AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Don’t you deserve a good night's sleep? Why should their fun come above your own comfort? New Lola, remember?
New me is right.
People pleasing issoyesterday.
I stand up, slipping my feet into a pair of slide sandals, and walk to the door, ready to go. I am going to go next door. Politely ask them to keep it down. I’ll be nice about it. I’ll . . .
Then the thought of knocking on the door guts me, and I’m back at square one, the square where I’m wondering just how much sleep do Iactuallyeven need to run a bakery, ya know? They’ll probably be done by . . . oh . . . two?
I turn back around.
But New Lola smacks me again.
I head to my kitchen counter and grab the paper box holding cookies I brought up to celebrate my first day, but then I became so overwhelmed with exhaustion I skipped it entirely.
There. That’s a good peace offering, right? A good neighborly hello?
Fuck.Or does it seem like I’m trying to bribe them to be quiet?
Oh God, get over yourself!inner me yells, and that does it. It pushes me to grab the box off the counter and walk to the front door, opening it up and propping it on a moving box I need to unpack.
That’s when I realize the noise isn’t coming from the apartment next door.
No, it’s so loud, yet it’s coming from thetattooshop, traveling up and over into my new home.
And now that the sound buffer that is my door is gone, I can hear it’s not just two or three people having fun.
It’s an entire party.
Jesus Christ.
New Lola shrivels at the task in front of her.
So does Old Lola.
Standing up to one person who you’ve already technically met, despite it being an embarrassing catastrophe, is one thing.
Interrupting what sounds like an entire party? That’s another.
Shit.
I slowly walk down the stairs separating the buildings, trying to get the nerve until I’m at the entryway between them. There are three doors there—the back entrance that leads to the street, an entrance to the bakery, and a door that leads to Coleman Ink next door.
I lift my hand to knock on the tattoo shop but freeze. Panicking.
Maybe I’ll let it go another twenty minutes, an hour. I mean, how long could it be? I bet it’s settling down and—
A loud, jarring round of laughter interrupts me, and I head back to the door, reinvigorated.
I lift my hand and . . .
Nothing.
I can’t do it.
Shit.
What am I doing? I’m standing here ready to, what? Interrupt a party? Bethat neighbor?
