Page 22 of The Ruse of Romancing

Dani

Driving home with my unbaked loaf of bread and my own sourdough starter, I felt an odd sizzle of excitement in my stomach.

I’d never thought about myself as a sourdough person, but as Joane had talked me through the different steps, I couldn’t help but picture myself as a sourdough expert.

If nothing else, the kneading of the dough would prove therapeutic whenever I was dealing with writing frustrations, which meant I’d be making sourdough daily at the rate I was going.

I’d have to pick up some bread flour and sea salt at the store.

By the time we had finished up, it was late enough that I just wanted to get home and make dinner, though I’d be able to pop the loaf Joane had given me into the oven to go with whatever I decided to make.

She had lent me all the tools I’d need to make sourdough while I was here in Oregon, but I’d need to purchase my own ceramic Dutch oven and Danish dough whisk when I got back to Utah, assuming I could keep my starter alive until I left.

When she’d handed me the jar with my very own piece of Carl, Joane had told me I’d have to name my starter, and that Carl Jr. was not an acceptable option.

After some pondering, I’d landed on the perfect, eyeroll-worthy name.

Avery would hate it, making it even more perfect: Dough-ris Day, after my favorite actress.

I couldn’t help but think Doris would be pleased to be immortalized this way. Maybe.

My afternoon of sourdough making had had another unexpected side-effect.

As we’d worked, I’d started to get ideas for my novel.

It wasn’t a full outline yet, but I at least knew the next scene I needed to write.

I’d even brainstormed a few possibilities with Joane, and she was very much onboard for the direction I was taking Hypatia and Petros’s story, even if it was a complete surprise for everyone involved, myself included.

My fingers itched to pull out my laptop and get started, as soon as I had the sourdough in the oven.

As I turned the corner to access the duplex, I muttered a curse under my breath. A black car currently occupied the center of the driveway. I wasn’t sure which lady friend this car belonged to, but it wasn’t the same car I’d seen Tiffany or Veronica drive.

Should I be concerned I remembered the names of Mason’s flings I’d met so far? Or should I be more worried that it looked like there was a third woman in the mix? Also, did these women know about the existence of the others?

I parked my car on the side of the road, trying to determine my next course of action as I grumbled to myself about player neighbors.

Maybe I should say something about it to the owners.

I could only imagine how many times Mason’s dalliances had impacted their other renters.

They really had a right to know, as it could be impacting their online reviews and income.

I had the garage door opener for my side of the duplex clipped to my sun visor, so I could get inside.

I’d just have to balance all of the sourdough supplies Joane had given me or make multiple trips.

The other option was to knock on my neighbor’s door and ask his guest to move their vehicle.

While I was frustrated with the continued battle for the driveway, I couldn’t quite bring myself to knock. Maybe I’d write another sticky note.

Walking around to the passenger side of the car, I stooped down, slipping the strap of the reusable shopping bag Joane had lent me over one shoulder, careful to keep the sourdough starter inside from knocking into the other tools and supplies Joane had given me to keep Dough-ris Day happy and thriving.

I scooped up the ceramic Dutch oven containing the unbaked loaf of bread and straightened from the car, using my hip to close the door.

The pot in my arms quickly grew heavy and awkward as I headed up the driveaway.

The clouds that had moved in this afternoon decided that moment was the perfect chance to unleash a cool drizzle, the rain making me shiver as I did my best not to drop my treasures.

I was nearly to the garage door when I realized I’d made a critical error. I’d forgotten to open the garage door while I was still in the car.

Muttering under my breath, I set the ceramic Dutch oven on the ground next to the garage, hoping the cold and wet wouldn’t ruin the bread inside.

Yes, the pot had a lid, but I didn’t know how waterproof it was, and I’d heard all kinds of horror stories from friends about how temperamental sourdough could be.

Had I just ruined the loaf inside because Mason exclusively made friends with people who only parked in the middle of driveways?

It took a couple of tries to get the garage door panel to accept my code. I had just begun to doubt if I had the right numbers when it finally decided to cooperate, slowly opening the door with a gentle whir of machinery.

As I waited, I heard the door of Mason’s unit open, followed by voices.

“No, don’t follow us out, Mason. It’s raining and we’d hate for you to get wet.” The voice of an elderly man called before the door closed, presumably with Mason inside.

So, he wasn’t entertaining yet another lady friend.

That was a surprising change. And knowing the garage was blocked by who I assumed to be the elderly couple that owned this place, my righteous indignation deflated some.

Maybe I couldn’t blame Mason for every inconvenience I’d experienced since arriving. Just most of them.

Wishing the garage door would open faster so I could slip inside my side of the duplex before I had to meet someone else, I bent down to pick up the ceramic Dutch oven.

As I straightened, I saw an elderly couple shuffling their way to the car in the driveway.

The woman seemed to be struggling to walk, so the man had her arm looped through his and was helping steady her.

They both had white hair and were wearing matching blue collared shirts, though the woman’s had small flowers on it.

The man looked up to see me and I gave a small wave around the pot in my arms, wanting to be friendly without encouraging conversation. I just wanted to get inside where it was dry and warm.

Apparently, my wave had been too enthusiastic because the couple changed directions, walking toward me and stopping just inside the garage out of the rain.

“Well, hello! You must be Danielle. We were hoping to meet you when we visited, but no one answered when we knocked earlier,” the woman said, her steady voice contrasting with her physical appearance as she leaned heavily on the man who I assumed was her husband.

I wanted to rush her inside and offer her a seat, something that battled with my desire to be left alone so I could make dinner and get back to writing before my inspiration disappeared.

“Hi! Yes, I’m Danielle, well most people call me Dani.” I tried to offer my hand to shake but recognized the awkwardness of the gesture with the heavy pot in my arms and returned my hand to holding the pot more securely.

“We’re James and Carol Miller, the owners of this place.

Sorry we haven’t been able to meet you before now.

My hip has been acting up with all this rain.

” The woman gave me a friendly smile, which emphasized the lines filling her face, hinting at a life well lived that included a fair amount of time outside in the elements.

“That and the fall you took while gardening didn’t help things,” the man said, earning a swat on his arm from his wife.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” I said. “The duplex is lovely.”

Maybe this was my chance to share some of my concerns regarding Mason’s social life, though that feedback felt more like something to share in an email and not face-to-face with his grandparents.

“That’s what we like to hear,” James said, waving at the house behind me. “We bought this place on a whim and haven’t regretted it for a minute. We’ve gotten to meet so many interesting people because of it.”

“And it’s kept Mason in the area. It’s so nice to have at least one of our grandsons close. Grey insists on living in Utah, though I’m so glad he met Audrey. She seems absolutely wonderful.”

I nodded, trying to follow their conversation without dropping anything in my arms, even as the Dutch oven grew heavier with each passing moment.

“If we could just find a nice girl for Mason,” Carol said, her voice filled with exasperation, “it might encourage him to actually put down roots.”

“Now Carol, Dani doesn’t want to hear about our woes,” James said, patting her hand and starting to steer her to the car.

“Of course not. Where are my manners? It looks like you’re in the middle of a project and we won’t keep you. Just wanted to say hi and to let you know if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask Mason. He’s done an amazing job managing this place. We’d be lost without him.”

I forced a smile and mumbled something unintelligible, hoping they’d take it as agreement. I really needed to get inside before I dropped something.

“Oh,” Carol said, pausing in her steps and turning to look at me. “I know Mason said something about updating you, but we’re so sorry about the whole internet and Scooter cutting the cord issue. I’m so glad the company will be out Wednesday to fix things.”

“That’s good to know. I hadn’t heard from Mason about that,” I said, trying not to wince as I considered staying here for two more days without any connection to the outside world.

Given my writing goals, that might be an issue.

Though it could also lead to some crazy productivity without the “Cheaper Than Therapy” thread to distract me.

“We’ll discount your final bill for the inconvenience. We’re so grateful for your understanding,” Carol said as James patiently waited for her to stop speaking so he could finish helping her to the car.

I exchanged goodbyes with the Millers, making sure they got into their car okay before I entered the house, the ceramic Dutch oven heavy in my arms. I gratefully deposited everything on the counter, shaking my arms out in relief.

As I started the oven preheating and got the rest of the sourdough supplies put away, I couldn’t help but wonder how my flirt of a neighbor could have come from such nice grandparents.