How to Catch a Queen (Runaway Royals #1) - Alyssa Cole Page 0,124

but that’s no surprise.”

He nods. “Not at all. Yolanda loved this neighborhood. Tell her I’m praying for her when you see her.”

“I will.”

Count lunges after a pizza crust left on the sidewalk, suddenly spry, and Mr. Perkins gives chase, bringing the painful conversation to a blessed end.

“Come to the planning meeting on Monday,” he calls out with a wave as he walks on. “I’ve got some papers for you.”

He could just hand them to me, but I think he’s making sure I show up. He knows me well.

I nod and wave. The window of Josie and Terry’s living room slams shut, punctuating our conversation.

I take a sip of my coffee and hear the slapping of two sets of feet against the sidewalk.

“Good morning!” Jenn and Jen say. They’re holding hands as they stride down the street in sync, matching smiles on their faces. Even their flourishing plots in the garden complement each other: Jen’s bursting with flowers and Jenn’s with vegetables.

“Morning! Have a good day, you two,” I say as they march past, sounding like an auntie even though they’re probably only a few years younger than me.

I’m not faking my pleasantness. I want them to know that if their presence bothers me, it’s not because they’re holding hands. It’s because of everything else. I wish I didn’t have to think about everything else, but . . . Miss Wanda is gone. The Hancocks. Mr. Joe.

Sometimes it feels like everything rock-solid about my world is slipping away, like the sand sucked through my fingers when I’d sit in the breaking waves at Coney Island.

I suddenly remember one of our mother-daughter beach days, when I was four or five. Mommy had treated me to Nathan’s, and a seagull swooped down and snatched a crinkle-cut french fry out of my hand right before I bit into it. The biggest fry. I’d saved it for last. The sudden shock of the fry theft, the unfairness of it, had made me start wailing. Mommy shook her head and laughed as she wiped my cheeks with thumbs gritty from sand and smelling of ketchup. “Baby, if you wanna keep what’s yours, you gotta hold on to it better than that. Someone is always waiting to snatch what you got, even these damn birds.”

I’m trying, Mommy. And I hate it.

A shiver runs down my spine despite the heat, and when I look up, I see Bill Bil coming. His name is William Bilford, real estate agent, but I call him Bill Bil because it annoys him and why should I be the only one suffering? I’m alone, my new neighbors are assholes, and this con artist is roaming the neighborhood, trying to bring in more of them.

I grimace in his direction. He’s wearing jeans that are too thick and too tight for the heat index and the amount of walking he’s doing. There are sweat stains around the armpits of his tight gray T-shirt, hinting at the swamp-ass horror show that must be playing below. His face sports carefully contoured stubble and eyes that are red-rimmed from too much booze or coke or both. His light brown hair is carefully styled, though, so he’s not entirely a mess.

“Hey, Ms. Green,” he says with a wink and a grin that probably goes over well in a dive bar in Williamsburg but has no effect on me at all.

“Hey, Bill Bil,” I chirp. His shark’s smile doesn’t falter but the brightness in his eyes dims. I pick up the loosie and lighter I bought from the bodega and make a big production of holding the flame to the tip of the cigarette. The smoke that floods my mouth is disgusting—I can taste the cancer, and hey, maybe that’s what makes it enjoyable—but I’ve been smoking one with my morning coffee every now and again anyway.

“That’s bad for your health,” he says.

I exhale a cloud of smoke toward where he’s standing at the bottom of the stairs. “Nothing has changed from the last ten times you walked by here. We’re still not selling the house. Have a blessed day.”

His shark smile widens. “Come on. I’m just being friendly.”

“You’re just trying to create a false sense of camaraderie because you think it’ll make me trust you. Then you can convince me to sell so you can pocket that sweet, sweet commission.”

“You really think that?” He shakes his head. “I’m out here trying to help. A lot of people don’t even know that they could earn more than they’ve ever had