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Authors: Tracey H. Kitts
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salad or mashed potatoes. Which do you want?”
“Um, either one is fine.”
She laughed. “What are you doing?”
“What makes you think I’m doing something?”
“Because you sound excited and I know it’s not about potatoes. Are you watching your neighbor again?”
I practically squealed. “No, I invited him to our barbeque.”
“What? Is he coming?”
“Yes.”
“Well now that you’ve met him, what’s his name? I’m getting tired of coming up with things to call him.”
“His name is Eramus.”
Chapter Eight
Circle of friends
“He said the place needs a woman’s touch?” Justina asked. “That’s something an old lady says when she wants her son to get married.”
She laughed as I scolded her mildly. “You butthole, he meant he needed help decorating. It wasn’t like that at all.”
“Still, it’s not something I’d expect a man to say.” She paused. “Then again, I’m impressed when they get beyond ‘duh’ sometimes.”
I laughed then. “Well, you do tend to be attracted to conversationalists.”
“You’re an ass.”
“Yep. I think it’s nice for a man to actually want help decorating.”
We went on to talk about what ingredients we still needed for the cookout and other various things before returning to the subject of Eramus.
“Why do you suppose it’s so important to him?” Justina asked.
“Potato salad?”
“No, I mean why do you think Eramus wants the place to look so…established? It sounds to me like he wants to look like he’s been there for a while.”
She was right. “You noticed that too, huh? Maybe he’s just eager to have a new start. He did say that his last home was destroyed by storms or it could be obsessive-compulsive disorder.”
I could hear her jingling her keys and knew she was getting ready to leave the shop. Justina had a routine. Put her keys down immediately when she got to work, never in the same place. Then spend thirty minutes bitching about not being able to find her keys before leaving. Since she’d been talking to me for almost that long I guess she decided to skip the bitching today.
“OCD, huh? You mean like you get when everything is not in its place?”
“Exactly. Maybe he just wants it all done so that he can relax.”
“That could be.”
We wrapped up our conversation with me telling her again how much better the view was up close rather than over the fence. I went upstairs and took a look in the mirror. Eramus was right about my hair, it really wasn’t that bad. I’d fallen asleep with it wet and it was hanging in a million curls down to the middle of my back. I decided to skip the hair and go straight to makeup, putting on a little powder and some black eyeliner. There, all ready for company.
Since Eramus had done all of the work with the roses, I didn’t need to change clothes either. I was thinking of sitting down with a good book for a few minutes when my doorbell rang.
“Who is it?” I called on my way down the stairs.
“Hurry up, these peanuts are heavy.”
“You’re early,” I said, opening the door for Chase.
He walked through to my kitchen and set down several heavy-looking bags before checking his watch.
“No I’m not.”
He strutted over to the french doors and gazed unabashedly toward the house next door.
“Where’s Mr. Universe?”
I smiled. “If he’s not outside, he must be getting ready to come over here.”
“Oh, so you did work up the nerve to talk to him. There’s my girl.” He patted me on the shoulder as he spoke, but never turned his attention away from the house beside mine. “The roses are pretty, but I was hoping for a man in tight-fitting jeans.”
“How about you help me make this punch?”
Chase continued to watch the window, but did spare an occasional glance to see what I was doing.
“Could you look in that cabinet and hand me down the molds you find there?”
Watching him try to maneuver through my overstuffed cabinets and still look out the window
“Um, either one is fine.”
She laughed. “What are you doing?”
“What makes you think I’m doing something?”
“Because you sound excited and I know it’s not about potatoes. Are you watching your neighbor again?”
I practically squealed. “No, I invited him to our barbeque.”
“What? Is he coming?”
“Yes.”
“Well now that you’ve met him, what’s his name? I’m getting tired of coming up with things to call him.”
“His name is Eramus.”
Chapter Eight
Circle of friends
“He said the place needs a woman’s touch?” Justina asked. “That’s something an old lady says when she wants her son to get married.”
She laughed as I scolded her mildly. “You butthole, he meant he needed help decorating. It wasn’t like that at all.”
“Still, it’s not something I’d expect a man to say.” She paused. “Then again, I’m impressed when they get beyond ‘duh’ sometimes.”
I laughed then. “Well, you do tend to be attracted to conversationalists.”
“You’re an ass.”
“Yep. I think it’s nice for a man to actually want help decorating.”
We went on to talk about what ingredients we still needed for the cookout and other various things before returning to the subject of Eramus.
“Why do you suppose it’s so important to him?” Justina asked.
“Potato salad?”
“No, I mean why do you think Eramus wants the place to look so…established? It sounds to me like he wants to look like he’s been there for a while.”
She was right. “You noticed that too, huh? Maybe he’s just eager to have a new start. He did say that his last home was destroyed by storms or it could be obsessive-compulsive disorder.”
I could hear her jingling her keys and knew she was getting ready to leave the shop. Justina had a routine. Put her keys down immediately when she got to work, never in the same place. Then spend thirty minutes bitching about not being able to find her keys before leaving. Since she’d been talking to me for almost that long I guess she decided to skip the bitching today.
“OCD, huh? You mean like you get when everything is not in its place?”
“Exactly. Maybe he just wants it all done so that he can relax.”
“That could be.”
We wrapped up our conversation with me telling her again how much better the view was up close rather than over the fence. I went upstairs and took a look in the mirror. Eramus was right about my hair, it really wasn’t that bad. I’d fallen asleep with it wet and it was hanging in a million curls down to the middle of my back. I decided to skip the hair and go straight to makeup, putting on a little powder and some black eyeliner. There, all ready for company.
Since Eramus had done all of the work with the roses, I didn’t need to change clothes either. I was thinking of sitting down with a good book for a few minutes when my doorbell rang.
“Who is it?” I called on my way down the stairs.
“Hurry up, these peanuts are heavy.”
“You’re early,” I said, opening the door for Chase.
He walked through to my kitchen and set down several heavy-looking bags before checking his watch.
“No I’m not.”
He strutted over to the french doors and gazed unabashedly toward the house next door.
“Where’s Mr. Universe?”
I smiled. “If he’s not outside, he must be getting ready to come over here.”
“Oh, so you did work up the nerve to talk to him. There’s my girl.” He patted me on the shoulder as he spoke, but never turned his attention away from the house beside mine. “The roses are pretty, but I was hoping for a man in tight-fitting jeans.”
“How about you help me make this punch?”
Chase continued to watch the window, but did spare an occasional glance to see what I was doing.
“Could you look in that cabinet and hand me down the molds you find there?”
Watching him try to maneuver through my overstuffed cabinets and still look out the window
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