Stephanie Rowe - Stress and The City

She wasn’t sure she was up to a monstrous challenge with a recalcitrant client, not with her soul still splattered on the pavement and trampled by a herd of rampaging cattle.

Scratch that.

She was fine.

Her soul was intact.

Her ego…maybe a little frayed around the edges. Nothing that a quick hem job couldn’t fix. If only she knew how to sew…

She forced herself to take a leisurely moment to admire the old horseshoe that had been converted into a door knocker, then banged on the door.

One minute after seven. Perfect timing.

No one came to the door.

She knocked again.

Still no one.

Cassie frowned. Surely he hadn’t left already? She clicked on “work schedule” to double-check her file. Yes, he’d told her he left for work shortly after seven. He should still be there. Her notes were never wrong.

She knocked again, harder, pretending it was Drew’s head she was pounding against the wood. Ah, how soothing. Taking her own advice to identify her stresses and visualize resolution, however socially inappropriate or legally prohibited.

She was definitely a genius.

A door slammed inside the house and Cassie straightened. She patted her hair to make sure it was neat, checked her nylons for runs, clamped her teeth together so they wouldn’t chatter from the cold, ignored her desire to rush home and put on flannel-lined blue jeans, fleece-lined boots and a wool sweater, and readied herself to face her new client.

With any luck, he would be extremely annoyed by the interruption and she could see what he was really like. She was on a roll now. The old Cassie was back. She should become an inspirational speaker on how to recover from emotional devastation. She was that amazing.

The unmistakable click of a lock being opened cued her to don a demure smile that would neither propel her new client into more stress nor dissipate stress that might already be present. Was she good or what?

The door opened and she forgot everything. “You’re kidding.”

“Cassie? What are you doing here?”

It was Ty.

From New Year’s Eve.

The same Ty with whom she’d tongue-tangoed eight days ago.

This was so not turning out to be her month.

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