Page 63 of The Roommate Problem
He stared at the vast array of choices before him for a solid minute. What did he send? A heart? Would she read too much into that? Did he send the same emoji she sent him? And why in the world was there a poop emoji? When would someone use that? Who did you send it to? And why was it smiling?
When his head started to hurt, August gave up and sent back a thumbs up. Less than thirty seconds later, he got a response from Mo.
Thumbs up? Oh, Gus Gus. We really need to work on your emoji game.
This was followed by four emojis, one that was cry laughing, one with its tongue sticking out, one that appeared to be some kind of nerd with glasses and buck teeth, and finally the smiling poop emoji.
He burst out laughing. Yet another surprising thing about Mo. The woman could make him laugh without even being near him. No one had ever made him laugh so much. He couldn’t remember ever being so…happy. Mo made him happy.
Gran would be happy to know her secret matchmaking had worked. Not that he was in any way ready to admit that to her. He still thought the best thing for him and Gran was to sell and buy a flower farm out west a ways. But maybe he could bend a little. Listen to Mo, see if she had any ideas for a compromise. He was sure the woman had about a dozen. She had said she was going to try and convince him to his grandmother’s side. He wondered what thoughts she had cooking in that sexy, inventive brain of hers.
Couldn’t hurt to hear a few, right?
He could entertain some ideas without completely giving up on his plans. It didn’t mean they would happen, but what was the harm in listening?
“Hey, Mr. Porter. Sorry I’m a bit late. The bus was off schedule by five minutes.”
August glanced up from his phone to see Chris stepping though the front door of the flower shop.
“It’s fine. And I told you before, you can call me August.”
“Right, sorry, August.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
He liked Chris. The younger man’s leg was healing up nicely, but he still couldn’t drive the van, so he’d been taking over a lot more in the shop, and August had come to discover Chris was quite the talented florist. He’d helped Gran put together twelve floral arrangements for a funeral last week and managed to make them beautiful and respectful, something most people didn’t realize was very hard to do.
Chris carefully maneuvered on his crutches back behind the counter. August grabbed a stool for the guy, positioning it so he could sit comfortable for his shift.
“I’ve just got to grab some stuff and I’m out of here.” August nodded toward the back. “You need anything tonight, don’t hesitate to call me. You got my cell?”
Chris nodded. “Yup, but I’m sure I’ll be fine. My boyfriend is picking me up after closing so I don’t have to take the bus back home.”
“Good. Have a great night, then.”
August waved and headed to the back to grab some invoice orders he planned to look over tonight after dinner and Mo’s surprise, which he was hoping was hot, wild sex.
He made his way to the supply closet where Gran kept all her invoices and paperwork in a small filing cabinet shoved in the corner. She really needed an office, but the shop didn’t have the space for that. Another point to add to the sell the shop and retire side of his plan. One he would have been smug about only a week or so ago.
The battle for selling or staying still raging in his mind, August opened the metal filing cabinet drawer and riffled through the folders, looking for the invoices he needed. As he shuffled through the massive amount of paperwork—good grief, did his grandmother ever throw anything away?—his gaze caught on a word in big bold letters.
Loan Application.
His curiosity peaked as he stopped his search and pulled the paper from the file. It had been stuffed in with an old anniversary party order, as if someone had been trying to hide it. Come to think of it, he remembered a moment last week where Gran had been back here looking over something, but when he asked what it was, she’d stuffed it in the files, saying it was nothing. Some old order she was checking over. But this didn’t look like nothing. Reading a bit of the paperwork, it looked like something.
A very big something.
Gran lied?
His stomach cramped. If this paper had been what she was trying to hide—and it appeared it was—then yes. His grandmother lied to him. His throat started to swell; he couldn’t swallow past the pain. He read over the application, skipping the legal terms and interest rates to get to the heart of what it was.
Application for a business loan to expand Porter’s Petals for the purpose of a flower growing lot.
He read the phrase several times, each time raising his blood pressure higher and higher. Grandma had applied for a loan in order to…what? Buy a plot of land to convince him to grow flowers in the city? Where would she even get an idea like that?
But as he read further down the page, he knew. And it caused all his earlier warm feelings to die. The fire doused out by the cold, bitter sting of betrayal.
Co-Signer: Moira Rossi
