Page 34 of Singled Out
As soon as I stepped inside, the aroma of sugar and fresh-baked carbs enveloped me. I ordered an apple cinnamon muffin, congratulating myself on the choice that was healthier than a donut. At least this had fruit in it, right?
Olivia London was working the counter. She was a few years older than me, but we ran into each other often and were friendly. I kept our conversation focused on the array of goodies in the display, hoping she wouldn’t notice or ask about my backpack, which screamed walk of shame. By the time I turned toward the door to leave, Chloe Henry was stepping up to the counter to order, so Olivia’s attention was diverted.
As I walked back outside, I realized the rest of the town might already know Ian Finley had showed up, depending on whether he’d made any appearances before arriving at Naomi’s last night. The best way to find out was to check the Tattler app.
On the sidewalk outside of Sugar, I went toward the right side of the square instead of left, even though the left route was more direct to Naomi’s. The left route passed in front of the Dragonfly Diner, where I worked, and the gym, where there were sure to be people on the machines in front of the windows, watching passersby. The right path would have fewer people to run into.
I stuffed the water into my backpack, took a bite of the muffin, and opened the Tattler on my phone. As I walked along the sidewalk, I scanned the topics.
The Rusty Anchor had hosted a surprise appearance of Everly Ash last night, playing some of her new songs to a crowded beer patio.
Kizzy Estes, live-in mother-in-law of Emerson Estes, met up with an “old friend” in Vegas and ended up eloping and moving to Sin City permanently.
Patrick, one of my coworkers at the diner, had announced his engagement to Sebastian Dumas.
Dr. Holloway’s llama had gotten loose again and made her way downtown.
Elsa Karasinski had moved to an assisted living facility in Memphis and was closing Grandma’s Attic.
Poor Ms. Karasinski, but she’d turned eighty-one years old last spring. No one was sure how she’d been handling her store of knickknacks from the last century, either financially or physically.
There were no mentions of Naomi’s brother. He wasn’t known in town, as he wasn’t from here, but if he’d stopped by any businesses and mentioned his name, word would’ve gotten around because of his connection to Naomi. Everyone, not just the artists who used the studio, was curious about what would happen with their property.
I turned left at the corner, and my gaze went to the Grandma’s Attic storefront. The windows were already papered over with Store Closed scrawled in large letters on each side of the door. I frowned, thinking of the dear lady and wondering how she must be handling this giant change in her life.
When I was almost past the store, I spotted a much smaller For Rent sign with real estate agent Darius Weber’s photo, posted in the lower corner of the window.
I glanced at it as I walked by, then halted abruptly when I noticed the second-story apartment above the store was also available. Of course it was. Ms. Karasinski had lived up there for years, and now she was moving to assisted living.
With my hands shaking, I entered Darius’s number into my contact list and walked on, past city hall, past the rest of the businesses on this block, until I hit the paved path that led to the residential neighborhood northeast of downtown and eventually to the road to Naomi’s.
I kept my phone unlocked, with Darius’s info up on the screen, my thumb hovering over the call button as I walked. On the one hand, it was as if the universe had set up this opportunity for me, just when I needed it. On the other, I knew Ms. Karasinski’s apartment would demand a commitment of a year.
What if my plans changed before that year was up? What if I couldn’t handle the rent for a full year?
With a self-derisive laugh, I said, “You don’t have plans, so they can’t change. And you don’t even know how much the rent is.”
I pushed it out of my mind as best I could and dropped my phone into my bag. Savoring my muffin, I kept walking at a quick pace toward the edge of town.
Once I’d made it to the county road to Naomi’s, I chugged some water to wash down my breakfast, the thoughts starting to crowd in.
Should I call the real estate agent? It wasn’t even seven o’clock yet. That was too early, wasn’t it? Maybe not if you were in real estate and always hungry for the next deal?
Should I talk to Dakota first? I knew it was too early to reach her, but I could leave a message for when she got up. She’d already given her blessing on searching for places, so until I knew more about Ms. Karasinski’s apartment, I didn’t need to talk to her. The rent might be too high for us anyway.
Instead of taking action on any of it, I dug my phone out and pushed play on my running playlist, regretting that I hadn’t brought my earbuds. I started running again, along the left side of the county road, the tunes half-audible as my phone bounced around in my backpack. It was enough to keep my mind from wandering too much to looming decisions and scary thoughts.
A couple hours later, I reached Naomi’s driveway. I had a side stitch from the muffin, and my legs were extra Jell-O-y thanks to a night of little sleep, but I’d made it. Unfortunately the same car as last night remained in the driveway.
I hadn’t figured out what to do about Ian and how not to get shot or assaulted if he was the violent type, so I pulled out my phone, paused the music, and brought up Darius Weber’s contact info again.
With another glance down the half-mile driveway toward that car, I hit Send to call the real estate agent, planning to leave a message since it was still early.
“Darius Weber. How can I help you?”
My brows shot up, and I stopped my pacing. “Um, hi, Darius. This is Harper Ellison. I was calling about Ms. Karasinski’s apartment.” I swallowed, my mouth sandpaper dry. “Is it still available?”
Five minutes later, I ended the call and bit my lip, wondering what the heck I’d just gotten myself into.