I screech and spill my hot coffee down my bare legs and toes. The man doesn’t startle at all, just lifts the fingers around the handle of the spray gun and continues painting the exterior of the house.
I wave back and then quickly pull the curtain back in place. A quick shower later, I pull on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. Then I grab my jacket and a hat to head out.
I only realize I’ve left my gloves when I arrive at the park. I go to the coffee cart and get another drink, wrapping my fingers around the cup to keep them warm, and start around the paved pathway that circles the park.
The park sits between campus and a cute downtown neighborhood that’s popular with wealthy thirty-somethings. Today it’s more of them than my fellow students. They’re probably all still sleeping. Lucky them.
An adorable, but highly energetic, chocolate lab runs by. His owner, huffing as he’s pulled along, waves and I think he says ‘good morning,’ but it’s hard to tell since he’s so out of breath. A couple with a gray Miniature Schnauzer stops to pick up a steaming pile of poo, and a girl about my age is pushing a tiny, little, very expensive-looking breed of some kind around in a stroller.
After a few laps around, I toss the empty coffee cup and sit on a bench. A guy with a Pug stops in front of me to tie his shoe. The Pug gives me a once-over, as if deciding if I’m friendly （or have treats）， and ambles over.
“Hi,” I say as I lean down. I glance up at the guy. “Is it okay if I pet her?”
“Yeah.” He smiles. “She must like you. She doesn’t usually go to strangers.”
I slide my fingers through her short, tan coat. “I like her too.”
I scratch around her green collar and twist it to read her name, “Pretty Girl.”
Standing to his full height, the guy looks embarrassed as he says, “She was my grandmother’s dog. I didn’t name her.”
Laughing softly, I coo at the dog. “Hi, Pretty Girl.”
When I look back up, the guy is watching me instead of the dog. I sit straighter. “Thanks for letting me say hi to her.”
“Any time. We were about to grab coffee and walk around the park. Would you want to join us?”
My gaze drops from his face to his green sweatshirt. A Wildcat sweatshirt. My thoughts instantly go to Ash, just as they have more times than I’d like to admit since we said goodbye in the hospital parking lot.
“I was just about to head out.” I give the dog one more scratch, then stand. “Enjoy your Saturday. Bye, Pretty Girl.”
When I get back home, I’m relieved to see they’re done painting the guesthouse, but it’s a short-lived relief when Ms. Cole comes out of the back door, waving and calling my name.
“Morning, Ms. Cole.”
“Morning! Morning!” She’s all smiles in her yoga pants and oversized T-shirt. “I’m glad I caught you. I’m so sorry about all the noise this week. My realtor wants everything in tip-top shape as soon as possible so she can take photos for the listing.”
“It’s okay,” I reply, even as a yawn breaks free.
“Have you found a new place yet?” she asks in a hopeful tone. I know she feels at least a little bad about giving me the boot. Not bad enough to throw away her plans to sell and move to Florida, but normal, decent-human twinges of remorse.
“No. Not yet.” I try my best to match her hopefulness, but I’m certain I fail when her smile falls into a pitying frown.
“If there’s anything I can do, let me know. I can write a referral or ask my realtor if she knows of any one-bedroom rentals.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it, but I’m sure something will come up.”
She nods. “Okay. Let me know if you change your mind. And don’t forget that on Monday they’ll be coming by to get photos of the guesthouse.”
“Got it.” With one hand in the air in a wave, I hurry back to my guesthouse. Or at least it’s mine for a few more weeks.
Shutting the door, I lean my back against it and blow out a breath. Looks like I’ll be spending the rest of my day searching classifieds.
I grab my backpack and take it to the couch. Sitting cross-legged, I pull out my laptop and open it up. Nothing new has posted since the last time I searched so I go through the same few options. They’re either way out of my price range or too far away from campus. Beggars can’t be choosers at this point though. Looks like I’ll be commuting in every day.
I unzip the front pocket of my backpack and dig around for a pen and paper to write down the contact information for the properties. A piece of paper flies out with the pen. I unfold it and stare at Ash’s handwriting.