“I recently left my job,” I said carefully.
And my home. My fiancé. And everything else in that life.
“How recently?”
People in Knockemout were not shy about sticking their noses into other people’s business.
“Yesterday.”
“Heard my grandson drove you out here with a wedding dress flying like a flag out the window. You a runaway bride?” She set two glasses next to the open bottle and nodded.
I poured. “I guess I am.” After a full year of planning. Of choosing everything from the cocktail hour appetizers to the color of the table runner on the charcuterie table, it was all over. Wasted. All that time. All that effort. All that planning. All that money.
She picked up a glass and held it aloft. “Good. Heed my words. Don’t ever let a man you don’t like make decisions for you.”
It was odd advice coming from a stranger that I was trying to impress. But considering the day I’d had, I raised my glass to hers.
“You’ll do okay here. Knockemout will take care of you and that little girl,” she predicted.
“Well, then. About the cottage,” I pressed. “I have some savings I can access.” Technically it was my retirement account, and I’d have to borrow against it.
“You and the girl can stay rent-free,” Liza J decided.
My mouth opened wider than the fish mounted on the wall above us.
“You’ll pay the utilities on the cottage,” she continued. “The rest you can trade by helping around this place. I’m not the neatest housekeeper and I need some help getting things cleaned up.”
My squeals were internal. Liza was my fairy godmother in gardening clogs.
“That’s very generous of you,” I began, attempting to process what was happening. But after the past twenty-four hours, my brain was on hiatus.
“You’ll still need a paycheck,” she continued, unaware of my mental predicament.
I still needed a lot of things. Bike helmets. A car. Some therapy appointments… “Oh, I had a job offer today. Someone named Sherry Fiasco said I could take a shift at a place called the Honky Tonk tomorrow night. But I need to find someone to watch Waylay.”
We heard the scrabble of paws, and in seconds, Waylon trotted into the room and looked at us expectantly.
“Waylay, not Waylon,” Liza said to the dog.
He sniffed around, making sure we weren’t dropping food on the floor, and then headed back into the kitchen.
“You didn’t by chance mention to Knox about that job offer, did you?” Liza asked.
“We don’t have that kind of relationship. We just met,” I said diplomatically. I didn’t want to come out and tell my new landlord that I thought her grandson was a brutish oaf with the manners of a pillaging Norseman.
She studied me through her glasses, and the corner of her mouth turned up. “Oh, I can tell. Word of advice, maybe don’t tell him about the new job. He might have opinions and if he does, he’d definitely share them.”
If Knox Morgan thought I was interested in his opinions on my life, I could add narcissistic tendencies to his long list of flaws.
“My business is my business,” I said primly. “Besides, I don’t think I’m going to be able to find someone I’m comfortable leaving Waylay with in such a short time.”
“Already did. Though the girl probably don’t need it. Probably been making her own dinners since she was six. She can stay with me. Hell, maybe she can make me dinner. Bring her by on your way to work tomorrow.”
Keep an entire human being alive and safe went into the Major Imposition column on my internal spreadsheet of Things to Avoid at All Costs. Asking my fairy godmother landlord to please babysit my niece until who knew when while I worked a late shift in a bar rose to the top of that list, edging out helping me move and chauffeuring me to or from surgery.
Major Impositions were only put upon responsible family members and close friends. Liza was neither of those.
“Oh, but I don’t know what time I’ll get off,” I hedged. “It could be very late.”