AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I don’t hear from Ian again for another week. When I do, he texts about something completely different. Which means he probably thinks the conversation is over and that he won the argument.
But it doesn’t really matter. Years ago Ian decided he didn’t want to bother with “boring things” like paying his bills, and he made me manager of his estate. He has insane amounts of money budgeted for the management of his house. Which he’ll never notice if I’m paying his chef out of my own pocket.
five
TRINITY
There is having a bad day and then there’s losing-your-practicum, trying-to-maintain-your-dignity-while-walking-out-of-the-building-with-actual-chicken-shit-on-your-pants, running-into-the-hot-guy-you-always-embarrass-yourself-around, and then bursting-into-tears having a bad day.
I know it’s a lot—I know I’m a lot—so let me know if you need me to break that down for you again.
It’s been more than a month since the whole trapped in an elevator together experience and I was starting to assume that I would never see Martin Harris again. After all, why would I?
It’s not like I normally spend my time hanging out in fancy-shmancy lawyers’ offices downtown. And as we previously established, it’s not like he visits his grandmother in the nursing home. Ergo, it seemed logical that, in a city of million people, we simply would never run into one another again.
But apparently I didn’t count on the momentum of my bad day. Because of course I would run into Martin today, when I have chicken shit on my pants, and I’ve just lost the volunteer position that I need to complete my research.
I’m juggling my normal collection of pet carrier and messenger bag, while trying to hold back tears, and waiting for Stacy to remote-open the front door so that I don’t accidentally set off the alarm. You would think, given her (finally successful) campaign to get me booted from Precious Meadows, that she’d be faster.
When I finally hear the latch of the door opening, I barrel through it and run smack into Martin Harris’s chest. I know it’s him before I even look up. Maybe I recognize his familiar rumpled shirt and askew tie. Maybe it’s the scent of his soap, cedar and bergamot. Or maybe it’s just my bad-day spidey sense kicking in.
Because why wouldn’t I run into him now when my life is going to hell?
He recovers from our collision more quickly than I do. His hands go my shoulders to steady me as he steps back to study me.
“Trinity?”
Naturally, I burst into tears.
“Trinity, what’s wrong? Is everything okay?”
“I just—” I choke on a sob, stepping back a step so that he releases me, but bumping into the door behind me. “I didn’t?—”
“Is Margaret okay?”
“Is—” It hits me then, how this must look to him. I pause in the act of wiping my tears off one-handed and meet his gaze. “She’s fine. I promise.”
His shoulders sag infinitesimally with relief, but his gaze intensifies. “But you’re not?”
“I’m fine.” I force an overly cheerful smile. “Tough day is all.” I skirt around him, keeping my expression sunny as I walk backwards a step or two, waving. “Well, good to run into you again. See you later.”
He just watches me walking away, standing with his hands propped on his hips, his expression dark and unreadable. My steps slow. After a minute, he turns back toward the door. Stacy must have been watching the whole awkward encounter from the lobby of Precious Meadows, because as soon as he reaches the door, it clicks open, and he walks right in. Of course, she never makes him wait by the door, balancing fifteen different things.
The cow.
I sigh. That’s uncharitable of me.
It’s not her fault she doesn’t like me. After all, I am a lot.
I turn and shuffle off as I consider what to do.
Precious Meadows, despite its pastoral name, is smack in the middle of central Austin in the medical district. It’s just slightly north and west of the University of Texas campus, along 38th street. The area has a hospital, a ton of doctor’s offices, as well as some shops, restaurants, and bars, all of which are nicer and more expensive than the ones just a few miles away near campus. One of the reasons I volunteer here is because it’s close enough for me to ride my bike if the weather’s good. Or it’s a straight shot on the bus if it’s too hot out for that.
But the bus is where it gets tricky. Technically, service animals are allowed on the bus, but while my chickens are registered therapy animals, they’re not my service animals. Which makes it a gray area.
Actually, it’s not a gray area at all, but it’s a battle certain bus drivers don’t bother to fight. I know a lot of the normal drivers well enough to know who will allow it and who won’t.
I lucked out this afternoon on my way to the memory center because the driver, Clive, has a live-and-let-live policy as long as my birds are quiet. I was planning on hitching a ride home with a neighbor who works at the hospital, but Ruth won’t get off for another three hours.
