5. Inkling #2
“Wow, Audrey, hi!” one of the girls says, beaming. With the energy of youth, both girls plop their plates down on the table and take a seat. “What a surprise.”
“Yes, today seems full of surprises.”
At my voice the girls freeze, as if they just noticed me. Mandy introduces them to me and then they dive into their lunches, commenting on upcoming assignments and asking Audrey what happens in her next book.
The tension seems to seep from Trish’s shoulders, and her answers become more animated.
It’s wonderful seeing her talk about something so passionately. Trish is one of those people who usually sits back, observes, and lets others have the spotlight. A great listener.
Now, sitting here just as fascinated as her three classmates, I listen to her explain the character arc of her latest hero, a millionaire cowboy.
“I love how you have both millionaire and cowboy together. Two really great tropes,” Alyssa, one of the other girls, says.
“Tropes?” I ask, picking over the shockingly small amount of food left on the table.
“Oh, sorry. I forgot you’re not in our class. We didn’t mean to bore you with writing talk,” Helene, the other student, says.
“Not at all.” I eye Trish, who still has her sunglasses down. “I find all of this fascinating.” When she doesn’t say anything, I reach over and pluck off her sunglasses. “Why don’t you tell me all about tropes, Audrey?”
For a moment, Trish’s deer-in-headlights look worries me that maybe I’ve taken it too far, asked too much.
She purses her lips before giving way to a smile. “You want to know about tropes, huh?”
I place my elbow on the table and prop my chin on my hand, eager. “I want to know everything. ” Out of the corner of my eye I see Helene elbow Alyssa, their eyes even wider than Trish’s had been. I’m pretty sure I just set fire to some juicy on-campus gossip.
“All right then, sugar. Let me tell you all about romance writing.”
“Oh my lands.” Trish wipes her hands and places one on her stomach. “I may keel over from a food coma, but I have no regrets.”
Mandy, Alyssa, and Helene left five minutes ago, late for a matinee movie. Late because they were so enraptured with what Audrey was teaching them about writing and her suggestions for their latest work in class that they lost track of time.
I did too.
A gulp of my drink washes down the final bite of food. My cheeks hurt. I thought it was from all the chewing, but as I laugh again at Trish’s dramatic, uncomfortable expression while she rubs her stomach, I realize it’s from smiling so much.
I don’t think I’ve ever smiled for this length of time before.
Huh.
“Hey, where’d that smile go?” Trish rests her hand on top of mine. “You eat too much too?”
Turning my hand over, I intertwine our fingers. “Something like that.”
Comfortable silence surrounds us, even with the guitar strumming from the singer on stage and the background hum of generators from the food trucks.
Much louder than Trish’s quiet generator running back at my house.
But as soon as our hands touch, it’s like it’s just the two of us.
And for once the moment isn’t influenced by outside forces that previously have gotten in our way.
I give her hand a squeeze. “You okay?” We both know I’m not talking about our stomachs.
She bites her lip, nodding, not letting go of my hand.
Today is just full of surprises.
Trish
Sugar honey iced tea .
What have I done?
I let one small revealing fact about my family out to the girls, and it’s like I’ve opened Pandora’s box, and everything is escaping.
When my classmates sat down with us, I thought I might just slide under the table and slither away.
It was a mixture of shell shock and engrained southern hospitality that left me unable to move.
I swear, a serial killer could invite me in for tea and I’d go willingly to my death just to avoid being rude.
And now Ian knows about my real job. The side hustle that evolved into a full-time career. And me going to college. All under a fake name.
Luckily the girls don’t know it’s a fake name, and Ian was nice enough not to ask in front of them.
Actually, Ian was nice about everything. About listening to three co-eds gossip and giggle, about some of my secrets being revealed without asking a million questions.
He only asked if the other girls knew—Rose, Jackie, and Jules.
When I shook my head no, he simply nodded and helped me into the car.
Where I promptly fell asleep on the drive home. I guess the day had taken its toll.
I woke five minutes ago but have been feigning sleep. I’m a coward like that.
“Who’s that?” The tone in Ian’s voice pops my eyes open.
Blinking, I see we’re already at Ian’s, pulling into the driveway. And at the end, right in front of the open garage where my trailer is parked, is a man in a white button-down and khakis.
Isn’t that what Jules said the private detective was wearing?
I thought leaving the garage door open so my generator didn’t have to work so hard would be fine. Ian’s garage is set back far enough that you can barely see it from the main road. The neighborhood has a security gate, code, and rent-a-cops that drive by on nightly patrols. I thought I was safe.
But there’s someone standing outside the garage looking at my trailer. My heart is beating a mile a minute. “I?—”
Ian stops halfway up the drive and unbuckles. “Stay here.”
Ian calls out to the guy, who turns, clipboard in hand.
Clipboard?
Squinting, I get a better look at the man. He doesn’t pull a badge when Ian reaches him. So that’s good. No gun. Even better.
The heavy layer of fear lightens. Taking a deep breath, I force myself out of the car. Though I may have a history of running from my problems, I’ve never let someone else deal with them for me.
“Is there a problem?” I ask the men, the southern syrup in my tone hiding my nerves.
“You could say that.” Ian points to the guy. “This is Charlie, from the homeowner’s association.” He crosses his arms and glares, making Charlie squirm. “Why don’t you tell her what you just told me?”
Stepping away from Ian’s glare, the man clears his throat. “You see, ma’am, there’s been a complaint to the HOA about someone living in a mobile home on the property.”
“The HOA?” I repeat, making sure it’s okay not to be ready to run.
“Yes, ma’am.” He looks at his clipboard. “See, in section fourteen, part B, the HOA agreement states that although you may store a boat and/or mobile home on the property, it must be completely enclosed in the garage. And, of course, unoccupied.”
Fear turns to annoyance. “Does it now?”
He nods. “Yes, ma’am.”
“And may I ask just who complained about this?” I glance down the road, expecting to see three women in bright shades of spandex taking in the show. Not even a wisp of bottle blonde blows in the breeze, but I still know who did this.
Back to looking uncomfortable, Charlie dips his head back down to his clipboard. “I really couldn’t say, ma’am.” He pulls a sheet off his clipboard and hands it to Ian.
“What’s this?” Ian asks, reading over the paper.
“Your official warning.”
The paper crumples in Ian’s hand. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I cover my mouth, trying to hide my amusement at Ian’s incredulity. I can’t imagine he’s ever been given an official warning before, not even from something as pretentious as a homeowner’s association. It’s like giving Captain America a parking ticket.
“No, sir.” Charlie backs away, having to walk in a curve to keep both Ian and me at his front.
“You have twenty-four hours to either remove the vehicle from the premises or shut off the generator and fully enclose it. Or fines will be levied, and if left unpaid, a motion to put a lien on your house will be carried out.”
Ian’s mouth drops open.
Charlie turns and power-walks down the drive. “Have a nice day!” He picks up his pace to a jog.
Unable to hold it back any longer, I laugh. But it fades when I see Ian, no longer outraged, is amused as well. “I guess this means I get a houseguest.”
“Oh.” Reality sinks in as I glance at my trailer. A trailer that will turn into a sauna death trap in the Texas heat without running A/C.
Dimples pop in his cheeks, his grin not nearly as wholesome looking as usual. “Pack your bags, lady.” He strolls into the garage, toward the side door of the house, whistling. “I’ll clear out the guest room.”
I stand there blinking, watching his fine backside disappear into his McMansion.
Well, horsefeathers.