Now I was back to being anxious and worked up, probably over nothing, as I stared at an email that had come in overnight, containing a list of employees who were due for an evaluation. Several minutes passed and I had no idea what the hell I’d been reading, so I had to go back and start over, and then I realized HR was asking for Brock’s and my input.

“‘Morning.”

My head jerked up, and I saw Brock striding into my office. I tensed. First thing I noticed was that he was wearing black nylon pants and an old Lima shirt from one of his matches, which was so different from how he’d been dressing since I started. Second thing was the white paper cup he carried. Starbucks.

“Good morning,” I mumbled.

Brock grinned as he placed the cup on my desk. “Pumpkin spice. Still steaming.”

I glanced from the cup to him. “For me?”

“Do I look like a white girl in America? No. The pumpkin spice isn’t for me.”

Slowly, I wrapped my fingers around the warm cup. “Thank you.”

Nodding, he started to turn. “I’m going to be on the second floor with the classes. Once our guests arrive, come get me.”

“Okay.”

I watched him walk out and then looked down at my yummy pumpkin spice latte. Do I look like a white girl in America? A grin cracked my lips and then I laughed.

The two potential endorsers showed up not too long after he left. They were impressed with what we had and the space available for growth. Both Brock and I had suspected we’d be hearing from them soon. We hadn’t discussed anything with my father yet. I figured it was a conversation to have over Thanksgiving, when I was face to face in a couple of weeks.

On Friday, Brock brought me another latte along with two slices of pumpkin bread before, once again, disappearing and spending most of his day on the second floor.

That Sunday, I’d gone to the nearby Target in search of a bookcase. I’d been immediately drawn to the really cool ladder ones, but you couldn’t really stack books rows-deep on them. I ended buying two of the standard tried and true ones and spent an ungodly amount of time getting them out of my car and up the three flights of stairs.

This is when having a man around would come in handy.

But I managed all on my own. I even unpacked the pieces, but I didn’t put them together. I ended up realizing there was a Walking Dead marathon on, and since I didn’t have a TV in my guest room, I’d plopped my butt down on the couch with Chinese take-out and didn’t move for most of the night.