My stomach’s incessant growling tugs me away from the balcony, and thoughts of my neighbor are interrupted by the buzzer on the oven. Grabbing a second beer from the fridge, I search through all the drawers until I finally find an oven mitt. It’s black, what a surprise. Everything in this apartment is monochrome. I can’t decide if I like it or not.
I’m so hungry I eat the entire pizza and finish off a third beer before I’m done. With a full stomach, my exhaustion weighs on me again. Keeping my eyes open is becoming a challenge, but I want to get unpacked before I crash for the night.
I walk to my room and flip open my suitcase. I take my time hanging clothes in the closet, filling the dresser, and even unloading all my toiletries. But it only takes me about an hour before I’m all moved in and there’s nothing left to distract me from the tiredness.
Bed. Now. Need sleep. My brain is functioning in single syllable words at this point. I have the wherewithal to at least double-check that the oven is off and plug in my phone before I fall face-first into the cloud that is my new bed.
CHAPTER FOUR
Joss
Ifeel the strain of the day rolling off my shoulders as I unlock the door to my apartment. I haven’t been home in a few days, and I’ve been craving the refresh button that comes with it. No matter how stressful work is, I can always let it go here. It’s one of my favorite things about being a flight attendant. I get to leave it all at the airport.
Of course, I haven’t completely left this most recent trip behind me. Despite my best efforts, my thoughts linger on Wes. Never have I met a man on a flight—or anywhere—that caught my attention like he did. It’s kind of infuriating because why couldn’t Eric, or anyone I’ve dated, have that pull? Maybe I wouldn’t be single right now if they had. I mean, come on, it had to be a random man on an airplane? An American, no less? Likely here andgone just as quick?
It’s not like I’m all that upset over mine and Eric’s breakup last month. He didn’t understand me, and I’m glad I never fully gave him my heart—even if his words still play on a loop, poking holes in my unaffected facade.
You never open up.
How can you see a future for us when you can’t even share your past with me?
Sorry, bud, some things just don’t need rehashing. Like, ever.
I pull myself out of my head—those thoughts aren’t going to take me anywhere good. What Ineedto do is unpack, do laundry, get groceries, and eventually fall into bed. These intercontinental flights are brutal, but the pay is good, and I would never give up the industry perks.
I throw in a load of laundry, the comforting whir filling the apartment with a buzz of white noise. I slip on a pair of joggers and a baggy band T-shirt, ready for a day of doing absolutely nothing. I unpack the rest of my bag, sliding it up onto a shelf in the closet.
Bye, Felicia, see you in a week.
My feet sink into the soft white carpet on the way to the fridge. There’s very little in there, but the cheese and deli meats I bought right before I left still look good. All thoughts of getting groceries are pushed to tomorrow. I throw together a makeshift charcuterie board—so bougie of me—and pour a glass of rosé before heading out to the balcony.
This is my favorite spot in my apartment. It may not be huge, but the view is beautiful, and the sun over the harbour is perfect despite the chill in the air. My surfboard taunts me from its place in the corner. I’m itching to hit the beach but know full well I’ll wakeup too late tomorrow and miss the best waves. Maybe an afternoon session then.
I set my plate on the table and walk to the railing where I lean my forearms against the cool metal. Closing my eyes, I breathe in the smell of home, then lift my glass to my lips, the crisp wine bursting with flavor against my tongue. When my stomach rumbles, bringing my attention back to my makeshift lunch, I spot a light on in the apartment next door. Has it finally been rented out? I don’t see any movement, but my curiosity is piqued as I wonder who my new neighbors might be.
When I finish scarfing down my meal, I take the dishes to the sink and don’t bother washing them. I’m a rebel, okay? Still feeling hungry, I pull out the package of Tim Tams. Talk about “home.” The only other place I’ve been able to find my guilty pleasure is in Hawaii, oddly enough. I keep my gluttony contained and settle on two for tonight, dropping crumbs on my way to the bathroom.
I rush through what you could barely call a shower, pull my comfy clothes back on, then wrap my hair in the softest towel on earth. I spend so much time in hotels that I’ve learned the importance of good linens.
I wipe away the steam fogging the mirror and momentarily take myself in. This long day has left me with dark circles beneath my lower lashes. My distinctive grey eyes stand out in contrast to my brown hair and sun-warmed skin. They’ve always been my favorite feature, and they’d be completely unique to me if I didn’t know exactly where—who—I got them from. I release the dark tendrils of my hair, shaking off that thought, and let it fall in wet waves past myshoulders. I’m due for a trim, but I tend to forget mundane things like appointments for haircuts.
I palm my cheeks with a huff and get to work applying my skincare. I swear with every birthday comes yet another product I “need” and with my thirtieth creeping up I feel that pressure even more. How men get away with washing their hair, face, and bodies with the same soap—andmaybeapplying a moisturizer—is beyond me. No one ever tells them they need seventeen steps in order to look good.
My bed beckons to me with its cushy pillows and soft throw blankets.Laundry. I should rotate the laundry.I swipe that thought away like a bad Tinder match, instead going in search of my phone and Kindle. When I’m back in my room, I fall into bed with a contented sigh. I plan to stay right here the rest of the afternoon.
Unfortunately, it’s not long before the exhaustion takes its toll, and I can’t spare a thought for the romance in my book. I’m asleep in no time, completely oblivious to the world.
I wake up in the morning feeling well rested but frustrated. Frustrated because a certain beautiful man featured heavily in my dreams last night. I can still feel a light blush on my cheeks thanks to said dreams.
Goodness, Joss, geta grip.
I roll myself out of bed, knowing the groceries aren’t going to buy themselves. The laundry probably didn’t move itself to the dryer while I slept either, which is unfortunate.
I pad to the bathroom, splashing water on my heated skin. My favorite running shorts and hoodie call my name from the vanity where I always leave them before a trip. I do so with high hopes that pulling them on first thing in the morning will lead to me actually going for a run. It never does, but a girl can dream. I slip my runners onto my feet, but with no bra I’ve eliminated any chance I’ll be jogging anywhere.
First things first—I need coffee.
I’m out the door and halfway to the elevator when I notice the door to the apartment next door is cracked. Soft music drifting from inside. I’m tempted to knock and introduce myself, but braless with a messy bun might not be my best first impression. I get on the elevator, and as the doors slide shut, I spot a man coming out from apartment 16A. Before I can take note of much more than the logo on the tattered baseball cap sitting backward on his head, the doors shut completely, leaving me more curious about my new neighbor than I was before.
