![]() ![]() ![]() The sudden appearance of the man I’ve been fantasizing about for the last month is a shock, to be sure. My mouth is hanging in the approximate location of my knees. “Hello again, Miss Beck,” he says tightly. The big wooden entrance swings open to reveal a very grim, very irritated-looking Doctor Dean Fletcher. I turn back to the door, my stomach jumping at the sound of a lock disengaging. Our current one is an abandoned gas station. I’d love to give my mom this kind of security. Kids coming from the park, couples strolling to restaurants, yoga moms huddled over to-go cups of coffee. Waiting for the owner of this dream house to answer, I turn and look out over the neighborhood. With a gulp, I climb the stairs and re-shoulder my bag of cleaning supplies. This place houses a millionaire or I’m Mrs. Vines climb up the walls, veering around windows, all the way to the ornately corniced roof. There are flickering carriage lamps on either side of the sweeping stoop. I was half expecting it to be a fake address, but no. I stop in front of the townhouse and whistle through my teeth. Not exactly comfortable clothing in which to clean houses, but the staffing agency bills itself as “cleaners to the elite.”Īnd this customer definitely fits the description. Black skirt, sensible shoes, a white, tucked-in blouse. Walking down the sidewalk past two mothers pushing strollers-which easily cost more than my rent- I gather my hair into a high ponytail and brush the travel wrinkles out of my uniform. It’s near-dark now and wind is carrying off the lake, blowing my hair around. ![]()
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