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Now it’s my turn to scowl.
I’m no one’s damsel, and I sure as hell don’t need a man tokeephelping me.
Straightening my spine and pointing my chin, I look down my nose at the guy who thinks lifting a bag makes him some kind of hero.
The other guy, the mysterious friend, shakes his head on a chuckle when Arch’s eyes narrow to slits. “Time to go.”
“Are you okay, ma’am?”
I turn at another voice, another man, and growl when he reaches down to take my bag without me asking.
“I can he—”
“I do not need your help!” I snatch my suitcase back and snarl for anyone else who might want to step forward. “I’m fine. I got it on the plane. I can get it off again. Jesus.” Fastening my hand around the handle, I turn on my heels and loathe the way my shitty day is catching up with me.
No sleep, canceled flights, airport food, smelly neighbors, a stolen bag, and now a guy or two thinking they’re a gift to weak women.
I make my way toward the massive electronic doors of the airport and study the long line of cabs outside, waiting to take people to their destination.
Things will get better from here.
Things will stop kicking me in the face and hoping for a reaction.
Not even the bite of the snow gets to me as I make a beeline for the cab at the front of the line. Not even the stench of stale food imbedded in the old leather seats is enough to ruin my optimism.
I get my bag squared away and plop my ass inside the warm cab, and twenty minutes after leaving the airport, we pull up outside my apartment building—which just so happens to be beside a bar called Tim’s, according to the sign out front.
Not something I knew before signing my lease. Not ideal for a woman who likes quiet.
But still, it’s doable.
“That’s eighteen-fifty.” My cab driver’s voice moves through the small grate in the otherwise plastic divider keeping him safe from his passengers. “Cash or card?”
“Cash.” I reach into my back pocket and take out enough to cover my fare and a tip, then stepping out into the storm, complete with a side of sludgy rain, I tremor, freezing, and rush to the trunk to get my bag.
Unlike inside the airport, I’m able to lift the hundred pounds. With a grunt, I drop it onto the sidewalk to close the trunk, and the moment I do, my driver is gone, disappearing into my new city and out of my life.
Gone. Just like that.
My missing suitcase comes to mind again as I shiver in the snowstorm blowing around me and remember my lost hoodie and parka. My muscles spasm, and my teeth chatter so violently, they ache. The storm is so loud, I can hardly hear the other cars in the street, but there are only a few people stupid enough to be out in this mess at this time of the night.
Recalling from my lease that I’m in apartment 4D, and the four-story building doesn’t have an elevator, I prepare myself for the trek upstairs and hope, if nothing else, the exercise will keep me warm.
That’s my plan, anyway. But it’s curtailed the moment I step inside my new building and an old man with drooping skin and a toothless smirk stands at the bottom of the stairs.
“You’re Mayet, aren’t you?”
“Uh… yup?” I step inside the musty foyer and release the door so it’ll close at my back and keep out the worst of the storm. “And you are?”
“Steve.” He rubs a shaking hand over his face so I hear the coarse rustle of his days-old stubble against his callused skin. “I knew you wasn’t listening to me on the phone.”
“My landlord?” I drop the heavy suitcase at my feet and stretch to release the compression in my spine. “You called me about an hour ago?”
“Uh huh. And you didn’t listen to a word I said, didja? I told you not to come here, Ms. Mayet.”
“Not to come here?” Angry, I look Steve up and down. “Excuse me. This is my apartment now. I’ve paid a month in advance.”
“Yes, but had you listened to what I said on the phone,” he counters, “you’d know the storm has made a mess of your bathroom ceiling. You really didn’t listen toanythingI said?”
