Page 10 of All’s Well that Friends Well (Lucky in Love #2)

JULIET

On Monday morning, for the first time in months, Aurora, India, and I all scurry around the kitchen at the same time as we get ready for work.

Usually I sit at the table and watch them, fretting about not having a job. But today I join their ranks as a job-having woman, ready to earn my living instead of mooching off my sisters.

Despite my mixed feelings toward janitorhood, it feels good to do this with them—scoot around each other, pass each other the loaf of bread for toast or sandwiches, mutter little ope s or sorry s when we step on toes.

They make any room in any house feel like home.

It takes a couple minutes to get used to my clothes as I move past them to grab a quick breakfast. My first-day outfit is maybe a little unexpected, considering my duties at work, but it makes me feel powerful and beautiful and put together: a silky white blouse, a pink tweed jacket, and a matching pink tweed pencil skirt.

It’s not a subtle pink either, but a bold, saturated color that speaks to my soul.

I’ve put my hair in a curled high ponytail, because I don’t want it getting in my face when I scrub things or clean out toilets, and I’ve chosen simple diamond studs for the same reason.

By diamond, obviously I mean fake diamond. But they won’t be dangling or getting caught on anything or hitting me in the cheeks.

Every now and then I see India and Aurora shooting me glances as we do our silent morning dance, though; a peek over her shoulder as India packs a quesadilla for lunch, or a furrowed brow as Aurora pops a few pieces of toast in the toaster.

Finally, when I’ve had enough, I slam the fridge shut and throw my hands up in the air.

“It’s fine!” I say, looking back and forth between them. “I’m dressing for the job I want, not the job I have. It’s recommended, you know.” My words echo around the quiet kitchen.

Aurora holds her hands up as though to say I didn’t say anything , and India nods quickly.

“We were just surprised,” she says. “You’re probably going to get grimy or dirty. But we fully support you in whatever you choose to wear.”

“Thank you,” I say with a sniff. They probably expected me to be in something similar to India’s outfit—her go-to casual jeans and a t-shirt.

I open the fridge once more and resume my hunt for the hardboiled egg I know I stashed in here. When I can’t find it, I glance over my shoulder at my sisters. “Did someone eat my egg?”

Aurora’s expression turns guilty, and she pauses in the act of shoving her toast into a baggie to raise one hand. “I did,” she says meekly—or as meek as Aurora gets, anyway. “Sorry. I’ll make some more tonight!” she adds.

“Boo,” I say with a frown. Then I shrug. “It’s okay. I’ll have yogurt instead.”

“We have some of the key lime flavor, I think,” India pipes up, because she knows that’s my favorite.

She’s right; I grab one of the key limes and eat it in record time, glancing at the clock every five seconds.

I don’t want to be late on my first day.

Not that my nerves would let me; my insides have been buzzing all morning, and I slept fitfully last night because they were buzzing then too.

That grumpy old man at Luca’s hired me without an interview or a resume, and I don’t want him to think he made a mistake.

“You know,” India says, and I look at her. “I do have to ask. If you’re doing janitorial work—which obviously there’s nothing wrong with”—Aurora nods too, and I sigh—“why haven’t you wanted to come wash dogs with me?”

“Because,” I say. “You said yourself that you’re pretty full on staff. Plus dogs are cute but stinky, especially when they’re wet. And—” I break off, then go on. “I would have, if I needed to. I even thought about it. But I wanted to get a job on my own if I could. That’s all.”

India and Aurora both nod, and I know they understand. They would probably feel the same way, in fact.

“All right,” Aurora says. She hurries out of the kitchen and into the laundry room, where I hear her putting on her high heels. She’s a boss lady, a business goddess who rocks suits and pencil skirts. “I’m heading out,” she calls.

“Do you need me to move my car?” I say, trying to remember .

“No,” she says. “I’m good.”

“See you later!” I say, and India chimes in with the same; a second later, the door to the garage opens and then slams shut, and it’s just India and I.

“I have to go too,” I say, and India nods.

“So do I. I do need you to move your car, though,” she says.

I grab my keys and hurry out in my stocking feet, moving my little sedan so I’m not blocking India, and she’s pulling out a few minutes later. I watch her car disappear and then head back in.

I have my wallet. I have my purse. Do I need anything else?

No. I’m good. So I go up to the room India and I share and grab the shoes I’m wearing today—classic pink pumps, the same color as my jacket and skirt.

They give me a good four inches in height, and—if I do say so myself—they make my legs look amazing.

I walk well in them, too, so I’m not worried about cleaning in them.

The drive from our house over to Main feels both longer and shorter than it ever has in the past. My knuckles are white as I clutch the steering wheel, my fingers drumming nervously.

Still, I’m a fake-it-til-you-make-it girl, so I force myself to straighten up and stop fidgeting.

I am composed and calm and ready for this job. I am not terribly clean at home, but that is because I’m not getting paid to be clean.

Here, I think as I pull into the parking lot of Explore, I will be the best janitor they’ve ever had.

Explore is a building I’ve passed before, but I’ve never actually shopped here.

Most of the buildings lining Main are smaller, partly because they’re original to Lucky, back from when the town was first established.

Even the ones that aren’t original are still old, and any modern decor meshes well.

There are strands of lights over some parts of the road, giving it a twinkling, small-town feel; little trees and cheerful flowers line the street.

Everything is bright and quaint, especially with the mountains and vivid blue sky as a backdrop.

Explore is newer—two stories, with a larger footprint.

Although, I notice as I cross the parking lot, my gaze taking the place in, it doesn’t have that cold, urban look that many larger buildings have.

It still fits in with the rest of Main. The red brick exterior lends an air of warmth, and the sign over the storefront looks similar to a lot of the neighboring shops—colorful, slightly faded from the sun, cheery and inviting.

Someone designed this place intelligently. Lucky is a welcoming town, but I don’t know how we would handle a sleek, corporate monstrosity right smack-dab in the middle of Main.

A thrill of nerves shivers through me as I step up the curb and onto the sidewalk.

I’ve been trying not to think about it, but the fact is that Lucky is as small as it is friendly.

Most places you go you’ll recognize someone, even if it’s just a friend’s parent or someone’s cousin or the school’s old lunch lady.

Am I going to run into somebody I know here? And if I do, who will it be?

I stop in front of the entry, inhaling deeply and then letting the air out.

The door jingles when I open it, and I’m hit with the smell of rubber—bike tires, I think.

There’s a row of them hanging from the ceiling on the far wall.

The man behind the counter looks up at me, his eyes bleary, but his brows jump as he takes me in .

“I’m starting in the office today,” I say. I point at the back of the store. “Stairs…?”

“Yeah,” he says faintly, pointing over his shoulder. He’s maybe a little younger than me, still pimple-faced, and based on the tired way he’s slumped on his stool, he would clearly rather be asleep. “Back there.”

“Do you happen to know where HR is once I get to the second floor?”

“Uh, at the far end of the hall, I think,” he says, his voice still faint.

I nod and force myself to ignore his scrutiny. “Thank you,” I say.

The clip-clip-clip of my heels on the polished concrete floor is the only sound as I go to the back of the shop and then climb the stairs.

I emerge into a carpeted hallway significantly warmer than the shop downstairs, and the rubber smell has dissipated.

The carpet is a neutral dark blue, the walls cream, everything very practical—like Luca, really. I guess I’m not surprised.

I head down the hallway, my eyes on the door at the end. There’s no sign or tag outside, but the door is cracked, so I knock faintly and then let myself in. The woman behind the desk looks up at me over the rim of her glasses, her brows climbing as she glances over me.

She gives off an aura of severity, maybe because of the frown lines around her mouth or the tight pull of her hair. She’s probably a bit younger than the man I met at Luca’s, but not by much.

Still, despite all these things, I like her immediately. I’m good at reading people; I always have been. And this lady might be a bit scary with her furrowed, steel-colored eyebrows and beady eyes, but I think that’s more of a no-nonsense thing than it is actual meanness.

Plus I heard somewhere that those lines around your mouth can actually come from drinking from a straw a lot. Maybe this lady likes drinking through straws.

“Hi,” I say brightly to her as I step further into the office. It’s even warmer in here than it was in the hallway. “My name is Juliet Marigold. I was just hired. Is this HR?”

“Yes,” the woman says in a skeptical voice.

Susan, I see when I glance at the nameplate propped neatly on the reception desk. Susan Miller.

“It’s nice to meet you, Susan,” I say.

Susan does not look like she feels the same way. But she doesn’t say anything, so I go on.

“Like I said, I was hired recently to be a janitor. I’d love to go ahead and fill out my paperwork, if you’ve got a minute?”