“Well, if you hadn’t missed our appointment yesterday morning”—Abdul adjusts one of the many stacks of papers on his desk—“we wouldn’t need to do these all today.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I was busy,” I growl.
My realtor sighs. “Fine, fine, I’ll drop it.”
“Appreciate that,” I say flatly.
“Well, the good news is, I’ve rescheduled the showings for this afternoon. I have the three properties you said you were interested in, plus another two that I think fit your needs. And they’re all in the districts you requested.”
“Good.” I push out of the extremely uncomfortable chair across from Abdul’s desk.
He may be the best in town, but my patience is thinner than usual today. I consider telling him why I was late this morning, that choking a man to death with his own finger altered my schedule for the week, then decide against it.
“I’ll see you in a couple of hours,” he calls after me, as I stride out the door.
But I’m no longer listening, because now I have a little time to spare, and it’s been too long since I’ve laid eyes on my Sweet Girl.
Flipping my blinker on, I turn down the block Payton works on, and remind myself that I’m not going in.
It’s mid-morning, and the early rush should be over, though it seems like there’s almost always a couple of customers in the shop.
My foot depresses on the brake as I come even with Twin’s Café, but the afternoon sun is glinting off the glass of the large windows at just the wrong angle, messing with my view of the interior.
I tighten my grip around the steering wheel.
I should leave. I didn’t make any promises to her. Never said I’d call.
And I can go back to that empty apartment across the street from hers tonight and see her that way.
I don’t need to go in.
A car pulls out of a metered parking spot just ahead of me, and my foot lifts itself off the brake.
