by Ella Goode
“I have her phone number.”
“How do you have her phone number?”
“It was out there in the universe, Gran.”
“I feel like you did something wrong.”
I give her a wink. “Not yet, but I hope to soon.”
Chapter Four
Birde
I blow a piece of hair out of my face as I stare down at the books. My hand is starting to cramp. I really have to talk Higgins into letting go of this old style of accounting. It is way more work than needed. A hair tie falls onto the book. My pencil stops moving across it.
“I’ve been looking for that.” I snatch up my hair tie, trying to pull up my wild mass of curls. I never know what I’m going to get with my hair. Sometimes it starts off great but as the day goes on it can get out of control depending on the weather. You can go from freezing cold in the morning to sweating by noon. The Midwest weather can be killer on us curly-haired girls. “It’s my last one.”
“You always say that.” Higgins chuckles as he sits down in the chair next to the office desk. “You left it with this.” He slides my cell phone across the desk to me.
“Thanks.” I ignore it. I always forget about my phone. I stay away from social media and only use the thing to randomly Google things or check my emails. Other than that it isn’t needed. Now my laptop is another story. That is my lifeline to school and my reality TV addiction. I can’t make it long without those. They are necessities.
“How’s it going?” he asks, taking a sip of his coffee.
“My hand hurts,” I tease. Who writes this much? I end up having to plug it into the computer anyways but if this is how he wants it done then this is how I’ll do it. I go back to working because I’m almost done. Well, with the handwritten part anyway. Mr. Higgins’ computer is older than mine and slower than he is.
“I give.”
My head snaps up. “Give what?” I don’t want to get too excited, too fast. If he’s talking about what I think he is. Please say he is.
“You’ve been doing the books for months and everything has been perfect. Taxes went off without a hitch and aren't you about to graduate from your accounting program?”
I nod my head with way too much excitement. I am super close. In fact, I am pretty much done. Everything is done online and I had a set of projects to complete and turn in by the end of the year. I’ve turned everything in already but they don’t give final credit until the semester end date. Really, I am just waiting at this point. “Then have at it. I trust you.”
I stand, going over and leaning down to give Mr. Higgins a hug. I don’t know what I would have done without this man for the last year. He pretty much saved me when I was at a low point with nowhere to go. My mom took off with her boyfriend, leaving me with a place that I couldn't afford. I knew that no one was going to hire an accountant without a degree yet. The only person that gave me a chance was Mr. Higgins and I’ll forever be grateful for his generosity.
“You know you’re way too excited about this,” he teases me. I probably am. “You have got to get some friends your own age.”
My lack of friends has a lot to do with my no social media and living in a smaller town. I did all the social media stuff when I was in high school. It’s how I learned that my mom did webcam shows. That’s also how everyone else in my school found out. I was harassed daily. It was the worst from the boys. They would try and DM me and ask me to do some of the things they claimed my mom did. I didn’t know what she did on her cam shows and I wasn't going to go look to find out. I never told her about it. I’m sure she knows that I knew, but what would have been the point? It was probably for the best that she got out of here. I might have done the same if Mr. Higgins hadn’t given me a job. I was lucky that he took a chance on me.
“You don’t like hanging out with me?” I drop back down into my chair. “Fine, we don’t have to go to Robin tonight and have burgers.”
“Let’s not take this out of context.” He holds his hands up in defeat. He is right though. I should have friends my own age. Our town is small but we live somewhat close to a big city. Most everyone knows each other but it isn’t weird to see new people around. My mind flashes to the stranger from yesterday. The one who stole my tampons. Who does that?
“Maybe I should date.”
He shakes his head no. “I told you. Men are only after one thing,” he reminds me for the millionth time.
“You’re a man,” I counter. I have no plans on dating, but if he is going to poke me, I can do a little poking of my own.
“You see me trying to date? I leave the ladies alone.” He folds his arms over his chest. Mr. Higgins has never been married and I’ve never seen him flirt with anyone, for that matter. I think he’s a monk.
My phone buzzes across the table, snagging my attention. I peek at it, not recognizing the number. I hit clear, guessing it’s someone trying to sell me something or make me take a survey.
“It keeps doing that.” Mr. Higgins nods at my phone that he bought me. I snatch it up to see that I have a few missed calls from the same number. Maybe my mom is trying to get ahold of me? She is known to change her number often.
I debate calling the number back. The phone buzzes again. This time it’s a text. I hit it. A picture of my tampons shows up. Not just the box but it’s him holding it, sitting next to an old woman. Is this the grandma he was talking about that drinks Red Bull?
“Who’s she?” Mr. Higgins asks, taking the phone out of my hand, a little too curious.
“The grandmother to a tampon thief,” I reply dryly.
“I don’t understand half of what you just said,” Higgins says, still staring at the picture. Yeah, well, I don’t understand how the tampon bandit got my phone number. Now I really do get to call him creeptastic. I don’t know why that makes me smile, but it does. Higgins finally hands me my phone back.
“You should invite them for burgers with us,” he says.
I fire off a text calling him creeptastic. “What?” I look up at Mr. Higgins.
“Invite them for burgers,” he says again. That’s what I thought he said. I’m just a little shocked that he wants me to invite people to eat with us. Especially because there’s a man involved. The very thing he’s always warning me about.
“I can’t now. I just called him creeptastic.” I show him my phone.
“You really have been hanging out with me too much.”
I nod in agreement as my phone buzzes again in my hand. My heart does a little flutter at his response.
Chapter Five
Nick
Are you calling my gran creepy?
I hold up my phone and show Gran the girl’s response. “She said you were creeptastic.”
“What in the blue hell is creep-tastic and I’m pretty sure she’s talking about you, child, not me. I ain’t the one running around stealing a girl’s necessities.”
“It was an accident and now I’m returning them. See what a good boy you’ve raised.” I pat my chest before reading the reply on my phone.
You, you’re the creepy one. Not your gran. She’s adorable.
“She thinks you’re adorable.”
Gran turns her nose up. “She probably wants your money.”
“She doesn’t even know who I am.” Which is half the joy of being here in this small town. For once, I’m not Nick Hall of Hall International, one of the biggest construction companies in the world, heir to a billion dollar fortune. I’m just some schmuck who buys Red Bull and raspberries and tampons for his gran.
“Still…” Gran reaches for the phone. “She says I’m adorable, huh? I guess she can’t be all bad.”
Gran thinks any woman that sniffs in my direction wants access to my bank account. I’ve had a few negative experiences which turned me off of dating, but that’s good because I met the one and that’s all that matters.
Gran says I can’t continue talking to you unless you tell me your name.
I don’t even think that�
�s your grandmother. You probably rented her for the sole purpose of making me feel safe. I’m not telling a potential serial killer my name. You already have my number.
I put the phone down. “Gran, do I look like a serial killer?”
She studies me--she actually takes the time to run her eyes over my face, move her mouth from side to side in an indecisive manner, and then squint as if she spotted some evidence on my upper left cheek. I make up my mind with quickness. “You’re going to have to vouch for me now.” I press the dial button and hand my grandmother the phone.
She takes it, but not before she clucks her tongue in a dramatic fashion. I give her a cheeky grin which she can’t help but return. Then her face grows serious and she straightens, plastering a stern expression across her face. “Now listen here, Miss, my grandson is no serial killer. He’s charming, lovely and has a--”
I snatch the phone back because Gran’s a salty old broad and I don’t know what she was going to say, but I wasn’t going to risk it. “There you have it. From my gran’s mouth. You’re going to have to come over to our house for dinner to make it up to her.”
“Make it up to her? What are you even talking about? I didn’t even say a word other than ‘Hello,’” the cutie yelps in my ear.
“You called her grandson a serial killer and there aren’t much worse insults. We have dinner at five. Gran likes to watch Wheel of Fortune and that starts at six so don’t be late. We’re having”--I pull the phone away from my ear--”what are you feeling like tonight?”
Gran’s grin is so wide I’m a little concerned. “Let’s make it easy. Stuffed ricotta shells with alfredo and pecorino sauce.” She pushes to her feet.
“Ah, text me any health concerns but we’re having cheese and shells tonight. See you later.” I hang up before she can refuse. One thing I’ve learned in my short life is that you just don’t allow people to say no. If they don’t say it, ultimately, they’ll feel compelled to do it.
I toss the phone onto the coffee table and grab Gran’s arm, steadying her as we make our way across the living room and into the kitchen. “Sit down and tell me what to do.”
“You’ve never made this before,” she protests, trying to get up and join me.
I wave my hand at her. “I never bought groceries before, either, yet look at how well I did.”
“You stole some girl’s tampons,” Gran points out.
“There’s nothing wrong with coming home with too many things. It’s only a problem when you forget things and I didn’t forget one item.” I open the cupboard and pull out a box of large pasta shells. “And, bonus, Gran, I can read.” I shake the box next to my ear. “These say shells. I know what cheese looks like.”
“And pecorino?”
“I have the internet, Gran. There are recipes on the internet.”
She crosses her arms. “Not like mine. Do you want this girl to like you or do you want her to think of you as a serial killer?”
“Which one gets her into my bed faster?”
Gran snatches her slipper and throws it at me. “Nicholas Merritt Hall! You watch your mouth.”
Shoulders shaking from my silent laughter, I pick up her slipper and return it to her. “Yes, ma’am,” I say.
She sighs and sticks her toes into the footwear. “If I wasn’t so old, I’d get up and beat you with this but I guess I’ll just sit here and enjoy ordering you around. But pay attention! We can’t run this girl off since you think she’s the one.”
“She’s the one,” I reply. “That’s how it happens for the Hall men.” I take two pans out of the drawer and start to fill one up with water.
“Your uncle is a Hall.”
My fingers tighten around the pot. “He isn’t a man. He’s a monster.”
There’s a short silence and then Gran clears her throat. “You’re right, child. I’m sorry I said that.”
I force my fingers to unclench. “It’s no big deal.” I turn off the faucet and go give Gran a peck on the cheek so she doesn’t worry herself into being sick. “We were just joking around.”
“Jokes shouldn’t go that far,” Gran replies. I smooth a hand over her shoulder. It’s small and feels frail. I guess I don’t really care what the jokes are as long as she’s with me to make them.
“You’ve done nothing wrong.” I squeeze her shoulder gently. “Now tell me how to make this special recipe of yours for my future wife. They say the way to a woman’s heart is through her stomach.”
“I don’t think that’s the saying, boy.”
“Pretty sure it is. What kind of cheese did Nurse Ratchet buy?” I stick my head in the refrigerator.
“It’s ‘the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.’”
“Well, that’s dumb because I’m not marrying a man, am I?” I grab the four blocks of cheese and back out of the fridge. “Which one of these?”
Gran’s back to smiling. “You’re incorrigible, you know that, right? What’s this girl gonna do with you?”
I stick my tongue in the side of my cheek so the first words that pop into my head--everything, I hope--stay in my head. I don’t need another slipper thrown at me. “There’s no cheese called incorrigible but there is one that says pecorino so mystery solved.” I toss everything on the counter, rub my hands together, and say, “Let’s get cooking.”
Chapter Six
Birdie
“She sounds feisty. I like her,” Mr. Higgins says with a smirk. I stare at my phone. Did he hang up on me? “You better get a move on it if you don’t want to be late.”
“I’m not going.” I look at Mr. Higgins like he’s lost his damn mind. I can’t believe he said that. Why would I go over there? That’s crazy. This guy could be a lunatic and holding that old lady hostage, making her say things to lure me over to his place.
“You know I don’t like when people are late. Chaps my ass.” He shakes his head. Oh, I know he doesn’t like when people are late. He says nothing is more rude than people who have no respect for others’ time. That I might balance his checkbook, but time is the most costly thing in the world. Ironic because before today, he was making me do his accounting the long way. Everyone is crazy around here. It must be the season changing. It’s got everyone acting weird or something.
“Are you going to get a move on it or what?” Mr. Higgins breaks me from my thoughts. “I’ll drive you so that I know exactly where you are.”
“I don’t even know where it is.” My phone dings on cue, the address coming through.
“I know where that is. That’s the old Alison place.” I have no idea what the Alison place is. The town is small but not that small. I do know the road though. “I’d wondered who moved in there.”
“Then you don’t need to take me. You already know where it is.” I snatch my phone up from the desk.
“So you’re going?” he asks, his gray eyebrows raising on his forehead.
“No. I’m just saying if I come up missing maybe look there.”
“She said he wasn't a serial killer.” Mr. Higgins tries to reason with me. “She looked trustworthy.”
“First you say I can switch our accounting over, and now you’re saying I should go on this date?” I reach out, touching his forehead. “You feeling okay?”
“It’s not a date. You’re having dinner with a man and his lovely sounding grandmother.” She didn't sound lovely, she sounded kind of sassy to me. I think she was going to lay into me before her grandson cut me off.
“I don’t even know their names!” My phone dings again asking if I’m allergic to anything. If he’s a serial killer, he’s a very thoughtful one.
“I don’t think someone who plans to kill you is going to be concerned if you’re allergic to something.” Again, he defends them. What the heck? I respond to the text. Why, I don’t know. I should ignore him. I should change my phone number or block him from calling me.
“You know what. I am going to go over there.” I grab my purse and toss all my stuff inside. It takes me
a minute because I carry around a lot of crap. I can’t help myself. I can’t bring myself to throw things away. When you don’t grow up with much, you keep what you have. You don’t discard things easily. Everything has another use. It’s why I went into accounting to begin with. I didn't want to make some of the same mistakes my mother did. Not only that, numbers never lie. They are what they are. There’s no changing them. “I’m going to go over there and get murdered and you’re going to feel so guilty about it.” I stomp out of the office to a laughing Mr. Higgins.
“You’ll need these.” I stop when I hear the sound of his keys. I turn to see them dangling from his finger. Mr. Higgins has the same habit I do of not being able to throw things out. The man has a few cars and a couple of trucks. One of which he lets me use when I need it. It sits out back. The old beat-up truck has saved me from many long walks. I don’t care what it looks like; all that matters is that it gets me from point A to point B.
“Right.” I stomp back and snatch them from him. “I’ll bring you back some leftovers. If I don’t get murdered.” He keeps on laughing. I finish my stomping out of his office and down through the laundromat. I hop in the truck and before I know what I’m doing, I'm headed to the address that was provided in the text. What is wrong with me? I’m actually going to a stranger’s house. It seems crazy but at the same time, I feel relaxed. I should be more worried, but I’m not.
“You want your tampons back,” I reason out loud because I’m crazy like everyone else around here. I pull up to their place, putting the truck into park. It’s then I realize I didn't bother getting ready. I was too worried about being late and making Gran mad. Why I cared could be filed in the same folder as to why I am even here to begin with. My eyes flick to the mirror. My hair is a wild mess of curls that are trying to escape my ponytail holder. I don’t have a speck of makeup on.
I look down to my buttoned-up blue jean shirt and yoga pants. I am wearing my rainboots because my sneakers were still wet. I cannot go in there looking like this. The man is crazy but hot nonetheless.