Page 7 of The Single Father Upstairs

Bernard slapped his thigh and said we should talk about something else.

“Like the cake smeared on the carpet.” Nita made a face.

“Ewww. You’re going to clean that up right?” Bernard looked at me with horror etched in his expression

“Nah. I thought I’d leave it till her next birthday and save myself the trouble.”

Nita rolled her eyes, and when they left, they told me not to be a stranger. I walked downstairs with them and tossed out a bag of garbage. Something made me glance up at the once-empty apartment. A light streamed out, and I wondered if the new guy had settled in or if he’d left a light on when he brought his stuff.

When a new tenant arrived, we all tried to guess what type of shifter he was, and I was surprised Jon hadn’t come around with a list. He must have been too busy with Mrs. Munro’s cat who I’d heard got stuck in the tree again.

Indigo was asleep when I checked on her, and I sat by her bed like I used to and watched her breathe.

“Happy birthday, kiddo.”

4

MILES

I barely had time to get nervous about my move. Between an intense week at work and the short turnaround time, I blinked and it was moving day. My initial plan was to hire movers to make it as easy as possible. How much could a local move cost? Apparently the correct answer was all my money, and I pivoted to plan B. Renting a small trailer it was.

When I moved out of my old place, my friends had helped load the truck. It took a few hours, but we stopped to chat a lot between boxes. This time, I didn't have any help. I’d spent all my free time trying to find a new place or visiting Marmalade, and I didn’t have anyone to ask.

One by one, I carried the boxes out and put them on the truck. I was worried about the few furniture pieces I had, but the guy in the office was willing to assist me when I offered him some cash.

I stank by the time I pulled away and headed toward my new place. It wasn't a good way to make a first impression, but I'd already checked out of my hotel. There wasn't much I could do about it.

I pulled up to the building, and it was nicer than I expected and a lot smaller than I envisioned. In my mind, I knew it was twelve units, but for some reason, my internal image was something similar to my old place. This was a thousand times better.

The building was older, nothing fancy, but had been well maintained. I didn’t know a lot about plants and landscaping, but it was obvious that someone put time into keeping this place up. It wasn’t magazine worthy or anything like that, but when I was a kid, I’d have called it magical and expected to find a troll or gnome somewhere. The neighborhood had a similar vibe. I’d been worried about it being a safe place, and now that I was here, that fell away.

The realtor told me to meet Jon for my keys. He was the one in charge and lived on site. He'd be the one I went to if something went wrong. That was another check mark in the plus column. I was used to having an office where I could fill out forms when something broke. If I was lucky, they’d follow up in a week or so. Here there was a person with a name.

I was supposed to meet him at the front entrance, but when I got there, he was nowhere to be seen. I waited and I waited, texted him twice and waited some more. After twenty minutes, I double-checked the number of the building to make sure I hadn’t gotten it wrong. Nope. I was in the right spot.

Just as I was about to text the realtor, a man came running around the building, his ring of keys on his belt jangling, his cap on crooked, and clutching a clipboard.

"You must be Miles." He fixed his cap.

I nodded.

"Sorry to make you wait, I couldn't find what I needed." He dropped a key and nearly head butted me as he picked it back up.

"These are yours." He handed them to me and then grabbed them right back. "Wait, no, maybe they're not."

He looked down at his clipboard, down at the keys, and then down at the clipboard again. "No, these are yours." He held them out to me again, and just like before, snatched them back.

"I just need to be sure these are yours. Hold on." And he ran off again.

Maybe having someone on site wasn't more effective, but I’d take a nice guy who was a little flaky over paperwork any day.

Jon came back less than a minute later, this time actually handing me the keys and letting me keep them.

"These are yours for real. I thought I left them back in the store room, but they were in my pocket the whole time."

I held in a chuckle, because of course they were.

"It's no problem." The pick-up window for Marmalade was near dinner time, so as long as I could get into my place and the trailer unloaded by then, all was good.