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LAUREN
There isn’t a lot to do in Paddy’s apartment. I’ve cleaned the entire place and gathered the laundry things. But Paddy told me not to leave the apartment, so I couldn’tdothe laundry.
The TV has no cable – I think that’s super weird – and he doesn’t have many cooking or baking things. Not that they would help – I can cook, but anything I attempt to bake ends up burnt.
I bite back a smile. Mrs. Dawkins, who lived next door to us back in Dot, is an incredible baker. She was also a substitute grandmother for all the kids in the building. We were always coming and going out of her apartment.
After ascertaining that she didn’t mind, Josh used her as a babysitter. I spent more afternoons sitting at her kitchen table doing my homework than in our own apartment doing the same thing.
The only other kid who spent almost as much time there was Andie. She lived across the hall from us with her mother. When her mother was around, I think she might have been a prostitute. Mrs. Dawkins spent hours teaching Andie and me to bake. Andie had thetouch. By the time we were in high school, Andie was a master baker.
I could never master it, but I happily sat at the kitchen table, chatting with them and eating all the mouthwatering pastries they churned out. Those afternoons in Mrs. Dawkins’ apartment cemented Andie and my friendship. If I had to pick a best friend, it would be Andie.
Standing in front of the bookshelf – since there isnothingelse to do, I run my fingers over the spines of the books. All twelve of them.
I wonder how Andie is doing. And Mrs. Dawkins. I can't call Mrs. Dawkins. She would demand to know where I was, and knowing that might put her in danger. I couldn’t do that to her. I could call Andie… my eyes linger on the microwave clock. Or not. It’s mid-afternoon. She works as an administrative assistant at a small shipping company. She would be at work.
My fingers pause on the spine of the final book. It’s thick and heavy. I used to work as a bookkeeper in a copier sales company. I never gave them notice, but I don’t think my job is still there. They probably had a replacement starting two days after I didn’t show up to work.
I pull the book off the shelf, frowning down at it with a sigh. It’s a history of the Irish struggles for freedom against English oppression. You know, light bedtime reading. But it’s a book, and I’m bored.
Settling down on the sofa, I tuck my feet beneath me, opening the book and staring at the first sentence. This is definitely not going to be light bedtime reading. But he only has twelve, so he’s probably read them all. It would give us something to talk about… if he was ever here. With that in mind, I focus and start reading.
After maybe an hour, I jump and drop the book when a knock sounds on the door. Who would be knocking? Paddy wouldn’t knock. My heart is in my mouth, and I stare at the door, irrational thoughts running through my head. Or maybe not so irrational.
There were probably Italians at the fight where I met Paddy. They could have seen us leave together and put two and two together that I’m staying here. They could have tracked me down, known Paddy wouldn’t be here during the day, and they could be outside the doorright now, ready to snatch me.
I’m not sure why people here to kidnap me wouldknock, but I don’t know mafia etiquette. They're probably not that big on manners if they are here to snatch me out of Paddy Flynn’s living room.
The lock turns. My breath sucks in, bile creeping up my throat. I’m on my feet in an instant. There isn’t enough time to go for a knife in the kitchen, so I clutch the heavy book in my hand, hoping like hell I don’t miss when I launch it at whoever is coming in.
The young, dark-haired man who enters is about my age. His eyes widen, and he ducks to the side as I launch the book at him. Not that he needs to, because it barely clears the sofa before hitting the floor with a loud thump.
That was my last line of defense. There’s no way I can make it to the bedroom door. We stare at each other for a moment until I realize he’s holding bags full of groceries. Oops. Paddy did say he was sending someone with groceries. I have no idea why that didn’t occur when I panicked and spiraled.
“Lauren?” he speaks softly like I’m a rabid dog he’s trying to calm.
“Uh, yeah?” I blink at him, and he smiles gently.
“I’m Liam. I’m going to put these down and lock the door, okay?”
“Uh, okay?”
He does exactly that, turning back to me, his hands raised slightly.
“I’m going to unpack the groceries now, okay?”
I nod, watching while he unpacks and puts away the groceries. Feeling more relaxed and a little foolish, I wander over, sitting on one of the stools at the breakfast bar, waiting for him to finish.
When he turns and sees me sitting there, he relaxes too. Fishing out the last item from his shopping bag, he throws it toward me. It lands on the breakfast bar and slides to a stop right in front of me.
Glancing down, blood rushes to my heated cheeks. Picking up the box of Plan B, I raise my eyebrows at him. But Liam doesn’t seem the least bit embarrassed. He simply fetches a glass of water, sliding it across to me.
“You need to take that. One pregnant woman at a time. That’s all I can handle.”
I have zero idea what he’s talking about. But at least I can allay his fears.
“I have an IUD,” I tell him, dropping the Plan B packet onto the countertop and snatching up the water to take a sip as he visibly sags in relief.
