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KAYLA
Idropped my backpack by the door, kicked off my shoes, and headed down the hall to my bedroom. It was past time to get out of my teacher clothes and into something comfier. Leggings and the sweatshirt I borrowed from Austin at the Homecoming football game sounded like just the ticket.
My cats were curled in their beds. Both looked up when I came into the room, but neither moved.
“Hi, Ada. Hi, Charles.”
I detoured to their beds, squatted, and gave each of them a thorough rub. “Did you miss me at all?”
They responded with purrs and contented meows.
I straightened and headed to the closet. My apartment was of the budget variety, so it didn’t run to walk-in closets oren suitebathrooms, but it met my needs. I hung my slacks on a hanger and sniffed my blouse. Wrinkling my nose, I tossed it into the hamper and made a mental note that laundry day needed to be sooner rather than later.
I snagged the sweatshirt off the top of a stack in the egg-crate tower that was my makeshift storage for thicker clothes that didn’t fit in my secondhand dresser drawers. I tugged on the shirt and some leggings, and frowned at the cats. “You two are lazy today. Come on, let’s get dinner. I have grading to do. Big surprise there, right, guys? But maybe there’s something good on TV to keep us company.”
I was a sucker for reality competitions. There was something so fun about watching people work hard to showcase their talents and abilities and maybe end up with a chance to live out their dream.
I understood how amazing it was to live a dream.
I was blessed that my dream was pretty simple. Teach computer science. Have good friends. The only thing missing was a husband and family, but I wasn’t giving up on that. God had gotten me this far, I fully believed He was going to get me the rest of the way there.
Hopefully with Austin.
I sighed and reached for a can of cat food. “How about we live it up, guys? I’ll splurge on the good stuff for you two and maybe go crazy and order myself a pizza.”
Popping the top on the food elicited more excitement than coming home had. I wasn’t going to take it personally. They were still sulking because I’d left them for the Caymans thing. It didn’t matter that I knew Mrs. Peabody from down the hall had spoiled them rotten while I was gone. I’d still left and would have to be punished.
It was like a cat law or something.
I scooped a little dry food into each dish, then split the wet food between them and set the bowls down in their spots. “Enjoy, guys. I think I am ordering that pizza.”
My budget would whine. I was trying so hard to stick to the plan that Austin had helped me lay out. If I was careful and strict with my spending, I could save up and, in another year—two at the outside—have enough scraped together for a down payment on a little house. Nothing new and shiny, but I didn’t care about that. The little bungalows from the 1950s were adorable.
“One pizza isn’t going to change anything,” I muttered to myself as I opened the app for my favorite delivery place. “I can always not go out on Saturday night with everyone. That’ll offset pizza tonight. Then the budget survives and everyone’s happy. Right?”
I hovered my finger over the picture of my usual—a small, loaded deep dish. Ugh. I could cook. But now I wanted pizza. I added the pie to my order and checked out before I could change my mind again.
The cats had finished their food, so I picked up their bowls and set them in the sink. “The pizza won’t be here for an hour. Might as well get started on the grading, don’t you think?”
Ada meowed loudly. Charles was quieter. But since everyone seemed to be in agreement, I went and grabbed my backpack and set up my work area on the couch.
My phone rang. I frowned at the number. I didn’t get a lot of spam calls, thankfully, but I also didn’t get people I didn’t know calling me. Should I just let it go to voicemail? What if it was about the pizza?
I answered. “Hello?”
“Hi.” The man on the other end cleared his throat. “Um. Is this Kayla Jones?”
“That’s me.” I didn’t hear any restaurant noise in the background, so probably not about the pizza. But I also didn’t hear the call center murmur. So I’d give him a minute and see what happened.
“Oh, good. Hi. This is Luke Donnelly. From church?”
My eyebrows lifted. Why was the youth pastor calling me? “Hi, Luke. What can I do for you?”
He cleared his throat again. “I happened to see you looking at the display board for the spring break trip to Mexico. I was wondering if you were actually interested or just seeing what was what?”
“I’m not really the demographic.” I couldn’t help teasing. He sounded so adorably flustered.
“Ha. Right. Um. We need chaperones. I sort of figured that might be why you were looking? Like you might want to work with the youth? Help out?”
