Page 7 of Hurry Up And Wait
“Isles…I’m gonna kill you for this.”
“Kill me after we get this to the moving truck.”
“Pod,” she clarified. “Because why would we hire someone to move everything for us,” she groaned as she bent over and lifted the armoire.
“Why…pay for others to…” But I never finished the thought as the gigantic wooden box tilted forward. My eyes widened as I watched in slow motion as we both lost our grip. “Riley!”
“Uh…”
We both screamed as we lost our grip and it went tumbling down the stairs, hitting the wall on the way down until it came to a crashing halt at the bottom of the stairs. Pieces of it splintered off, laying in a heap as it blocked the stairs.
I winced, looking over at Riley as I massaged my hand. “I think I sprained my wrist.”
She snorted out a laugh, and then we both burst into a fit of giggles that couldn’t be contained. “At least it happened here and not once we got to the land of cotton.”
“Grain. I doubt they grow cotton that far north.”
“Either way,” she chuckled. “Well, now it’s his problem.”
“Do you think we should patch the wall?” I asked, gesturing to the rather large hole that wasn’t there moments ago.
“I think this is exactly what he deserves. So, when are we leaving?”
I grinned at her, knowing I had her. “Today too soon?”
“This is it?”she asked, looking up at the house I’d rented.
“What’s wrong with it?” I asked. I shifted into park and looked out the window at the cute house that sat in a quiet neighborhood. It was two stories tall and a little on the old side.
“It’s ancient!”
“It’s vintage,” I corrected.
“Isles, it’s gotta be at least a hundred years old.”
“A hundred and ten, actually. Which makes it perfect for us. We’ll get to enjoy all that charm of the old world.”
She glared at me. “The old world refers to like…Italy or Greece. Are we in Italy or Greece?” Before I could answer, she did it for me. “No, we’re in Kansas. Kansas, Isles!”
I winced at the screech that left her mouth. “Okay, geez, there’s no need to yell.”
“You dragged me halfway across the country for a boy!”
“A man,” I corrected, “and why do you care? You used to love Kavanaugh.”
“Did not.”
“Did so. You used to lift your dress so he could see your underwear!”
She shoved me into the door, gasping in horror. “I was five!”
“Seven,” I corrected. “And I’m pretty sure that lasted for several years.”
“Isles, we haven’t seen or heard from him in years. Why would you do this?”
“Because I wanted to see an old friend.”
“Then you call him on the phone. You don’t move across the country when he doesn’t know we’ll be coming!”