I whirled, threw open the door and stomped down the hall.
Then I was twirled around, a hand at my elbow and I jerked my arm out of Luke’s grasp. He was, for some reason, now grinning, face relaxed, one corner of his lips tipped up.
“Wrong way,” he said and he looked about ready to laugh.
Great.
I was a total dork, making my grand exit and going the wrong way.
I threw him a look that should have made him spontaneously combust (of course, it did not) and stomped the other way, Luke beside me the whole time. His vibe had morphed from pissed off to amused and I didn’t like it one bit.
He opened the door to the reception area for me and I hightailed it across the room, focused on the outer door and escape and not looking at anyone.
“Later,” I said to the room at large because I didn’t want to appear rude.
For some reason, this was met with Shirleen saying, “I’ll put money down that she’s livin’ with him in four days.”
My confused gaze swung to Shirleen but she was looking at the movie star glamour girl who was looking at me.
“Three days,” Glamour girl said, smiling at me and I thought, in other circumstances, I would have liked to meet her.
“A week, she’s got spirit,” the other black lady said. She was smiling at me too, not like I was the butt of some joke, but in a kind way.
I shook my head, I needed to focus, leave these nutsos behind and go, go, go.
I opened the outer door.
Before it closed behind me, I heard Luke say strangely, “Tonight.”
Then everyone laughed.
Chapter Two
A Little Bit of Trouble
I was standing in my dinky little kitchen, taking my post-Luke episode attitude out on an innocent cucumber.
That didn’t go very well, Good Ava said on a sigh, resting the side of her head in her hand and her elbow on her thigh.
I thought it went great! Bad Ava yelled enthusiastically, jumping up and down.
I tried to ignore them both and pounded the big cleaver into the cucumber, chopping it in a cucumber-decimating frenzy, trying to get the confrontation with Luke and everyone in his office out of my head.
* * * * *
I lived in a row house in the Highlands area of Denver. I called it The Best Little Row House in Denver.
See? I’m a dork.
It had a living room with two big, arched windows at the front separated by double doors that rolled into the walls and led to dining room also with two big windows, these facing the back, a small kitchen off the dining room and a screened-in porch out the backdoor of the kitchen. All hardwood floors, except in the minuscule kitchen, which I’d tiled in slate with the counter tops tiled in shiny black. I put in white cupboards, all the hanging ones glass-fronted and displaying my huge collection of Fiestaware. There were two bedrooms and a massive bathroom with a claw-footed tub upstairs. I had a big, old basement its door leading off the kitchen which had two rooms and an old coal room. It was more of a pit than a basement, un-renovated and long-since unused, wallpaper peeling and exposed light bulbs. I only went down there to do my laundry because it creeped me out.
My row house was historically registered and had three fireplaces (dining room, living room and bedroom) and a sweet, little shady backyard with big trees kitty-corner at the ends.
It wasn’t in the best neighborhood, but who cared? It had character, grace, history, a low mortgage, a garage out back where my Range Rover could be safe and I dug it.
I’d lived in Denver my whole life and was never going to move away. Denver was home. It had everything you needed, the big city choice of culture, food, shopping and entertainment all with a small town feel.
My family felt differently.