âWell, if you hadnât missed our appointment yesterday morningââAbdul adjusts one of the many stacks of papers on his deskââwe wouldnât need to do these all today.â
I pinch the bridge of my nose. âI was busy,â I growl.
My realtor sighs. âFine, fine, Iâll drop it.â
âAppreciate that,â I say flatly.
âWell, the good news is, Iâve 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 theyâre all in the districts you requested.â
âGood.â I push out of the extremely uncomfortable chair across from Abdulâs 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.
âIâll see you in a couple of hours,â he calls after me, as I stride out the door.
But Iâm no longer listening, because now I have a little time to spare, and itâs been too long since Iâve laid eyes on my Sweet Girl.
Flipping my blinker on, I turn down the block Payton works on, and remind myself that Iâm not going in.
Itâs mid-morning, and the early rush should be over, though it seems like thereâs almost always a couple of customers in the shop.
My foot depresses on the brake as I come even with Twinâs 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 didnât make any promises to her. Never said Iâd call.
And I can go back to that empty apartment across the street from hers tonight and see her that way.
I donât 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.