Yo!” I called a greeting to her.
“Heya, Raye,” she called back, hoofing it from the pool area to the entry (where she’d also placed a couple big vibrant planters—see? total welcome home).
Uncertain which personality she was going with for the morning, Cleo sniffed Patsy when she got to me.
“Did you see the notice on the notice board?” she asked.
I turned to the glass-fronted bulletin board Bill and Zach had mounted above the mailboxes. They also maintained it.
It had business cards for housekeepers and dry cleaners, and a rotating array of takeout menus of new restaurants and announcements of local concerts and events.
What it did not have was info on pet sitters, since I looked after everyone’s pets in the complex if they went out of town, and I did it for free (though, everyone paid me with gift cards and such).
On it was a bright-pink sheet of paper that shared Dreamweaver Inc. had purchased the complex.
I got closer to the bulletin board, mumbling, “Oh snap.”
“I know, right?” Patsy said. “It’s a done deal. John Campos is out, and this corporation is in.”
John Campos was our, apparently former, landlord.