Page 19 of The Ruse of Romancing

Joane had only answered one of my questions and the fact that she was giving me a piece of Carl had me very confused.

Was Carl a person? A pet? Neither option boded well for me or for Carl.

Maybe he was one of those plants that propagated ridiculously fast, and Joane was going to try to turn me into a plant lady.

Something that would only end in disaster given the number of dead and dying plants that currently dotted my windowsill back in Utah, plants I was just realizing I’d forgotten to ask Avery to water while I was away.

The last thing I needed was more plants to murder.

For my own peace of mind, I really needed Joane to clarify who Carl was; however, I didn’t dare repeat my question. Maybe if I rephrased it, I’d have better luck.

“So, we’re going to meet Carl. And what are we doing with Carl?” I had a writer’s imagination and none of the scenarios I was conjuring in my mind were good.

“Giving you a new hobby, of course!” Joane said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. But I couldn’t, for the life of me think of hobbies that involved pieces of a guy named Carl that didn’t end terribly.

If Carl was a pet, maybe Joane made things out his fur.

I’d once gone way too far down a social media rabbit hole watching videos of people who repurposed their dog’s and cat’s fur.

And while I found the hobby mildly disturbing, I also had to admire the creator’s ingenuity as they somehow turned a tuft of golden retriever hair into a miniature golden retriever.

I studied Joane carefully. She didn’t strike me as a cannibal or a swinger, especially given that she’d made it very clear earlier in the day that she was divorced, but what did I really know about the woman?

We’d met twenty-four hours earlier and, while I liked her, I technically didn’t know her well enough to determine if she was secretly a serial killer or had some kind of fetish involving tourists and Carl.

Lost in my thoughts, I missed what Joane said next. Instead, she just stood next to the bakery door looking at me expectantly.

“Sorry, I missed that,” I said sheepishly as I walked to the door, my laptop bag slung over one shoulder.

“I said, go get in your car and wait for me while I finish locking up. I won’t be long.” She impatiently gestured for me to leave. I had the feeling when Joane got an idea, it took an act of Congress to get her to change her mind.

Deciding it couldn’t hurt anything and that I wouldn’t win if I tried arguing, I left the bakery and walked around to the parking lot.

If nothing else, yesterday’s unexpected bookstore interaction had led to inspiration for today.

Maybe following Joane home would do the same.

Perhaps that’s what I really needed, new and unexpected experiences that could force me out of my funk.

Maybe I should have given Allen my number yesterday, instead of playing it safe, though I still couldn’t decide if he was flirting or just friendly.

But giving him my number would have been an unexpected, new experience on an entirely different level, and I wasn’t as alarmed by the possibility as I probably should have been.

Possibly a vacation romance without strings attached was exactly what I needed.

Perhaps my neighbor with his lothario ways had the right idea.

Veronica from the other night hadn’t looked the least bit upset when I’d caught the two of them in the driveway.

And Tiffany had enjoyed herself enough to plan another trip to this sleepy little town for a chance at round two with Mason.

Not that I was about to take Mason up on his offer from Sunday night, but I would consider a similar offer from Allen.

And if Allen was looking just to be friends, I could do that too. Were vacation friendships a thing? It could be worth it to find out.

Shaking myself from my musings involving a certain handsome, clean-shaven man, I unlocked my car and settled into the driver’s seat, flipping through radio stations until I found a song I liked.

Not sure how long I’d have to wait for Joane, I pulled out my phone to check for texts.

With internet still out at the duplex, I was quickly learning to take advantage of the moments I had reception.

While I felt like I was going through a bit of withdrawal from the cousin chat, the limited distractions without a functioning phone were good when I could focus on writing.

Normally, I’d text Sadie my every thought and reaction, but she was currently at a family reunion with her other, less cool, side of the family, and I wasn’t sure how responsive she’d be.

With Sadie unavailable, I decided I should update Avery on my plans just in case Joane chose to unalive me, I typed out a quick text in response to her last message requesting a progress report:

Dani:

If you haven’t heard from me by bedtime, I’ve probably been murdered.

Or turned into a swinger.

Or a cat lady.

Really, anything’s possible at this point.

Avery:

Uh, should I be worried? That doesn’t sound like writing, and neither does it sound like you’re very safe out there.

Dani:

[Shrug emoji] I mean, how safe are any of us in the grand scheme of things?

Joane declared I need a break from writing to “refill my cup.” Whatever that means. So now I’m following her home to be given a hobby that involves a piece of someone named Carl.

Do you think she’s about to induct me into a cult? That could lead to some really good book inspiration!

Avery:

Unless you’re planning to put a cult in this second book, maybe stay away from whoever Joane is?

Wait, what do you mean, “a piece of someone named Carl?”

Dani! Do I need to call the police? Send an SOS if you’re really in trouble.

Motion outside my window had me looking up from my phone to find Joane waving at me as she climbed into her own car, a well-loved white sedan with a Sugar and Sea Bakery bumper sticker proudly sitting next to the license plate.

It probably wouldn’t hurt to leave Avery hanging until I had more information about Carl and his pieces, so I followed Joane from the parking lot and over a couple of blocks to a cute little green house with thriving flower beds.

While dated, the house was welcoming with freshly painted shutters and large windows.

It didn’t look like the house of a serial killer or a swinger or a cult leader. Though, I wasn’t sure exactly what the house of a serial killer looked like. Probably more red and fewer flowers.

Joane pulled into the garage, and I followed behind her, making sure to park off to the side so she could move her car if needed. I wished Scooter or Tiffany could see me and take notes. It really wasn’t that hard!

“Come on in,” Joane called, and I followed her through the garage and into the house.

I was immediately greeted by a little dog, its tail wagging furiously as it jumped up on my legs to gain my attention. Maybe this was Carl, and I was about to become an animal fur artist. At least he was a small dog, so there wouldn’t be too much fur to work with.

“Down, Franklin,” Joane said, trying to nudge the dog away from me.

“Let her at least get into the house.” There was humor in Joane’s voice, and I had a feeling Franklin’s enthusiastic greeting was standard behavior for the little dog that looked to be some kind of miniature poodle mix with his curly, caramel-colored fur.

Though learning the dog’s name did leave one very important, glaring mystery. Who was Carl? I hadn’t seen any plants inside, and there weren’t any other animals hanging around.

Deciding I could wait a few more moments to learn Carl’s identity, I kicked off my shoes and knelt to give Franklin some attention.

“Aren’t you a cutey!” He immediately rolled over to his back on the worn, yellowing linoleum, welcoming belly rubs. I gave Franklin some thorough attention before Joane opened the backdoor and ushered the dog outside to do his business.

“Little attention hog,” she muttered affectionately under her breath.

“I got him for Spencer when he was in high school to help him navigate the divorce. I always assumed he’d take Franklin with him when he bought a place.

Well, Spencer now owns both a house and a bookstore and yet, I still have Franklin. ”

“Well, I’m glad you still have Franklin. I always need more dogs in my life,” I said.

Even though he was significantly smaller, Franklin had me missing Hercules. I’d have to ask Avery to send me a photo when I sent her my all-clear text. Just as soon as I figured out who Carl was.

I pushed to my feet, taking a moment to soak in my surroundings.

The entrance from the garage led straight into the kitchen.

The room was dated, but clean, reminding me in many ways of my kitchen growing up.

The walls were a cheerful blue, the cabinets an orangish brown.

The appliances and countertops appeared to be the only things that had been updated with the appliances being stainless steel and the counters being stone, though even those had obviously seen some years.

As if reading my thoughts, Joane waved a hand around the room.

“Before our divorce, my ex-husband tried to update the kitchen in an effort to placate me and save our marriage. He got as far as new countertops and appliances before he realized two very important things. First,” she held up a finger to underscore her point, “he hated home renovation and was not, despite the many remodeling shows he watched, cut out to be a handyman. And second,” she held up another finger, “he’d rather divorce me than finish the renovation of my dreams. Instead of bringing us together, it just created more fights, including an argument about why on earth he’d buy and install new counters and appliances before painting, the idiot. ”

“Oh Joane, I’m so sorry!” I said, not really sure how to react to her bland, straightforward assessment of the end of her relationship.