Page 22 of The Accidental Dating Experiment

My skin is hot as I manage a goodnight.

8

THE GOOD THING

Juliet

New day. New chance to be my best self. Just like Badass Babe would say in her podcast. Every day you can be a better version of you.

Today I am the good daughter version as I head to the back door to find Monroe. He woke up early—of course he did—and left a note saying that he’d be in the shed checking out tools and stuff.

I’m jittery, but at least I’m dressed, made up, and ready now, so I wander through the house texting my sister as I go.

Juliet: Wish me luck. I’m going to see Mom in a bit. She said she has news for me. Anything I need to know?

Rachel: Um…is this a trick question?

Juliet: She said it was a good thing. Shit, is she preggers?

Rachel responds with a Home Alone gif of Kevin’s shocked face.

Juliet: Okay, not that :). But what do we think it is?

Rachel: I don’t know, but you’d better tell me after! I demand it. Also, how’s the house?

Juliet: It’s sexy. Yes, that’s apparently a thing.

Rachel: And is it a good thing?

I smile, feeling a little less jittery as I reply with a simple It’s just a thing. Because that is really all it is.

Then, I drop my phone in my pocket, and swing open the back door into the bright summer sunshine of a Monday morning. Across the emerald-green yard teeming with pink and purple wildflowers sits a work shed painted a deep red, like a farmhouse. The wooden barn door is wide open. I can just catch the outline of Monroe’s silhouette, the cut of his shoulders, the muscles in his arms.

“Did you find tools and other manly stuff?” I call out.

Monroe emerges, holding a wrench. Not a bad look at all, especially in those trim jeans and a San Francisco Cougars T-shirt.

“Told you I was handy, and I’m going to prove it to you.”

“Of course you are,” I say, though I’m grateful for the morning distraction of chitchat. I’m still frazzled thinking about Mom. I want to make everything right for her. If only I could. I worry about her more than Dad because she’s always seemed to need him more. “And what is this proof, Mister Handy?”

“I fixed the chain on the bikes.” Monroe waggles the wrench.

“Bikes?”

“Those things that have two wheels that you pedal.”

I huff. “I know what a bike is.”

“Want to ride into town?”

“I thought we were going to drive?” Riding a bike feels like a project, and I’m not sure how many projects I have in me this morning.

“You’re such a city girl,” he says dryly.

“You’re a city boy! You lived in New York and now San Francisco.”

“But bikes are fun, city girl,” he goads.