Little Miss Lovesick (22 page)

CHAPTER 24

THIS wa
s
suc
h
a bad idea. I got all excited about working The Plan — things seemed to be going smoothly with GT and Dirk earlier this week — that I didn’t even consider that any part of it might not work.

“By the Bay Properties, this is Sydney.” God bless the person who invented hands-free earpieces, or I’d have such a crick in my neck.

“Hey By the Bay Properties, whatcha doin’?” It was Emily.

I stopped working. What a surprise. We hadn’t connected since the call where I implemented The Plan, Step Two. “Hey! You just caught me. I was walking out the door.”

“I only have a minute. I just wanted to say hi and see how things are going.”

Things are great. And awful. Does she really want to know or is this a guilt call? Why do I even think that? This is Emily
.
Emil
y
.

You wonder because you know something is wron
g
, said a Voice.

“Things are great. I have another closing this week. That means margaritas after. You game?” This was the big test. Was she going to back out on me again?

“What day?” Her voice sounded worried.

“Friday.” One word, major attitude.

Pause. “Uhh, Friday’s not going to work. How about Thursday? It’ll be a pre-closing celebration.” Her voice sounded hopeful, but there was no way I was letting her off that easily.

“Pre-closing celebrations are only good for jinxing the actual closing.” I knew I sounded grumpy but I didn’t care. Emily knows these things are never really a done deal until the check is in the bank.

“Well, I can’t, Syd. I’m sorry, but—”

“Don’t worry about it. Listen, I gotta go.”

“Hey, come on, I can’t get together Friday night but let’s have lunch this week. Okay?”

I stared hard at the phone. “How about now? I could be there about one.”

“Today? Well, how about tomorrow or—”

“Forget it. Call me when you have time.” I started to hang up. Today I chose anger over tears.

“Sydney, wait! Don’t be mad.” Imploring voice. Almost worked on me.

“I’m not mad. Just”—confused—“busy. I’ll talk to you later.” She said goodbye (reluctantly, I was happy to note) and hung up.

Good. I hope she feels guilty. I sure don’t.

Lia
r
, whispered a Voice.

Today might be a get ma
d
an
d
cry day. What was I doing wrong? Why wasn’t this working? I thought about my stupid cell phone bill. When I got home last night, it was waiting for me. No problem. Except that my mobile-to-mobile usage was onl
y
783 minutes
!
That means Em’s talking to m
e
hal
f
the amount of time she used to. That is definitely a problem.

I need to add a Step 7 to The Plan
—
feel bette
r
! Why was everything upsetting me so much?

Because it doesn’t seem like anyone cares—

Shut u
p
! yelled another Voice
.
That’s not true.

But it feels true.

As I sat there trying to breathe and think and not cry, the phone rang again. I gave two seconds’ serious consideration to flushing it down the toilet, then I answered.

“Sydney! Hello, sweetie. It’s Patty. How are you?” Voted World’s Most Cheerful Person by, well
,
m
e
.

“Hey, Patty. I’m fine. How are you?” I tried to sound half as cheerful.

“What’s wrong?”

Apparently, I’m no good at half-cheerful. I should’ve gone for the full thing. I sighed into the phone.

“A little of everything. Fighting with Emily and Matt and clients and…just one of those days.” Belatedly, I wondered if Matt had already given her his version of events.

“You and Matt are fighting?” Definitely surprised. And interested. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t pry.”

I’m so contrary. If she’d tried to get me to talk, I would’ve clammed up. But since she was being so respectful of my privacy, I had the sudden urge to tell her everything.

“No, it’s okay. Maybe you’re the exact right person to talk to since you know him.”

My frustration must’ve been audible because she laughed. “I was calling to see if you wanted to go hiking with the group Sunday afternoon. But how about the two of us take a little walk Saturday morning?”

Translating Patty’s use of the words “a little walk,” I knew it’d still be a hike, but at a slow enough pace to talk. Relief rushed through me. I hoped she could tell me what to do.

She chuckled. “We’ll see,” she said. She told me to meet her at the Old Cannery Trailhead at seven o’clock. Then we hung up.

The rest of the day went better. I bought a lovely blown glass vase for my client who was closing on Friday. While I was out, I checked my phone messages and found that someone had put in an offer on one of my listings. Yes!

I called the client, Mr. Dahl, and gave him the offering price over the phone. He said he and his wife would get back to me by tomorrow, but he sounded happy. Cool.

The next few days were crazy busy. By Friday I was juggling phone calls for the closing that afternoon, as well as calls from the Dahl’s and the realtor whose client wanted to buy the Dahl’s house. (Isn’t that funny? I’m selling a Dahl house. Ha ha!)

I was never so glad to see five-thirty arrive and happy homeowners depart. I wa
s
exhauste
d
. But hey, I’d sold another house. Margarita time!

And no one to share it with.

I tried to forget Emily and whatever was going on with her. I thought about calling Don and Bridgette, but they have a toddler and probably wouldn’t want to go out. Maybe Kerri? No, I talk a lot, but she talk
s
a lo
t
. More of a running monologue. Can’t take that tonight.

Since I wasn’t in a hurry, I drove back to my office to drop off the closing paperwork. In fact, I decided when I walked in that I was leaving everything. Taking the weekend off. ’Cause I deserved it. Yeah.

I walked through the deserted office to my desk and pulled the files out of my bag. I’ve got this great briefcase/bag that I bought at Wilson’s a couple years ago. It’s natural-colored leather, soft as butter — I know it’s cliché, but it’
s
s
o
soft — with these great inside pockets that keep me organized. The strap is padded so well I can carry it around practically forever and it doesn’t hurt my shoulder. Anyway, I was unloading my stuff when—

“Hey, Syd.”

I jumped in the air and dropped a folder. “Holy crap!” The folder and its contents went skittering across my desk and spilled onto the floor.

Trent tried to hide his chuckle. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He came over and picked it all up. “Are you okay?”

I closed my eyes and took a breath. “For crying out loud, Trent, you scared the crap out of me!” I looked at him, kindly trying not to laugh, and smacked him on the shoulder. That made us both laugh. Great stress reliever, laughter.

Trent set the folder on my desk and leaned against a filing cabinet. “Hey, aren’t you supposed to be in Margaritaville?”

Back to the stress again. “Yeah, yeah. Emily’s ‘busy’ tonight.” I did the air quotes with my fingers.

“So?”

I looked at him and frowned. “I’m not such a lush that I’m going to go out drinking by myself.”

“Right. As if Emily is your only friend.” Trent crossed his arms and looked at me with a somewhat cross expression. “So you’re going to go home and drink by yourself.”

Bingo!

“Yeah, right,” was all I said. I straightened the mess I’d made on my desk and got ready to leave.

“Come on, you've gone out for margaritas every time you close since you’ve been working here.”

“Before that,” I said without thinking. He was making me feel worse. Obviously, he didn’t know about last week’s missed celebration.

Trent pushed himself away from the filing cabinet, took my arm, and steered me toward his desk.

“What?”

“Hang on,” he said as he turned off his computer and grabbed his briefcase.

“Oh, Trent, no, don’t worry about it. I’m just going to go home.” I started to back away from his desk. This was sweet, but unnecessary. And it only made me more upset that Emily was ditching me.

“Nope, come on,” he looked at his watch. “There’s only an hour left.” He took my arm, presumably so I couldn’t get away. Or maybe because he wanted to take my arm.

Huh. I looked at him as we walked. He caught my gaze and laughed.

“What?”

He let go of me to open the door. “What?” He looked pretty happy. I wondered if this was a bad idea.

How could this be ba
d
, asked Lovesick
.
A cute guy whose company we already enjoy is going to save the evening!

Enough with the “saving” already! I’m not a damsel in distress.

“Nothing,” I said as he locked the office door.

“Two cars or one?”

Warning! “I’ll take my own car, thank you.” I needed to be sure he didn’t get the wrong idea. I wasn’t in a good enough mood for a date.

Oh, for Pete’s sak
e
, exclaimed a Voice
.
Don’t get so full of yourself. He’s just a co-worker cheering up a co-worker.

Go home while you still ca
n
, warned another Voice.

“Actually, Trent, I’m just going to go home. It’s been a long—”

“Actually, no, you’re not,” he said, looking me in the eye. “Margaritas for you are like lucky socks for a baseball player. If you break the cycle…”

That’s what I tried to tell Emily!

“We’ll have one margarita to celebrate,” he said, “then go our separate ways. If we worked at some corporate job downtown, we’d be doing this every Friday night.”

I guess he could see me caving because he said, “If you don’t follow me there, I’ll come find you.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll meet you there.” I laughed in that “I give in” kind of way and walked to my car.

CHAPTER 25

TRENT was waiting for me by the door at La Señorita on Garfield. Walking in, we passed the restaurant on our right and entered the cantina on our left. Not a seat to be found — duh! it’s Friday — so we ordered our margaritas from the bartender. Trent went over to the buffet and brought back a basket of chips and some green chili picante sauce, making a standing-room space for us at a corner of the bar.

He held up his glass to mine. “Here’s to another’s happiness. May our clients make us enough money to buy our own homes!”

I laughed. “Cheers!” We dinged our glassed together and drank. It never occurred to me that other realtors felt the same way. I usually thought of Perry — homeowner. Carmen — homeowner. Me — renter. I never thought of Trent one way or the other.

Maybe you shoul
d
, suggested Lovesick.

Trent ate some chips and motioned for me to dig in. “I figure I have to sell about twelve more properties before I have a big enough down payment to have a manageable monthly payment. How about you?”

“Eight. I thought I was the only one who counted that way.” I took another drink. Friday night, margaritas, a free weekend ahead. I was finally beginning to relax.

“I count everything. Twelve properties till I buy a house. A little over a year from now at my current sales rate. So I’ve got a year to find the right girl and court her and propose to her, and then I’ll give her a house for a wedding present.” Trent popped some more chips into his mouth. The salsa dripped onto his finger and he wiped it off with a napkin.

“Court her? You’re going t
o
cour
t
a girl?” I laughed. “Don’t you date like everyone else?” I dipped a chip into the green sauce and ate. So hot. I loved it.

Trent shrugged and took another drink. Liquid courage to say what’s really on his mind? Yeah, I know that one. “I’m looking for a wife, not a one-night stand. Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt.” He drank some more. “I want kids. Nice girls want a house and a steady income. I want a nice girl. Besides, I’m under the impression romance is high on the priority list for women. Am I wrong?”

I quickly shook my head. “No, no. You’re right. I just…I never thought that you…I just never thought about it.”

Trent looked at me and didn’t say anything. You can always tell when someone wants to say something, then decides it’s the wrong thing or the wrong time. I couldn’t help myself. Curiosity killed the cat.

“What?”

He shook his head and took another drink. At this rate, we’d be ordering refills soon. I didn’t think he’d tell me what he was thinking. Then he spoke. The bar was so loud, though, I couldn’t quite understand him.

“Ice swirls?”

“Nice! Nice girls.” He leaned over and spoke close to my ear. “I said I think it sucks that nice girls are all too often with the wrong men.”

“You mean, not with you?” I teased.

He tried to put salsa on my nose. I laughed and leaned out of the way.

“You know what I mean.” He didn’t look at me.

Yeah, I know what you mea
n
, said a Voice.

I took a long drink myself. I was going to have to sit here for a while if I continued to drink this fast. But it drowned my musings. Musings about whethe
r
I’
d
ever be the nice girl who found a nice man.

“So where is Emily tonight?” Trent practically shouted over the din. (Why do we call it atmosphere in a bar and love it, then get mad if our neighbors have their radio on too loud? Weird.)

“Busy.” I stuffed chips into my mouth. I didn’t know where Emily was. If I were honest, I’d admit that I was hurt and jealous of whatever had taken her away from me. Was it Geoffrey? How could it be? She’d introduced us, so now he wasn’t a secret anymore. Whatever was going on, she wasn’t telling me a thing.

But enough with the morose ramblings. I’d sold a house, dammit! I wa
s
happ
y
!

“On a date?”

I stopped with a chip almost to my mouth. If she were on a date, she’
d
tel
l
me. Right? I wouldn’t be mad at her for being on a date, for heaven’s sake. Picante sauce dripped onto the bar. I put the chip in my mouth.

“She didn’t say.” No, but now I remembered the giggling and the whispering. Telling signs, if ever there were any, that there was a man nearby, right? She didn’t have a new best friend. She had
a
boyfrien
d
. That would be awesome, if it were true.

Pictures flashed through my mind of Emily and Geoffrey acting silly over each other at the 4th of July picnic. Then my mind conjured up images of Matt and me kissing and giggling by the fire a couple weeks ago. I suppressed the wave of loneliness that threatened. Emily must be out with Geoffrey. But why wouldn’t she tell me?

Trent and I sat munching for a few moments without talking. He watched the TV over my head. I glanced up but it was ESPN. Don’t care.

Don’t care about much right this minut
e
, whispered a Voice.

I a
m
happ
y
. I sold
a
hous
e
. I have mor
e
mone
y
in my House Fund.

Trent said something but I couldn’t hear him. I leaned closer.

“Sorry?”

“I asked if you were still seeing that guy.”

“Oh. Uh, not really. I don’t think so.” Could I sound more stupid? It’s a yes or no question.

And do you know if the answer is yes or no
?
asked a Voice.

Whatever. Doesn’t matter. Think of something funny to say.

“Have you found that girl you’re going to court and buy a house for?” I asked with a smile. Teasing. That’s what you did when you were out with friends, when you were drinking and having fun. You teased.

I drank some more margarita, making my way along the salty edge. I liked to have some of the salt with every sip. Yum.

Trent took a drink, too, but it looked like he was covering up a blush. Could it be?

I hit my knee against his. “Awww, come on, tell me.”

He sort of smiled but didn’t look at me. “I don’t know yet.”

“Yeah, that means you met a girl and you like her. Have you asked her out?”

“Sort of.”

“Come on, Trent, you’ve got a timetable to keep to here. Tick, tock.”

“My timetable is a year from now.” Trent excused himself to refill the chips and salsa bowls.

I noticed two chairs emptying a couple seats down. I grabbed our drinks and took possession of the space. When Trent came back, I jumped right into teasing him as if he were a girlfriend. “Spill it, dude. I want to know.”

“Dude?” Trent raised his eyebrows at me.

I kneed his knee again. “Come on. If you want to go out on Friday with friends from work, you have to be ready for the alcohol-induced inspection.”

“I can’t do it on one drink.”

“So order another one.”

“I don’t like to drink alone.” He eyeballed me in a challenging manner.

I laughed and waved my arm at the crowded room. “You’r
e
s
o
not alone.”

Trent smiled and said, “Nope. If you want the scoop, we stay for another drink and we get some food.”

“I don’t have anywhere to go.” And I’m trying not to think about it.

“Great, what do you want? My treat.”

“Well, in that case, the seafood nachos. Have you had them? They’re fabulous.”

Trent ordered two more margaritas and a large seafood nachos.

“Wait!” I put my hand on his arm and waved my other hand at the almost-retreating bartender. “Get the small. The large is so big we’ll be here all night.”

Trent waved the bartender away. “I’m hungry.”

I laughed. “All right, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I drank a few more swallows of my drink to make way for the new one and moved closer so I could hear the whole story. “So, tell me everything.”

We were sitting elbow to elbow now, along the bar. Easier to talk this way than at a table where you’re far enough away from each other that you have to yell.

This is fu
n
, said a Voice.

And he’s cut
e
, said Little Miss Lovesick.

I told someone to smack Lovesick and waited for Trent’s story.

He was playing with a chip, drawing in the picante sauce. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye with a little smile. “There isn’t much to tell.”

“Ah, you like her, I can tell,” I said in that singsong voice you tease your friends with. “Come on, where’d you meet her?”

I finished the rest of my margarita and waited for the next one. Maybe I was a little light-headed, but I felt good. Happy.

He shrugged. “I’ve seen her around.”

“And?”

“And…I think she’s sexy and nice and sweet. And she’s one of those girls I told you about who goes out with the wrong guys.”

“Is she seeing anyone now?”

He shrugged again. “I don’t know. I think so, but I’m not sure.”

I leaned my chin on my hand, thinking. “Well, it’s bad form to try to break in. I mean, some people do it, but I think it’s bad form. On the other hand, if you’re waiting around and she doesn’t know you like her and she’s not dating anyone, you could seriously lose out.”

Our new drinks appeared and we both sipped and thought.

“Does she know that you like her?” I asked.

Another shrug. Apparently a means of communication. Slightly tipsy, I got silly. I leaned against him and shrugged a couple times. “What does this mean? She knows? She doesn’t know? You need a massage?”

He laughed. “It means I don’t know. I don’t know if she knows. I think she does. Maybe.” He shrugged again and laughed.

The biggest plate of steaming seafood nachos landed with a thud in front of us. “There must be three pounds of food on that plate,” I said with some trepidation. I made a funny face that was meant to look like I was scared.

He hefted the plate. “More like five. Wanna race?”

I held up my hand in protest. “No way. Let’s just say you win and be done with it.”

We dug in. Delicious!

“So, you need a plan to let her know you like her. And to find out if she’s dating anyone. Where have you seen her? You could kind of bump into her again.”

Trent’s mouth was full of food.

“How about the beach? You go out with your friends on their sailboat a lot. Do you see her at the beach?” I took a none-too-dainty bite with a scallop and lots of cheese.

Trent nodded and swallowed. “She looks hot in a bikini.” Again, he didn’t look at me and his face was getting red. It was so cute. He really liked this girl.

I giggled and said, “You probably better not tell her that until she knows you like her for herself first.” I took a drink. “On the other hand, she might like that you noticed her. In which case, you should definitely let her know she looks good.”

“So how do I know — say it or not say it?” Trent put a shrimp on a cheese covered tortilla chip and held it up to my mouth.

I ate it and thought while I chewed. “Well, uh—” I swallowed “—when in doubt, be a gentleman. But cute and funny and charming. But not too much.”

Trent shook his head and fed me another chip. “This is why men don’t understand women. Everything is walking a line, never sure what to do or say.” He ate a huge chipful of seafood.

I grinned. “Yeah, well, it’s the same with men. You guys give out advice like ‘stand up for yourself’ and then get mad when it comes back on you. You answer surveys that say you like it when women make the first move, then when one does, you say she’s forward — or worse! It’s a no-win situation.” I pulled some melted cheese off the plate and ate it.

“That’s for sure.” Trent had seafood sauce on his chin so I handed him a napkin.

“I probably shouldn’t be giving you advice anyway,” I said.

“Why’s that?”

I cocked my head and looked at him like he was an idiot.

He laughed. “Yeah, you’re right. Your love life is messed up.”

I socked him in the shoulder. He twisted away and laughed.

“It’s one thing fo
r
m
e
to say it.” Then I laughed. This bantering thing was fun.

We sat around for another hour or so, talking and eating. When the nachos were gone and we both felt comfortable driving, Trent paid the bill — very chivalrous — and we headed out.

The next few moments were almost surreal. As it happened, I thought
,
this only happens in movie
s
. We walked past a table of men laughing and watching ESPN and I happened to look toward them. One man was not laughing, not watching TV, but watching me.