Page 6 of All’s Well that Friends Well (Lucky in Love #2)

JULIET

So here’s the thing. I’m not a major eavesdropper or whatever. But…I have been known to snoop in my day.

Just a little bit! Just a tiny little bit. And is it even really eavesdropping if you’re walking past a window and you hear what people are talking about inside? It’s not, is it? I can’t control what my ears pick up on, you know?

But Luca Slater is clearly not having any of the same thoughts I am as he gapes down at me.

“You’re still here?” he says, his eyes wide. The attitude just drips from his voice.

“I am, yes,” I say. “Because I lost my earring, see?” I point at my left ear, where a silver hoop is indeed missing.

Confession: I knew the earring was loose, and I still didn’t clasp it properly.

I decided to let the universe direct my fate on that one.

If it fell out in the course of my climbing and sneaking and whatnot, I could cash in on that opportunity to come back later.

I can only bring Luca so many baked goods, you know?

And I’m not quite ready to give up on him yet.

I maybe should have given up months ago. He’s clearly not interested in me. But I just want to make sure he’s uninterested for the right reasons, that’s all.

Because he is everything I want in a man, and everything I want to be. Handsome and mature and competent. Intelligent. Put together and upright. He exudes manliness—old-fashioned manliness, the good kind. Chivalry.

Luca Slater would open the door for his woman. He would take care of her and protect her, but he would also never underestimate her.

Maybe I’m romanticizing him too much. Maybe, as Aurora and India say, he’s just rude and standoffish. But I’m dying, yearning, burning to find out for myself. And I absolutely cannot stomach the thought that his opinion of me could be so low.

“You lost your earring,” Luca says now, folding his arms and leaning against the doorframe. He cocks one dark brow at me, looking thoroughly unconvinced.

I nod and point at my ear again.

“And I suppose you would never lose your jewelry on purpose ,” he says slowly, his eyes narrowing. “So that you would have an excuse to come back again.”

I clear my throat. “I’m quite sure I would never lose my jewelry fully on purpose,” I say, my voice hedging. “And if anything similar to that happened, there would definitely be a very good reason.”

I think I can see angry flames in his eyes, spitting fire behind his square glasses.

“I just want to get to know you,” I say, the words bursting from my lips.

“But you won’t talk to me, you know? You’ve made up your mind about me, and you won’t let me show you otherwise.

So maybe my earring falling out was fate’s way of telling you to give me a chance.

Did you ever think of that?” I jut my chin, trying to display a confidence I don’t feel.

“Of course not,” Luca says flatly.

Of course not.

“Well, I was poking around in the bushes over there”—I gesture vaguely to the side of the house—“and then I checked by the tree in the back, and then a bit up here”—I point to the front of the house this time, and Luca throws his hands in the air with exasperation.

“You weren’t even near the front,” he says.

“I was being thorough,” I say primly. “And then I saw someone pulling into the driveway, and—” I lower my voice, because I think the guy is still in there.

“It was a really old man. And he stumbled going up the porch steps, and he seemed so slow and tired walking to the front door, and I just—” My shoulders slump at the unyielding expression still on Luca’s face.

“I wanted to help him, and then I still needed to find my earring. That’s all. ”

To my surprise, Luca doesn’t answer me; he turns his head to speak over his shoulder. “Did you stumble coming up these steps?” he calls.

“Barely at all,” a gruff voice responds as a faint shuffling of feet comes closer.

“It was a definite stumble,” I say—kindly, because the guy in there is clearly a million years old and possibly as crotchety as Luca.

“So…what?” Luca says. “You snuck around my house and peeked through the windows, like a Peeping Tom?”

I gasp. “I would never .” I straighten up, smoothing my hand down my lacy top.

“I was just looking for my earring near the back. The kitchen windows are open, you know. So I couldn’t help overhearing that you need an assistant or whatever.

Just that!” I add quickly. “I didn’t hear your conversation or anything.

Also I wanted to make sure that guy was okay.

” I hesitate, clear my throat again, and then call past Luca, “You’re okay, right, sir? ”

From behind Luca’s towering frame in the doorway, a faint grunt of assent filters out. I nod, my cheeks heating.

Because there’s a voice piping up in my head, one that sounds suspiciously like Aurora, full of disapproval at this clear invasion of privacy. Juliet, that voice says. You can’t go sneaking around just because you’re curious.

The Aurora in my mind is correct, I realize. I might have crossed the line on this one.

“Do you remember me telling you that if you came here again I would report you?” Luca says, his attention back on me. He seems taller than he did two seconds ago, now that he’s glowering down at me with even more force than usual.

Even his hair looks darker, and messier—wilder rather than crisply tamed. It’s the Kitchen Incident all over again.

“I remember,” I say, my voice small. There’s a knot in the back of my throat, one I try to swallow past. It doesn’t shift. Still, I force myself to hold Luca’s gaze, dark and penetrating and so, so annoyed.

Luca nods slowly, but he doesn’t go on. He just stares at me.

“So…?” I say when I finally can’t stand the silence between us. “If I promise to never ever ever?—”

“You already promised!” he cuts me off. His glasses glint in the afternoon sun as he jerks his head at me. “And here you are again. So you see why I’m hesitant to even speak to you?”

“I do,” I say as something sinks in the pit of my stomach.

And I finally, finally understand.

I am a mosquito to this man. A gnat. And no matter how much I buzz around his face, it won’t make him enjoy my presence.

“And I guess you probably aren’t going to hire me, either,” I say. The words are heavy as they fall off my tongue, and I squeeze my eyes shut to ward off the stinging tears.

“Oh, no,” I hear Luca say with something like slow realization. “You’re not—are you going to cry again?”

“No,” I snap. I hope it’s true, because crying is the only thing that could make this situation worse.

“Because you look like you’re going to?—”

“I’m not!” I say with a stomp of my foot, even as one hot tear trickles down my cheek. I whirl around so that all Luca will see is the back of my stupid blonde head.

And when someone speaks again, I’m momentarily confused—it takes half a second for me to realize it must be the old man.

“You need a job?” the rough, aged voice says. I hear a harrumph that sounds like Luca, but he doesn’t say anything.

I glance cautiously over my shoulder to see the old man in the doorway, Luca pushed to the side. The man is stooped and faintly sagging—he’s definitely the one who stumbled up the stairs—but his gaze is sharp, keen.

So I nod, just once.

He studies me for a second. Then, finally, he speaks. “What’s your degree in?”

There it is—the question. The question I have to answer, the one I’m so sick of I could scream, because I feel like everyone looks down on me for the answer.

I can’t tell if people really do look down on me, or if it’s my mind playing nasty tricks. My brain does that sometimes, and reality can be an elusive, hidden, fluttering thing—a moth, not beautiful enough to be a butterfly but worthy of grasping all the same.

“I didn’t graduate college,” I say finally.

There’s no point in lying; he would want my résumé anyway.

I pause and go on, “But I really, really need work.” I swallow and then straighten up, turning around to face them once more.

I keep my voice steady as I say, “I excel at on-the-job training. I can even clean. Do you need any janitors? I could clean toilets or mop floors. They would be so clean you could see your reflection.”

It’s all I can think to offer. And I know I’m not imagining the look the old man gives me, skeptical but somehow curious too.

“I could totally do it,” I hurry on, because I’m sure I don’t present a janitorial picture, standing in front of him in pink lace. “I totally can. I can clean. I can do manual labor. I could even wrangle a group of kids—or adults who act like kids, probably.”

The old man grunts and tosses a look at Luca. “What about one adult who acts like a kid?”

Luca’s jaw drops, but the man holds up a wrinkled hand to stop him from cutting in.

“Definitely,” I say as my pulse jumps. “I could definitely do that.” I am making wild, reckless promises right now, and yet my mouth keeps moving as I remember the snippet of conversation I overheard.

“Absolutely. I could even help Luca be nicer to people. That’s what he needs, right? I could do it. No problem.”

This gruff, ancient man eyes me some more, and I can see the wheels turning in his mind. Then, finally?—

He nods.

“I’ll start you on janitorial,” he says. “If you do good work, I’ll move you up to babysitting.”

Does that mean what I think it means?

But I don’t get a chance to ask, because the man is already turning around. “You start Monday,” he says over his shoulder. “At Explore, over on Main. Be there at seven-thirty and we’ll get you squared away with HR.”

Who is this guy, that he can hire me on the spot without asking anyone about it? Some sort of manager, maybe?

Regardless of who he is, a barrage of emotions surges within me—excitement and gratitude and relief , overwhelming and sweet; but a bleak acceptance, too, that my ninth grade English teacher was right when she told me I’d better work harder or all I’d be fit for was cleaning toilets.