Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
“What’s new?”
“Reading my horoscope. Following my horoscope,” I say, then order myself to stop talking before I tell this annoying stranger my entire story. Especially the recent, painful bits.
“Ah. Any chance you can leave me out of it?”
“Is this your vibe, or just your morning and late-night vibe?” I ask, waving my hand over him.
“What?”
“This indifferent ‘life bores me’ routine.”
“Ah,” he says again. “Just my sparkling personality, I’m afraid.”
“How pleasant for everyone around you.” I frown at him. “My horoscope says we’re supposed to have a shared goal. Perhaps that goal should be avoiding each other.”
“Love it. Stay off my roof, and we’ll have a deal.”
“My roof,” I retort, crossing my arms. “I was wrong. You’re apparently not the one my horoscope was talking about, because I’m not itching to make harmony at all.”
“We could make something else,” he says, dropping his voice and giving me a once-over that’s a little more lingering than before.
“Gross,” I mutter.
He grins, looking the least bored I’ve seen him so far.
“By the way, I’m starting a project over there.” I point toward my yard. “And I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, so if you hear anything that sounds like I’ve cut my arm off while trying to build a greenhouse, I’d appreciate it if you could overlook our differences and call 911.”
I’m walking toward his front gate as I say this, but when he doesn’t reply at all, not even sarcastically, I glance back. “What? No snarky comment?”
Archer tips back his mug, finishing his coffee, then gives me a resigned look. “My grandfather owned a landscaping business.”
I blink. “Okay?”
He sighs. “His specialty? Building greenhouses. I used to help him every summer. I also can’t keep the damn rabbits away from my basil.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder toward some sad-looking plants.
“And?”
Archer makes a pained expression. “I think we’ve just found our ‘shared goal.’ ”
VIRGO SEASON
New Moon in Pisces today, dear Gemini. You’ll find yourself dabbling in a handful of firsts. Indulge in experimental spontaneity as long as you don’t use these moments as a distraction from your most essential purpose today: there’s a conversation or phone call you’ve been putting off. Today is the day.
You’re putting that in the wrong place,” Archer says as I start hammering a nail into a board.
I huff in frustration. “This is where you told me to!”
“No.” He comes toward me, lifts my hand holding the nail, and moves it the tiniest bit to the left. “That’s where I told you to.”
I make a disgruntled sound and tug my hand away. He lets his hand drop, but doesn’t move, looking down at me. “You don’t like people telling you what to do.”
“Does anyone?” I shoulder him aside, out of my personal space.
Archer steps back but crosses his arms, tilting his head to the side, which, over the past couple of days, I’ve noticed is his habit when he’s assessing something. Or someone. Usually me.
I recognize it well. Growing up surrounded by scientists, I recognize someone intently studying a subject. I’d never thought about the fact that artists might intensely study something in the same way until now.
“You miss it?” he asks after a moment.
“What?” I give him a wary look out of the corner of my eye as I line up my hammer with the nail. We’ve been at this project for a couple of days now, and though I’ve gained quite a bit more confidence than when we started, hurling a hammer in the general vicinity of my fingers still makes me nervous.
“Teaching. Telling other people what to do.”
I slowly lower my hammer and turn to face him, eyes narrowed. “How’d you know I was a teacher?”
“Google. And don’t get prissy; I know you googled me, too.”
I scoff. “How do you know that?”
He lifts an eyebrow.
“Okay. Fine. Not that it told me anything,” I mutter. “You’re as famous for being reclusive as you are for being an artist.”
“Thank you.”
“It wasn’t a—” I huff. “Never mind.”
I lift the hammer and nail again, but just as I’m about to swing the hammer, he moves toward me, moving my hand a bit to the left once again.
“Just mark it for me already,” I say, exasperated.
He raises his hand to his head, pulls out a piece of charcoal that he seems to keep tucked behind his ear more often than not, and adds a tiny X to the right spot.
“I’m gonna get a beer. You want one?”
“Yes, because that goes so well with woodwork.”
“So take a break. It’s about to rain again.”
I glance up, and sure enough, the skies are darkening. It’s been a stormy past couple of days, mostly at night, which is why Archer and I haven’t had a chance to resume our battle for the roof. The rain takes care of watering the Buzzes and prevents him from taking his easel out.