Like always, the room fills with chatter until one by one the kids leave and silence ensues. The quiet is almost deafening, especially after spending the last several hours answering questions and keeping a bunch of children on task. I go around the room, picking up things left out and straightening up until I know the cleaning crew will be able to do their job over the weekend without the hassle of uncluttering.
Done, I grab my bag and coat then leave, shutting the door behind me. I go to the teachers’ parking lot and climb in my car. My Nissan Maxima is old, but it still runs perfectly thanks to my dad and uncles, who’ve worked on it more times than I can count. I don’t go directly home; I stop at the store and pick up a few things then go to the post office to mail a care package to my cousin Hannah. Living in Paris, she misses some of her favorite things from home, so every few months, I send her a package. It’s never much—odds and ends, some candy or canned goods she can’t find there easily, and a note telling her that if she moved home, she could get everything she loves anytime she wants. Like everyone else, I miss her. I don’t see her often enough, but this summer I plan to visit her in Paris for a couple of weeks, something I’m really looking forward to.
After I finish with my errands, I head for my apartment. I started reading a new series a few days ago, and I’m anxious to curl up with my Kindle while eating the store-bought sushi I picked up for dinner. My cell phone buzzes as I pull into my designated parking spot, and I grab it out of my bag then roll my eyes toward the roof of my car.
April has been on me for the last week, demanding I spend time with her, our sisters, and our cousins. It’s sweet that she’s worried about me after what went down with Gareth, but it’s also unnecessary. Yes, I still think about him all the damn time, but no, I do not need the constant pulse-checking. What happened, happened. It’s done. I’m fine… pretty much.
Okay, so my stupid heart and head haven’t gotten with the program, but they will. It’s not like I had a relationship with the guy, so I have nothing to really get over.
After an annoyed sigh, I answer my cell with a chirpy “Hey.”
“I’m picking you up in a couple hours. We’re going to get tattoos.”
Wait, what?
“What?”
“You’ve been saying forever that you want a tattoo. Tonight is the night. I already booked us appointments. I’m picking you up. See you soon.”
“April—”
“Later.” She hangs up before I can tell her I’m not going with her. Before I can tell her that even though I’ve talked about getting a tattoo for ages and know exactly what I want, I don’t really have it in me to suffer through the pain of actually getting one.
“Crap.” I pull the phone from my ear and look out my windshield. No way will April let me out of this. I know I said I need more of a life, but a tattoo? She might as well be forcing me to jump out of a plane with only nylon and a stranger strapped to my back.
With a long groan, I grab my bags and get out of my car then head for my door, giving friendly smiles and finger waves to a couple of my neighbors when I pass them. I step inside and drop my purse on the hook next to the door then slip off my coat, hanging it up. When I turn around to head for the kitchen, I spot Melbourne lounging on the couch. And like always when I see his cute, furry face, I want to go cuddle him, but the minute we make eye contact, he jumps down and runs off.
“Just so you know, I’m going to adopt another cat. One that actually likes me,” I call out as his silver tale disappears around the corner. He doesn’t even have the decency to acknowledge my threat or me. “I’m not kidding!” I shout as I head for the kitchen to drop my grocery bags on the counter.
After I put out food for Melbourne, I head to my room to change clothes. I switch from slacks to jeans and then from my button-down blouse to a white V-neck tee with a loose, long, black cardigan over it, but I keep on my leopard-print flats, because they’re just as comfortable as sneakers.
Sitting in my kitchen, drinking a glass of wine, and eating my sushi, I hold my breath as the hero in the story kidnaps the heroine. I get so caught up in what’s happening on my Kindle that I jump when the doorbell rings. I glance at the clock; it’s almost seven. I don’t know how long it takes to get a tattoo, but with any luck I’ll be home before ten so I can get back to the kiss that I’m sure was about to take place. I slam the cover of my Kindle closed then go to answer the door.