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“We’d go skiing. That was really the only thing I enjoyed about the winter season.” I nodded at him. “What about you?”
His face straightened in a way I wasn’t expecting. “I don’t care much for Christmas anymore.” He swallowed hard.“But, uh, my cousins and I used to do a talent show for our parents. We did it up until just a few years ago, and it only got funnier as we got older.” He looked down at his lap as he braced his hands on his knees and made to stand. “But we don’t do that anymore.”
“Why?” I stayed seated, but looked up at him as he walked across the living room and grabbed his keys off the counter.
He turned to face me, flashing me that crooked smile once more, as if our entire conversation hadn't happened. As if he hadn’t just been looking like he was on the verge of tears. “I’ve got to get going but if you feel like celebrating with someone, you know how to find me.”
He opened the front door, and as he shut it behind him, I yelled, “Actually, I don’t!”
His laugh was light as his steps faded down the hall. A few minutes later, my phone chimed. I had a text message from an unknown number that read:
Now you know where to find me.
Chapter 4
Iorderedtakeoutfar too often.
But the thing about living in a city like Los Angeles, compared to a town like Brighton Bay, was that I could order literally any type of food, at any time of day, and have it at my door within an hour. I’m a glutton for things that require very little effort on my end. I didn’t realize how often I was actually having food delivered until it was a week before Christmas and delivery fees had quadrupled because nobody wants to deliver food when they could be at home with their family. At this point, likely through New Year, I’d be better off just making my own meals.
Except, I rarely grocery shopped. Not only because I ordered-in ninety percent of my meals, but because I hated it. Penelope, for some reason, loved it. When I did need something from the store, I slipped her some cash and had her grab it for me. I wasn’t used to picking out the freshest produce, or trying to use the self-checkout machine, or lugging ten bags of groceries upthree goddamn flights of stairs.
So, by the time I made it to the apartment door, hands full of food, I was experiencing sensory overload, I was out of breath, and my arms were aching. Then, I realized that my keys were wedged deep in my pocket and if I dropped the bags I was holding I was afraid I physically wouldn’t have the strength to pick them up again.
I should really start hitting the gym.
Cue cliche-as-hell New Year's resolution.
While still holding several grocery bags around each finger, I dug my hands into my pocket to feel for my keys. Just as I got the ring looped around my index finger, sure enough, one of the bags broke and my groceries spilled out all over the floor.
It was the dessert bag. The bag with Oreos, icecream, pudding, and whip cream.
It’s God’s way of also telling me I should hit the gym.
I pulled my keys out of my pocket and got the door unlocked, kicking it open with my foot as a, “Motherfucker,” escaped my mouth. I heard another door open down the hall and I quickly stepped over the spilled sweets, leaving them outside as I slammed mine behind me.
Whoever was entering the hall will probably call Carter with another noise complaint about me. I wonder how many noise complaints it would take for his pity on me to run out. How many it would take for him to kick me to the curb. For me to become too much.
I leaned against the counter and sighed. I knew I needed to go into the hall and get the rest of my groceries, but for some reason I couldn’t muster the strength. I found myself not even wanting to put away the bags that did make it inside the house. I wasn’t sure how long I stood there with my head in my hands before I heard the door open.
The door is opening.
Whothe fuckis entering my apartment?
Without much thought, I grabbed another bag of groceries off the counter and hurled it toward the door. Toward the intruder.
“Fuck!” Dom jumped back, dropping the Oreos, and the pudding, and the whip cream. They tumbled to the floor along with the milk and the apples that were in the bag I threw at him. “What the hell, Macie?”
One hand flew to my mouth, the other to my chest. “Jesus, Dom. I thought you were an intruder.”
“I heard you muttering in the hallway and I came to see what happened when I found a bunch of food on the ground. I thought you might need help.” He chuckled, rubbing his temple where an apple must’ve hit him. “Remind me to never piss you off.”
I began picking up my now-bruised apples off the kitchen floor. “You piss me off all the time.” He grabbed the milk, which luckily hadn’t broken open. “What were you doing in the hallway?” I asked.
“I was working on a pipe leak in a unit down the hall.” He smirked. “Then I heard this incessant stomping up the stairs. Followed by kicking and screaming. I figured it was you.”
“Yeah, that’s me. A walking noise complaint, apparently.” He raised his brows at me as if his expression alone was a question. “Grocery shopping is tedious.”
His laugh wasn’t mocking. It was kind of musical. Amused. “I suppose it can be.” A hint of a smile appeared on my lips. If I’d have made a comment like that to Jeremy, he’d have told me I was being overdramatic. “Are you okay?” he asked.
