Page 2 of X's and O's

Who they were didn’t matter.

Just that I could help make their lives a little better in the one small way I was qualified for.

At the intersection, Toby waved, continuing on his way to a friend’s house. Though I was quite sure Toby and Devin were a bit more than just friends these days, they clearly weren’t ready to go public just yet, so I hadn’t pushed the issue. He’d tell me when he was ready.

But it made me happy to know he’d found someone.

Just like I had.

A smiled tugged at the corners of my mouth, and there was a definite spring in my step as I practically pranced along the sidewalk, checking the house numbers until I found the one I was searching for. 1258 Olympic Drive.

It was a neat house in the suburban area between the low-income housing in Saint View, where Toby and I lived, and the much more affluent town on the other side of the border. Providence was so far out of my league, I didn’t even have dreams of living there, but this part of Saint View, I would have given my eye teeth to live in.

A warm flush filled me, thinking about this being my home, tending to a small garden every day, a couple ofkids running around in the backyard, and a man wrapping his arms around me from behind, murmuring sexy things in my ear that we could do while the kids were distracted.

The face of the man in my daydream was blurry, but that was temporary.

Soon, I’d know what he looked like.

But for now, all I knew was that his handwriting was a scratchy scrawl of cheap pen on thin paper, that he’d apologized for and hoped I could read.

I’d read every word of every letter what felt like a hundred times.

The door of 1258 Olympic Drive opened, dragging me out of my daydream. I smiled brightly at the middle-aged man standing in the doorway. His tall build filled the doorframe, a gray knitted sweater stretched tight across his chest and stomach. His cheeks were a bit pink, perhaps with embarrassment, as new clients often were.

“Violet?”

I smiled reassuringly at him and hurried up the couple of steps to meet him. I put my hand out. “Yes. That’s me. From Clean Sweep Cleaning.”

He took my hand, squeezing it with a warm smile. If I had to bet, I would have put money on this guy being a schoolteacher. Or maybe an accountant.

I tried to mentally recall the job details Francine had included on my schedule but came up completely blank. “I’m sorry, I think the agency only gave me a woman’s name. Your wife, I presume? Claire, was it?”

The man stared at me blankly, his fingers still wrapped around mine.

Seconds passed, each one feeling like a lifetime. Iheld his gaze at first, trying to be polite and make a good impression on a new client. But after too much silence and staring, an uncomfortable awareness swept over me. I pulled my hand free limply.

He blinked and gave a short laugh. “I’m sorry. Yes. I’m Paul. Clara is my wife.”

I took my phone from my pocket and glanced down it. The agency’s email was still displayed from when I’d searched for the address earlier. “Oh, I’m sorry. My company must have had her name wrong. I can update it on their system, so your invoices are correct.”

Paul didn’t respond, and when I looked up, he was staring at me again.

Great. He was one of those guys. The kind who made out like he was watching me work to be sure I was doing a good job, when really, he was just being a perv.

The only type of man I seemed to attract, apparently.

He wouldn’t be my first, or my last, client who acted like that, and I knew I just had to be professional and put up with it. I bit my lip, fighting back the urge to tell this guy to put his eyes back in his head and just let me get on with it.

He let out a mumbled noise I didn’t catch.

I strained toward him. “Sorry?”

He gave a short, sharp shake of his head. “Never mind. Please come in. Claire and I can go through everything we want done.”

My hesitation disappeared with the knowledge his wife was home, though I was more confused than ever as to whether her name was Claire or Clara. But it didn’t really matter. He’d have to quit staring in front of her, at least. I paused, my finger still hovering over the details ofthe job on my phone, then shrugged. It was my job to clean. The agency could figure out who to bill.

“Thanks.” I put my phone away in my purse and hung it on the coatrack just inside the door. To my surprise, the inside of the house was quite tidy. A typical-looking home for a middle-income family, with a soft couch, a rug, and a bookshelf with an ugly stuffed toy bear, some decorative knick-knacks, and a bunch of tattered paperbacks displayed.