The Things We Leave Unfinished Yarros, Rebecca (reading like a writer .TXT) 📖

“You absolutely should. You deserve a little pampering.” I moved to the right so Mrs. Taylor and her husband could pass, offering them a smile. I’d missed that—the simple act of recognizing someone on the street. New York was always bustling, pedestrian traffic moving in a steady, purposeful current of strangers.

“So do you.”

“Oh.” We passed my favorite creamery, and the Grove Goods Bakery, which smelled like heaven—Thursday cinnamon rolls. My car was only another block down.

“Georgia…” She sighed, gripping my elbow as we stopped in front of the bookstore. “You’re off a little more than normal today.”

There was no use hiding anything from Hazel. “I’m fine when I’m busy, and I have been until now. Moving, cleaning, everything with the book, digging through the estate paperwork kept me focused on what’s right in front of me, but now…” I sighed and glanced around the town I adored. “Everything about this place is the same. It looks the same, smells the same—”

“Is that a good thing?” Hazel pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head.

“It’s a great thing. It’s just that I’m not the same anymore, so I need to figure out where I fit. It’s hard to explain…it’s like I’m itchy, restless.”

“You know what would help?” Mischief lit her smile.

“So help me God, if you say a pedicure—”

“You should jump Noah Harrison.”

I snorted. “Yeah, okay.” My temperature rose just thinking about— Stop it.

“I’m serious! Fly to New York for the weekend, hash out the book details, and get laid.” She smiled when Peggy Richardson dropped her jaw, clearly having heard us as she walked by. “It’s basically multitasking. Nice to see you, Peggy!” Hazel even waved.

Peggy adjusted the strap of her purse and continued down the street.

“You’re unbelievable.” I rolled my eyes.

“Oh, come on. If you won’t do it for you, do it for me. Did you see that shot of him at the beach I sent you yesterday? You can do laundry on that man’s stomach.” She hooked her arm through my elbow, and we started back down the street at a thoroughly indulgent, slow pace.

“I’ve seen all three dozen of the pictures you’ve sent me.” The man had abs for days, and the skin that stretched across the muscles of his torso and back was deliciously inked, too. According to the article she’d sent, he had one for every book he’d written.

“And you still don’t want to jump him? Because if not, I’m totally adding him to my hall-pass list. I’ll even bump Scott Eastwood for that man.”

“I never said I didn’t want to—” I grimaced, slamming my eyes shut. “Look, even if Noah wanted to, I’ve never been a fling kind of girl, and I’m not going to rebound with the guy finishing Gran’s book. Period.”

Her eyes sparkled. “But you want to. And of course he would—you’re hot. You’re divorced, and don’t forget I’m well aware that Damian wasn’t doing it for you.”

“Hazel!” I hissed, my eyes darting over my shoulder, but no one was there.

“It’s true, and I’m just looking out for you here. I know you have a thing for the broody, creative types. Did you see those tattoos? Classic bad-boy vibe, and how many bad-boy authors do you know?”

“There are plenty of bad-boy authors in the world.”

“Like whom?”

I blinked. “Uh. Hemingway?” Bad choice.

“He’s dead. Fitzgerald, too. Shame.” She rolled her eyes.

“I’ll get a pedicure right now if you drop it.”

“Fine.” She grinned. “For now, but I still think you should jump him.”

I shook my head at her ridiculously bad idea and saw Dan Allen through the glass windows of Mr. Navarro’s shop. “Is Dan still a real estate agent?” He must have it listed.

“Yep. He helped us find our house last year,” Hazel answered, then waved as Dan caught us staring.

“Do you mind if we take a few minutes before pedis?” I looked again at the bay display windows that flanked the door, imagining how the light would hit them in a few hours with the afternoon sun.

“No problem.”

I opened the heavy glass door and stepped into the shop. There were no more giant aquariums or bales of hamster bedding. Even the shelves were gone. The space was empty except for Dan, who greeted us with a charismatic smile that hadn’t changed since high school.

“Georgia, it’s been forever! Sophie mentioned she saw you when you got into town.” He stepped forward and shook my hand, then did the same with Hazel.

“Hey, Dan,” I looked around his lanky frame to the space at the back of the store. “Sorry to bust in. I was just curious about the shop.”

“Oh, are you in the market for some commercial space?” he asked.

“Just…curious.” Was I in the market? Was it even practical?

“She’s curious.” Hazel grinned.

He launched into real estate mode, telling us all about the ample square footage while he led us past the only fixture that remained, the glass display counter where I’d paid for my first goldfish.

“So why hasn’t it sold?” I asked as he opened the back door that led to what had to be storage. “Mr. Navarro’s been gone for what? A year?”

“It’s been on the market for about six months, but the storage room, well, here, I’ll show you.” He flipped on a light, and we followed him into the massive, unfinished space.

“Whoa.” There were two large garage doors, a cement floor and walls, and a few rows of fluorescent lights hanging from the high ceilings.

“There’s more storage than shop, which Mr. Navarro had liked, since it kept his classic car hobby out of Mrs. Navarro’s driveway.”

There. That was the perfect spot for the furnace. Maybe just a day furnace, though. And a reheating one, of course. The alcove was perfect for an annealing oven, too. I studied the ceiling next. High, but some good-size vents wouldn’t hurt.

“I know that look,” Hazel said from behind me.

“There’s no look,” I replied, already picturing the best place for a bench and block.

“How much do they want for it?” Hazel asked.

The price made