Page 5 of Say Yes to the Hot Mess
I can’t stop my smile as I say, “Carter, that’s awesome! Congratulations!”
“Don’t congratulate me yet,” he says with a little laugh. “She might not say yes.”
I roll my eyes, because that’s honestly one of the dumbest things I’ve ever heard him say. “Of course she will,” I say. “Besides, you guys have been dating for…” I trail off, thinking, but Carter beats me to it.
“Eight months. And yeah,” he concedes. “She’ll say yes. I was mainly joking. We’ve talked about it; it’s what we both want, and we’re ready. We originally thought we’d want to date for longer, but…” He shakes his head. “She’s it. There’s not ever going to be anyone else for me, and she feels the same way. We don’t see any reason to wait. So I’m going for it.”
I smile again, hoping he misses the loneliness I’m desperately trying to stave off and the envy I feel ashamed of. “I’m really happy for you, Carter,” I say. And it’s the absolute truth.
“Thanks,” he says, grinning. “Well, I’d better go. I’ll talk to you later?”
I nod. “Yeah, definitely. And I’ll send you guys some pictures of Archer.” Because goodness knows I take too many. He’ll be lying there asleep and somehow I feel the need to take a million pictures anyway, all of them exactly alike.
I don’t pretend to understand my brain sometimes.
Sadly, Idounderstand the growing emptiness in the pit of my stomach as I hang up with Carter. That sinking, gnawing feeling that has me curling up a little tighter and fighting the urge to go wake Archer so I can cuddle him.
Loneliness is as powerfully painful as heartbreak, in my experience. It’s an aching emptiness, a space in my chest that sucks in every other emotion and turns it to ash.
It’s selfish, I know. I have a few friends. And I have no right to be lonely when I have Archer; he’s all I need, and men have never done me any favors, anyway. For better or for worse, he and I are on our own.
So I sneak back upstairs and into his bedroom, sitting on the plush rocking chair and letting my head fall back against the cushions.
I smile as I fall asleep to the soundtrack of his breathing.
Two
Dex
I don’t know muchabout the man who had this job before me, but I do know he was bad at it.
Really, really bad.
“What is this?” I say in disbelief, looking over the tenant profile in front of me. I turn to Josephine, the office secretary, who realistically should have retired years ago. She’s ancient—one of the oldest people I’ve ever met, with fluffy, snow-white hair and wrinkles for days. However, it’s just her and me in this section of the office, so I’ll have to make do. “What is this?” I repeat, pointing at the computer screen. “Do you know anything about the tenant in unit thirty-one?”
The unit number sparks a flare of recognition in me, but I turn my attention to Josephine instead of double checking my suspicion.
“Let me see,” Josephine says, leaning closer to my office computer. Her perfume hits me with all the subtlety of a runaway train, and I force myself not to breathe. It will hands down give me a headache in approximately two-point-eight seconds.
“Is that correct?” I finally say, pointing to the information section of the tenant profile. “She’s twenty-one”—I glance at her birth date before correcting myself—“twenty-two?”
“Well,” Josephine says, squinting and pushing her glasses further up her nose, “it appears so, yes.”
I exhale loudly and remove my own glasses, rubbing my temples—that headache is starting to form. “How did this happen, Josephine? We’re a retirement community. There’s an age requirement. This woman can’t live here.”
Josephine gives me a look through her mascara-heavy lids. “You’re hardly much older, mister. And anyway, you’ve got bigger fish to fry.”
I am this woman’s boss as of yesterday, but you’d never know it. She’s been nothing but sassy the entire time I’ve been here. “I’m twenty-six, and I’m the complex manager,” I say, sliding my glasses back on. “Ihaveto live here. I need to be on site.” I hope I don’t sound patronizing, but if I don’t force myself to speak patiently, I’m going to end up snapping.
Frankly, snapping would probably feel great. It always does in the moment, venting that frustration, but I always regret it later. So instead I breathe deeply, contemplating the mess my predecessor made—the mess I have to clean up.
At least now I understand why he was let go. If he’s ignoring tenant requirements, I can only imagine what else he was getting up to. This is only my second day on the job, so I’m sure I’ll uncover more hidden messes here and there as time goes on—like a cat owner finding secret stashes of trinkets all over the house.
My mind halts as the rest of Josephine’s words register, though, and I frown, looking at her. “Wait, what do you mean, I have bigger fish to fry? What fish?”
Josephine’s eyes gleam, and I get the sense—not for the first time—that she’s enjoying watching me flounder as I try to figure everything out.
“All the other things we’ve got going on here,” she says, looking expectant. When I shake my head blankly, she says, “Did you read Mr. Mackey’s parting report or not?”
