Page 22 of Meant to Be

I nod. “Thank you so much, Mr. Sherlock.”

“Danny, please,” he insists as we head back to the front of the office. “Next Monday, can you start? I’ll organise to run an advert in the local paper telling everyone you’ll be joining the team.”

My cheeks hurt as I force a smile. Great. The last thing I need is for my face to be splashed across the local newspaper. The gossip mill will be working overtime once it’s released. I also don’t want to cater the thought of it potentially hurting his business. But it’s not like there’s anywhere else to go around here.

“I’ll be here. Sounds great! I also have a lot of administrative experience, so I’m happy to take over the front desk, phone calls, bookings,” I rattle off. “Just let me know.”

“Honestly, that would be a relief,” he tells me with a bright smile. “I’m terrible with that kind of thing.”

“Sure. No problem. I’ll see you next week!”

There’s a bounce to my step as I head back to my car. When I’m alone, I let out an excited squeal. I thought my reputation here might damage my chances of getting hired, but Mr. Sherlock—Danny—didn’t bat an eye when he saw me. He didn’t care about the past or the changes to my appearance. It was refreshing.

Next on the list of things to do today is to meet Lynne, the property manager of Fern Grove. I have thirty minutes until we have to meet, so I detour to get myself a coffee and browse online for a uniform while I wait. I pick out three sets of matching scrub tops and pants—baby pink, lilac, and turquoise blue. One for every day of my working week.

I swallow down the lukewarm coffee that somehow also tastes burnt. I grimace, placing it back down into the cupholder.

Gravel crunches underneath the tyres when I pull up in front of a small property. It looks like someone has cut a part of someone’s house and dumped it onto this small block.

The windows aren’t aligned, there are patchy paint jobs on the walls in different shades of paint, and the guttering has come off the side. Everything is unkempt and overgrown, with weeds sprouting through cracks in the pavement.

“Good morning,” Lynne greets me with a clipped, professional tone, the corners of her mouth pinching as she looks me over. “How are you?”

“I’m good, thanks. Yourself?”

She doesn’t answer and instead,cups her hand over her eyes.

“Not much to look at, I’m afraid. It’s small and old. But it’s cheap and perfect for a solo renter.” She glances at me. I see her eyes dart to my lips, to my chest, back to my eyes. She remembers me. She’s good friends with Nick’s mother. She doesn’t like me. “Shall we have a look inside?”

“Sure.”

The gate opens with an ear-piercing squeak, and I stumble over a loose pavement.

“A gardener will come and take care of the lawns once someone moves in. He comes once a fortnight.”

It takes her a few moments of jiggling the key to get the door to unlock, and she rams her shoulder into it to get it to open wide enough for us to step inside. It has the smell of a place that hasn’t breathed fresh air for months. Dust has settled on every surface,and the wallpaper is peeling.

Despite the flaws, I sort of love it. This would bemyspace.

“I’ll take it.”

Lynne is mid-sentence and stops short, peering at me in surprise. We haven’t even looked at the bathroom or laundry yet. With the way she is speaking, she must have expected me to hate the place. It’s basically one big room with everything jam-packed inside.

“Oh. Okay.”

She draws her eyebrows together. She tells me she’ll call when it’s finalised. As I drive home, I expel a heavy breath.

I’m back, and this time, I will do things right.