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5
The ride over is filled with tension. My hands grip the steering wheel as I follow the GPS’s directions and turn down a quiet street lined with a canopy of naked, mature trees decorated in tiny white lights that give the road a soft glow.
I’d bet in the summer, when everything is in bloom, the view is stunning.
Makes sense, since this is clearly the rich side of town. I’m instantly uncomfortable, and I haven’t even reached my destination. I’m not used to moneyed people. I’ve always been a strict member of the middle class and those I’ve chosen to share my circle have been at that level or below. I hadn’t even considered what Niles was working with beyond the physical, but now I’m hyper aware of at least one difference between us: money.
I drive the requisite twenty-five miles per hour, a speed I’m positive was decided by a housing association that wanted outsiders to admire residents’ wealth. Each home is grand, its lawn a vibrant spring green despite the pending snowfall and it being the dead of winter. Most homes boast an elaborate holiday display, including blow-up Santas and his reindeer and a host of twinkling lights—mostly white, rather than the multi-colored strands I grew up with and prefer.
These are the types of homes that don’t have curtains so you can see straight inside. I play witness to nightly news programs and the occasional gathering, and a few dozen Christmas trees that are tall and full and, I’m sure, lined with presents.
What a life they must live. I long for the day I can achieve a similar level of success.
The GPS guides me down the winding cul de sac until I reach a dead end with a circular turnaround. Addresses are difficult to see in the low light, and after two spins around the circle, I find the one I’m looking for.
Niles’ house is a simple two-story, compared to some of the other houses I passed on my way in, but it’s no less rich. The red brick is a nice break from some of the white-washed and siding in varying shades of brown and grays. There are squared hedges under each window on either side of the front stoop, complete with wrought iron railings wrapped in evergreen garland and a brick-red front door adorned with a wreath decorated with fake cranberries and a giant gold and red bow.
Considering there are three bachelors living inside, I’m surprised they made that much effort, but I’m sure homeownership inspires much. I haven’t even begun to decorate, and a tree is the last thing on my mind. Although, I’ll get around to it eventually. Last year, I purchased an artificial Charlie Brown tree that pops open like an umbrella and is pre-decorated, so all I have to do is set it on a table and plug it in.
Yes, I’m aware of how depressing that sounds, but the reality is, I’m a single woman and I spend my holidays surrounded by family, and they do all the big stuff, so there’s no need to go all out when it’s already been handled elsewhere.
I pull into the drive and set the car to park, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly to calm my increasing nerves. I don’t know if I’m ready for this night, but I’m already here, so I guess I have to be.
The only thing I brought with me is a small, black clutch filled with my essentials, like cash, ID, and my cell phone. If the needs arise and I do have to run out quick because my life depends on it, then all I need is contained and easily collected on the way out.
Pushing open the car door, I step out, the thin heel on my mile-high pumps shaking threateningly. I pray that I don’t break an ankle on my way up. What a first impression that would be!
The pencil skirt I decided on falls to my knees, giving me a modicum of warmth in the frigid air, and I hold the leather crop jacket closed as I hunch in on myself and make my way carefully to the front door.
The outfit itself isn’t sensible. Far from it. But it is sexy, and when it comes to sexy, the sensible thing isn’t to be sensible at all. I’m freezing my ass off by the time I raise the brass door knocker and give the door a harsh rapping, and by the time the door actually opens, my lips feel numb and verging on frozen to my teeth.
Light pours out of the opening, as does the warmth of a solid furnace and the music notes of Sammy Hagar, along with laughter. Before me is one of the men I recognize from the photograph I’d found on Niles’ social media account, only his face has aged some, matured in a way that makes him more attractive.
He’s smiling at something that happened before my arrival, his spirits high and his face alight with good humor. He hasn’t even looked at me yet, but is instead flipping through a brown leather wallet that’s seen a lot of wear.
“Awesome, man,” he says to me, still without making eye contact. “We’re starving. How much do I owe ya?”
“Uh…” I look around, checking to be sure there’s no one else out here besides me. Nope, I’m alone.
The man finally glances up, his expression perplexed as he looks me over. “Wow, that’s a hell of a uniform. I bet it gets you some nice tips.” He returns to his wallet. “All I have is a hundred.” He appears regretful as he extends his hand and the hundred-dollar bill to me.
“I, uh, think you have the wrong person,” I say slowly as I reach out and take the money on reflex, because that’s what you’re supposed to do when someone makes an offering, right?
“We ordered the fried rice, sweet ‘n sour—hell, half the menu—with drinks?” I stare at him, having no idea what he’s talking about. “You’re the caterer, aren’t you?”
“Caterer?” I gather they ordered food and have been waiting on it. I just don’t know what else to say to make him understand that I’m not the person he was expecting. If I hadn’t already seen his face before, I would worry that I’d gotten the wrong house. Now, my only concern is that Niles didn’t tell anyone to expect me, and I feel like turning tail and running, because this is ungodlily uncomfortable.
“You forgot the food,” he states plainly. “Honestly, how do you forget the number one reason for a delivery?”
“I’m sorry, but you have me confused with someone else. I’m—”
“Is food finally here?” Another male voice approaches, and my attention is drawn there as a tall male with brown hair and thick features appears. He graces me with the same strange look as his friend. “You’re not the caterer, are you? Because if you are, you’re late and you owe us a ten percent discount.”
“I’m not…” I shake my head as I speak. Forget the cold. I’m burning up with anxiety and embarrassment, though I have no idea what I have to be embarrassed about. Maybe for them and their inability to make connections?
“Huh,” the first one, who’s standing squarely in the doorway, blocking my line of sight inside in a feeble attempt to see if Niles can be spotted so he can save the day. “Are you lost? Car break down? Do you need a phone to call someone?”
I run through my mental checklist and am already shaking my head in the negative. I don’t need any of those things, unless… “Niles,” I say, my voice small, the statement close to a request. I’m aware my facial expression is verging on the apologetic. I just don’t know how else to handle this situation. I don’t know either of their names, and it’s pretty clear they don’t know anything about me.
