Part Nineteen of You Will Find Your Way
Wine, taxes, and an anniversary.
That night, Dallas takes a decided-non-powered paperback novel and a thermos full of wine out on the porch and settles on one of the cushioned chairs settled next the railing. She takes a long sip off the chilled pinot, rolls her eyes that she has to pretend that she’s not actually an adult because their neighborhood is a sneeze away from the campus border.
She’s flipping through the book in search of the scrap of paper she was using as a marker before they left Blythe when she hears the gentle sound of footsteps scraping across the pavement. It makes her still and because she’s been so tense the last few weeks, her hand twitches toward her back before she clenches her fist and presses it into the armrest.
The porch light isn’t on, but she still sees the familiar set of shoulders of the guy she brought home from the bar the other night, “You again?” She hums and takes another drink.
His shrug is masked by the darkest, and Dallas can almost see him rock back on his heels, “I was at dinner around the corner, figured I’d take the long way back to my place.”
“Good for you,” she says—she’s really not in the mood for sex right now, so at least that’s not one of the major reasons why his path is has apparently decided to take him past her house. “How’d the first day treat you?”
He shrugs again, “Not bad. Most of the students I mentor don’t know their ass from a notebook, so it’s been a lot of unnecessary handholding.”
“Never let it be said that we were adequately prepared for the real world out of high school,” she grins. “I don’t even know how to do my taxes.”
That’s why she hired an accountant—one that she pays very handsomely to not ask questions about the origins of her stock portfolio.
The movie where Blake Lively’s character accidentally becomes immortal drastically underestimates how difficult it is to be immortal and keep financial records that stay out of the IRS’ radar.
As she thinks about it, her right shoulder twinges and she winces, puts her thermos down and digs her fingers into her skin.
His chuckle brings her back to the present, draws some of the focus it did that night at the bar, but—no Dallas, this is not a good time.
Sometimes, her libido is super inconvenient.
“But really, does anyone know what their doing when it comes to taxes?” He asks, and tilts his head. “Some food for thought.”
And then he waves and continues walking down the road.
Dallas slumps back in her seat, her fingers still digging into the skin below her shoulder.
Life is so inconvenient.
When the pain finally recedes, Dallas goes back to her wine, sips until her tongue goes number.
He’s been going a while when Dallas suddenly remembers that, not only does he not know her name, she never actually got his.
“Hot guy from the bar it is,” she mutters under her breath, props her book on her lap and finally cracks it open, but then realizes she’s still sitting in the dark, and sighs, goes back to the wine instead.
A while later, Giselle emerges from the house, and Dallas feels the burn of her eyes on her for a long time before she finally sighs and perches on the open chair, “You want to tell me why you’re being so weird today?”
She snorts, “Just today?”
Even in the dimness, she sees Giselle’s head tilt in the way that means she’s rolling her eyes, “You know what I mean.”
Dallas slumps lower in her chair, takes another long drink of wine, before she finally looks at Giselle straight on, “I remembered that today’s the anniversary of the day I came back to Earth?”
“Oh,” Giselle says eventually. “Uh, remind me how long ago that was?”
Dallas gives her a look, and Giselle looks right back before she lets out a derisive snort, “So what does it mean?”
“I don’t know.”
Giselle stares back at her, finally signs and shakes her head, “Weirdo,” she mutters before reaching across and draining the last of the wine.
“Takes one to know one.”
You Will Find Your Way continues with Part Twenty
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