“Oh, yeah. It’s ready to go. I’ve got all my art projects ready through Christmas.”
Paige stared at her. “How are you always so far ahead of me? Especially when you’re about to get married?”
Jessica gave a modest smile and shrugged. “I like to plan ahead. And I want to have plenty of time with Steve to relax after the wedding.”
“I wish I were more organized,” Paige admitted. “If I do have to move, it’s going to be a huge job. That spare bedroom is stuffed full of fabric, and holiday decorations…” She shook her head.
“It would be so great if you could buy this place,” Jessica said, not for the first time that week. “You love it.”
“I have to get approved for a loan first.”
“I’m sure you can. Maybe you could even make some improvements.”
“Like what?” Paige asked, although she could think of several possibilities. She grabbed a new sheet of construction paper and set her cardboard pumpkin template on top of it.
“Like insulating it. Didn’t you say it got pretty drafty last winter?”
Paige traced around the pumpkin with a pencil. “It’s not that bad. I wear big sweaters and use the fireplace. I kind of like doing that anyway, you know?”
Jessica shuddered. “Not me. From October to May I’m a miserable icicle.”
“Texas girl,” Paige teased. “At least you have Steve to keep you warm.”
Jessica’s mouth tightened into a grim line. “Things were very cold between us last night.”
Uh-oh. Paige paused, scissors in hand. “What happened?”
Jessica shook her head. “Oh, it wasn’t serious.” Her expression and her tone of voice told a different story. “It was a stupid argument that, I don’t know, blew up into this big thing.”
“I’m sorry.” Paige’s instinct for looking at the bright side kicked in. “I think even happy couples have bad fights sometimes. You guys are both probably stressed out about the wedding details.”
Jessica perked up a little at this. “It’s true. Did I tell you my mom and my aunt had a fight about the seating chart?” She looked back down at the paper she was grading. “Shoot, I’m out of stickers. Do you have any?”
“Hang on.” Paige got up and opened the kitchen drawer that held plastic sandwich bags, aluminum foil, and her sticker stash. She flipped through them. Rainbows, stars…didn’t she have any with words on them? She dug further. Something was caught in the back corner of the drawer. She tugged it free and pulled out a folded piece of ivory paper. What was that?
She unfolded it to see delicate but steady handwriting. A piece of stationery, but not a letter. The top of the page read: Sunday Muffins.
Wow. The recipe must have been left behind a long time ago, though she hadn’t come across it before. She smiled and brought it over to Jessica. “Look.”
“Sweetie, that’s not stickers,” her friend said.
“Ha ha. Look at it! Someone left their recipe here.”
“That is pretty cool.” Jessica scanned it. “And it’s old.”
“Why do you say that?”
“They don’t make that brand anymore.” She pointed. “See? She crossed it out and wrote ‘shortening’ instead.”
“Oh, wow. She must’ve used this recipe for a while.”
Paige took it back and put it on the fridge with a rainbow magnet. “I wonder why it says Sunday Muffins.”
“So she wouldn’t get them mixed up with her Saturday Muffins?”
Paige laughed. “Well, I’m going to make them soon.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea? I mean, no offense.” Paige had told her about the cupcake-baking debacle. And she probably hadn’t forgotten about the time Paige had invited her over for dinner.
“If at first you don’t succeed,” Paige said. She told her kids that all the time. Jessica still looked skeptical. “What? I’ll concentrate this time!”
Jessica got a sly look on her face. “Speaking of delicious things…have you been back to that café?”
How in the world did her best friend know her so well? Part of the job description, Paige supposed. Still, she played innocent. “What café?”
“The one where you got the cupcakes? No, wait, the one where a rich, handsome businessman bought you cupcakes?”
Paige could feel her face flush. “I have, actually. But only to get pumpkin spice lattes.” There was no point in admitting the truth. If he’d wanted to see her again, he would’ve stopped in too, right? “Maybe you don’t love the fall, but I do.”
“Sure,” Jessica said. “You’re not hoping to run into him. It’s just that nobody else makes pumpkin spice lattes. Oh wait, they do.”
“It’s right by work!”
Someone knocked on the front door, and Paige’s heart dropped. “It’s my landlord. He’s going to show the real estate agent around.” Jessica’s mouth twisted in sympathy.
She opened the door to find Harry and a man who looked to be not much older than she was. He was powerfully built, his light brown hair cropped very short, and he wore a bright blue button-down shirt and dress pants.
“Hi, Paige,” Harry said. “Sorry to bother you.”
“Come on in.”
The real estate agent closed the door behind both of them and stuck a hand out to Paige. “Trent Jackson, Paragon Realty.”
“Hi, I’m Paige.” She pasted on a smile. “This is my friend Jessica. We’re just working on teacher stuff.”
“I’m sure you won’t be in the way,” Trent said. Um. Shouldn’t he be concerned about being in her way? He looked around him and said to Harry in a wry tone, “Well, it’s definitely got that vintage charm.”
Paige bristled. Harry said, “That’s what they say about me, too.” She laughed, but Trent barely paid attention. He walked over to inspect the mantel.
“For the showings, we’ll need to do a lot of depersonalizing.” He picked up a framed photo of Paige’s parents. “Family photos, those have to go.”
How dare he? Paige resisted the urge to walk over and snatch it out of his hands.
He set it down, moved to the sofa, and picked up one of the brightly colored throw pillows Paige had sewn herself. “And we want to get rid of home décor like this, keep everything neutral.”
Heat flooded her cheeks.
“Excuse me,” Jessica said pointedly to Trent. “My friend still lives here.”
“This is just for staging,” Trent said, unbothered. “It’s not personal.”
“Right,” Jessica said. “It’s de-personal.”
Trent smiled. “Exactly. And de-cluttered. We put away all the knickknacks like this.” He reached for the brass apple on the side table, a gift from one of Paige’s students—and knocked the table lamp to the floor with a crash. Paige gave a little scream.
“Oh geez, sorry,” he said, looking down at the ceramic shards on the floor. At least he sounded sincere now. “I’ll pay you for that.”
The chartreuse lamp had only cost her eight dollars at a thrift shop. She’d loved it, though.
“Where’s a broom?” Trent asked.