Page 23 of Never Your Valentine

“Problem solved.” I fling open the washer, dump in my clothes, and toss in a laundry pod.

“That’s your solution? Cover my ears?”

“You got a better one?” I slam the door closed and start the machine. “Also, I’m going to need those headphones back, so you’d better get your own pair.”

Chapter 9

Annabelle

My floor is vibrating as the rage room does what a rage room does. I’m an adult, I remind myself. What would an adult do when the business below her is moonlighting as a subwoofer testing facility?

I wear the headphones Grant lent me as I read through all the papers from Lia, looking for legal recourse. I dissect the lease agreement from top to bottom, but it doesn’t say anything about noise.

While I’m here, I do some back-of-the-envelope math. The building is paid for, but the incoming rent is low. By the time I subtract taxes and utilities, there’s barely enough left for my own day-to-day expenses, much less building repairs.

I was hoping that living in a new place, where I could work on my cards full time, would open up my creativity and fuel my productivity. I thought that I was giving myself a fresh start, where I could pour my heart into my designs and thrive as an artist.

But how am I supposed to work with heavy bass and screaming coming through the floor? The noise-canceling headphones block out some of the sound, but not all of it. If I’m going to make this work, I need better ear protection.

I spend an hour on the internet, hopping from site to site, finally settling on the kind of ear protection the tarmac guys use at airports. The fastest they can get here is Monday, five whole days from now.

Just for a test, I type in my old Ann Arbor address. If I still lived there, I could have the headphones tomorrow. But if I still lived there, I wouldn’t need them tomorrow. Or at all.

I sigh and place the order.

It’s going to be a long five days.

As promised, June connected me with her aunt, and two days later, I have an appointment to meet the owner of Emerald Gifts. I gather up six of my most popular cards and head down the back stairs just as Grant is heading up them. He’s wearing his usual uniform of a flannel shirt open over a graphic tee. This one says, “The Great Lakes: Always Fresh, Sometimes Frozen.”

My first impulse is to bite out something sarcastic, but then I remember I’m supposed to be an adult. Judging by his expression, he’s also trying to be an adult. We meet in the middle, where we both manage pleasant hellos.

“What do we do about packages?” I ask, thinking about the premium headphones I ordered.

“What do you mean?”

“I saw our mailboxes downstairs. But they don’t fit packages.”

He blinks at me. “Robert just hands stuff over.”

“What if you’re not here?”

“Then he holds it until the next day. It’s not that complicated.”

“What if a package comes for me?”

His eyes roll up, just a fraction. I’m a stair above him, so I’m looking right at his thick hair and deep brown eyes. He’s freshly shaved and he smells nice. Like the woods, and winter air, and cuddling in a warm blanket. Pine and snow and hot man. It would be nice not to notice any of these things.

“If a package comes for you, I’ll set it aside,” he huffs. “Do you want me to text you?”

“Please.” I tell him my number, which he puts in his phone. I push past him and out the back door, where I feel like I can breathe again.

My phone beeps with an incoming text. The number is unknown but it has a 906 area code, so I can guess who it’s from.

Grant: Testing the Emergency Landlord Hotline. Status update: no box, mild resentment. Please hold for further complaints

Annabelle: Hello, thank you for contacting Landlord Support. All our agents are currently busy not dealing with you

Grant: You say you’re not dealing with me, but you’re still replying