“Bah. What a waste of good daylight.” His words are a whisper. So different from the loud voice of the grandfather I met for the first time at eight years old.
“We have lights in the building, you know.”
“You won’t if you keep taking time off,” he teases, but each word comes out slower than the next, and I know our conversation is taxing him.
I lean back and close my eyes. “If you’d be quiet for a minute, I’d actually get some rest before I have to get back to the office.”
His laugh sounds more like a hiss. I wait a moment, and then I peek under my lashes to see that he’s asleep. I sit up abruptly and look at Mary.
She nods at me. “He’s been having trouble resting comfortably, so I gave him a little pain reliever. It’s not surprising he fell asleep so fast. He doesn’t complain, but the pain takes its toll on him.”
She walks to the door. “I’m going to go take my lunch break,” she says with a sigh. “Call me if he needs anything.”
I wave and nod. “I’ll be here until you get back.”
With a deep breath, I open the folder I brought with me. It’s probably not my smartest move to keep all my important papers in a work safe, but since I’m renting a small townhouse—one I despise, I didn’t have room for a safe.
I wasn’t planning on living in Bend, I thought I was only staying for a little while to help Grandpa. I was supposed to help him with a busy season, but then as his health went downhill, my responsibilities grew. Grandpawanted me to stay with him in his big house, but I didn’t want to be stuck dealing with the extended family all the time. I’m not a people person. I was supposed to be back on the ranch by now, yet here I am, wearing suits and driving cars instead of trucks.
I would way rather be back home working with cattle. Heck, I’d even rather be fixing fence than managing my Grandpa’s business. But I promised I’d help.
Shaking my head, I focus on the papers in front of me. The first page in the folder is not mine. That’s strange.
My mind jumps back to the first moment I slammed into Magnolia.
I’d been running down those stairs at top speed, and then she stepped out of the doorway. I didn’t have time to slow down; instead, we both were propelled toward the metal railing. I barely had time to wrap my arm around her waist and lean back to prevent us from tumbling down.
I take a slow breath as I flex my hand, I can almost feel her hand still in mine. Funny how you can be instantly drawn to someone.
I was so distracted by her that I didn’t realize I was picking up the wrong papers. I’m looking at a list of names and phone numbers with little handwritten notes that are not mine. When we dropped our folders, we must have gotten mixed up.
I pull out my phone and text Anson. This might be a little invasive…but how else am I going to get her papers back to her?
Nash: Could you find a number for me for someone onthe 8thfloor? First name Magnolia. I’m not sure what her last name is.
We keep a list of all employees in the building so they can have a security access card in their name. Anson would be the one able to help me find her.
A few minutes later, Anson texts back with a number. No explanation, just ten digits.
I type in the number and it starts ringing. I swallow the lump in my throat as I wait for her to answer. Except it goes straight to voicemail. “Hi, this is Magnolia Hawthorne, I’m probably busy, or screening your call. Please leave a message!” But then an automated voice informs me that the inbox is full.
I guess I’ll just have to run into her again tomorrow. And hope that she’s not really into identity theft.
She has my birth certificate and passport.
CHAPTER 5
Magnolia
When I get backto my apartment that I share with my two roommates, I realize I have to tell someone about Nash. I haven’t stopped smiling since I left the parking lot.
I pound my free fist twice against the doorframe, and it frees the lock. I always get annoyed at having to find the right key, so I open it the quicker way.
The apartment building manager has never cared to do anything with our complaints about the broken door, so we simply prop a chair behind the doorknob at night.
When I step inside, I glance at the Roman numeral clock hanging on our living room wall—it’s hiding the four-inch hole that was there when we moved in. It’s barely eleven o’clock in the morning.
Charlie is gone for the day, working, but at least Piper is home and awake, sitting at the counter that acts as a dining room table. She’s holding a big cup of coffee and looking at me in surprise. I’m never home during the day.
