Page 24 of Say Yes to the Hot Mess
“Okay,” I say under my breath, glancing from my phone to the six-inch space between the dryer and the wall. The first thing the internet says to do is unplug the dryer, which is easy enough. When I check the next suggestion, however, my whole body slumps, and I sigh. How am I supposed to check the thermostat? I can’t move this thing. I don’t even know where the thermostat is. I don’t have a user’s manual, and although I can see what brand the dryer is, I can’t see any exact model numbers.
Strangely enough, a sense of disappointment washes over me. It’s dumb, maybe, but it would have been satisfying to do this on my own.
My mind flits back to that very bad idea I had last night, and I have to admit…it doesn’t soundquiteas bad today, even if it would still be a pain in the butt.
Although…I guess Dex is kind of funny sometimes, even if I would never admit that to his face. I could handle going on a wedding date with him, right? One date? In exchange for hopefully getting my dryer working? I’ve got to think if he’s going to fix someone’s microwave, he might at least be able tohelpwith a dryer, right?
Plus, it’s not like he has no stake in the whole dryer issue. He said himself he doesn’t want me to use the patio for hanging clothes to dry.
Maybe it’s worth a shot. I’m not too proud to ask.
“Scarlett?” I say when I dial her number and she answers. I take a deep, steadying breath before saying, “I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna try to get on this guy’s good side.”
“Yes!” she cheers. “You’re going to be an awesome neighbor! What made you decide?”
“Um,” I say, suddenly hesitant, because I don’t want her to get the wrong idea. I let my legs dangle over the edge of the dryer, swinging them back and forth. “I’m hoping maybe he’ll help me fix my dryer.”
She’s silent for a second. “Help you fix your…is that like a euphemism or something?”
“What?” I say, snorting. “No. I really just need help with my dryer. Whenever I turn it on it smells like something’s burning. And he told me last night that he needs to find a date for a wedding, right, and so I thought maybe if he could help with my dryer…”
“You would be his date for this wedding or whatever,” she finishes for me. “Okay, got it.” She’s silent for a second, and then she says, “But do you really want to go to a wedding with him? I mean, you said you guys don’t really get along.”
“No,” I admit. “But I was sort of thinking that could be where the good neighbor thing comes in. Plus…” I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess he’s kind of funny. A little bit.”
“Hmm,” she says. “Funny enough to go to a wedding with him? Why don’t you just ask him if he can help with your dryer and skip the whole date bit?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “No way. I’m not going to ask him for a favor.”
“Maya,” she groans. “Check your pride at the door—”
“It’s not a pride thing,” I say. I pull my legs up from where they’re hanging and sit cross-legged instead. “It really isn’t. It’s more—ugh, I don’t know. If he’s doing something for me, I want to be doing something for him. Does that make sense?”
Scarlett sighs. “Yeah, it does. Okay. So how are you going to get on his good side? How are you going to convince him you’re someone he’s willing to take as a date?”
“Andsomeone he’s willing to let live in Sunset Horizons,” I add.
“That too,” she concedes.
“I’m not sure,” I say.
Sitting on the metal dryer is starting to get uncomfortable, so I uncross my legs and hop down. Archer is looking a little grouchy, his squishy lips turned down at the corners, so I leave the laundry room and sit down next to his bouncer instead.
Once I’m seated, I go on, “I could take him dinner? A casserole or something?”
“Nah,” Scarlett says immediately. “You do that when someone dies or has a baby. What about cookies, like I mentioned earlier?”
I swallow; my baking skills are not great. But I can figure it out, I’m sure. “Yeah, I could do that,” I say. “What kind do you think I should take? Are there any cookies that are more neighborly than others?”
“I think all cookies are equally neighborly,” she says, her voice solemn.
“Shut up,” I say, laughing. “All right, I’ll do chocolate chip. Everyone likes chocolate chip cookies, right?”
“They’d have to be heathens not to,” she agrees.
“Okay, I’ll do that.”
“Let me know how it goes!” she says.
