Page 30 of Just Ten Seconds

“Black.” My answer is easy, and I realize the trap. “Oh, cut it out.”

“It’s okay to admit you like him.” She drops her shoulders and levels her eyes with mine. “And it’s more than okay to get excited about doing a little acting work again. The kid’s cute, and her dad’s even cuter,” she says with a wink. “For once, try not to make living so hard. Enjoy a day, maybe two. Have coffee with Dean. Smile. Laugh. Joke. That’s all. Easy.”

Running a hand through my hair, I process her words. “Easy?”

“As pie.” She gives a serious nod as Nick adds more plates to the counter.

“It’s not that easy.”

Jackie rolls her eyes at me and then looks over at Dean’s booth where the two of them are playing the Slap Hand game, using only one hand each. Dean laughs at something Amanda said. She’s talking a mile a minute, mentioning various names of who I assume are her school friends.

They must feel us staring at them because Amanda looks over with a smile, and Dean glances with an appreciative gaze.

“Everything happens for a reason, Mara. You trusted me when I said to come up to Warwick. Now, trust me when I say you should open yourself up to those two.”

“I’m not ready—”

“Just try working with the kid. How long could it be? An hour and you make a little girl super happy?”

I roll my head back. I love and hate when she’s right. I can do an hour. Especially with a sweet kid who just broke her arm. “It could be kinda fun.”

She hits me on the back. “There’s the spirit! And who knows? Maybe you’ll make a new friend.”

“One hour,” I confirm. “I can do one hour.”

Of the many things I thought I would be doing this week, going to Dean’s house was not one of them. As I navigate the winding roads of Warwick, I lower my window and take in the crisp scent of autumn. The trees have begun their change, as the greens are being replaced with gold, amber, and copper hues.

The leaves on the road whip up as my tires wind around a bend, and I slow down to handle the curve.

I follow the directions to a street I have never been to before. The land appears to have been cleared, flattened out of the forest that once inhabited the property. The soil is more orange than brown, and numerous homes in various stages of build are on the property.

At the top of a steep hill is a massive stucco-and-brick colonial that’s set back from the street. I get out of my car and walk up to the house as the leaves above rustle in the wind. There are three garden gnomes sitting on the grass. One is seated Indian-style and practicing yoga, another has his hat broken off and is holding a sign that says, Go Away, and the last is holding a wineglass and looking a wee bit tipsy.

I stop at the front door and lift my hand, ready to knock.

Except I don’t.

“What am I doing here? You should have called and canceled. It’s been—”

“Do you always talk to yourself?” a deep baritone says from behind me, making me jump, my heart racing with excitement.

I clutch my chest as I turn around and am slightly relieved yet mostly mortified to see Dean standing behind me. He has a shopping bag in his hand and a large knife. I eye the knife peculiarly.

A soft chuckle pours from his mouth. “I was getting escarole.”

My brows curve together. “Did you rob someone at the supermarket at knifepoint?”

He opens the bag and shows me the escarole covered with dirt, and I’m pretty sure I just saw a bug crawl across it.

“My garden.” He nods to a parcel of land off the side of the house, encased in a six foot high fence. It is indeed full and bustling with produce.

“I didn’t know you can still grow vegetables in the fall.”

He shrugs and walks past me to the door. “Escarole is good until the frost comes. You didn’t answer me.”

I look at him peculiarly.

“You were talking to yourself.”