That’s the honest truth. So, for my own lousy peace of mind, can I please sit on your couch while you sleep until your cousin gets home?”
She was quiet while she thought it over, her eyes cool and hard. “All right.”
“Thank you.” I relaxed considerably.
She sighed and turned for the stairs to her building, fishing in her bag for her keys.
“Nice place,” I said, following.
“Thanks. My uncle owns a bunch of properties and lets us stay here for free.”
“Must be nice.”
She smirked over her shoulder at me. “It is.”
When she opened the door, I was even more surprised. The house was gorgeous — dark hardwood, crisp, white walls, what looked like it might have been original crown molding. The property had to be worth a couple million at least, a mind-blowing amount of money in my world. After living for seventeen years in the same apartment — and in a different apartment my entire life before that — living in this sort of luxury felt mythical.
I closed the door and locked it behind me as Annika set her bag on the hall table and kicked off her shoes. She looked exhausted.
“I’m exhausted,” she said, and I smiled.
“Get some rest. I’ll wake you up in two hours.”
She nodded and headed for the stairs.
“Which room is yours?” I asked.
“Top of the stairs, next to the bathroom. Help yourself to anything in the fridge, and most of my paperbacks are on the bookshelf in the living room. Or you can watch TV, whatever.”
“Thanks.”
She paused with her hand on the rail, her face soft. “No, thank you. I really do appreciate it.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Even if I didn’t actually want your help,” she added with a smile.
“That’s me. Helping out even when it’s unsolicited. What can I say? I’m a hero like that.”
She snorted and rolled her eyes, the sound crass and very unrefined. I loved it.
“Sleep tight, Annika.”
She smiled. “Thanks, Joel.” And then she turned and walked up the stairs.
Not even going to deny that I watched until she was out of sight.
I sighed and turned for the living room, taking stock. All the furniture was a mixture of modern and vintage, an eclectic collection. I’d figured her place would be sterile, clean and white, no color, but this place was soft and colorful without being loud. It looked lived in, comfortable. I remembered her saying that her cousin and her daughter lived with her. I wondered how old the little girl was until I saw a stuffed bunny on the couch. I couldn’t help but pick it up, the soft, wide corduroy a creamy grey, its button eyes stitched on and pink velvet ears worn with love.
I set it back down and looked around for the bookshelf, making my way over to kneel in front of the rows and rows of books. They were full of classics, a lot of hardbacks, from Ayn Rand to Dickens. But on their own shelf held standing by agate bookends, the swirl of the stone geometric and organic, stood her collection of hardback Jane Austen novels. I trailed my fingers over the spines, which were stamped in gold or silver with the titles. Pride and Prejudice was the one I knew everyone went for, but I decided on Persuasion, curious about a book that touched her, that shaped her.
I glanced at my watch and noted the time, settling into the couch to read, trying not to think about her sleeping just upstairs.
A very fat, very old calico appeared silently next to my legs, peering up at me with yellow eyes. Patches of orange and black were surrounded by white fur, and it had a black stripe on its face through its eye, which made it look like the Scarface of cats.
“Hey, there.”
It gave me a single meow and blinked, watching me.
I reached down and scratched its jaw, rubbing my thumb against its ear, and it leaned in. “Wonder what your name is.”
Meow , it said in response. I smiled and leaned back, and the cat hopped up, stretched out next to me, and went to sleep, purring.
I chuckled, comforted by the
She was quiet while she thought it over, her eyes cool and hard. “All right.”
“Thank you.” I relaxed considerably.
She sighed and turned for the stairs to her building, fishing in her bag for her keys.
“Nice place,” I said, following.
“Thanks. My uncle owns a bunch of properties and lets us stay here for free.”
“Must be nice.”
She smirked over her shoulder at me. “It is.”
When she opened the door, I was even more surprised. The house was gorgeous — dark hardwood, crisp, white walls, what looked like it might have been original crown molding. The property had to be worth a couple million at least, a mind-blowing amount of money in my world. After living for seventeen years in the same apartment — and in a different apartment my entire life before that — living in this sort of luxury felt mythical.
I closed the door and locked it behind me as Annika set her bag on the hall table and kicked off her shoes. She looked exhausted.
“I’m exhausted,” she said, and I smiled.
“Get some rest. I’ll wake you up in two hours.”
She nodded and headed for the stairs.
“Which room is yours?” I asked.
“Top of the stairs, next to the bathroom. Help yourself to anything in the fridge, and most of my paperbacks are on the bookshelf in the living room. Or you can watch TV, whatever.”
“Thanks.”
She paused with her hand on the rail, her face soft. “No, thank you. I really do appreciate it.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Even if I didn’t actually want your help,” she added with a smile.
“That’s me. Helping out even when it’s unsolicited. What can I say? I’m a hero like that.”
She snorted and rolled her eyes, the sound crass and very unrefined. I loved it.
“Sleep tight, Annika.”
She smiled. “Thanks, Joel.” And then she turned and walked up the stairs.
Not even going to deny that I watched until she was out of sight.
I sighed and turned for the living room, taking stock. All the furniture was a mixture of modern and vintage, an eclectic collection. I’d figured her place would be sterile, clean and white, no color, but this place was soft and colorful without being loud. It looked lived in, comfortable. I remembered her saying that her cousin and her daughter lived with her. I wondered how old the little girl was until I saw a stuffed bunny on the couch. I couldn’t help but pick it up, the soft, wide corduroy a creamy grey, its button eyes stitched on and pink velvet ears worn with love.
I set it back down and looked around for the bookshelf, making my way over to kneel in front of the rows and rows of books. They were full of classics, a lot of hardbacks, from Ayn Rand to Dickens. But on their own shelf held standing by agate bookends, the swirl of the stone geometric and organic, stood her collection of hardback Jane Austen novels. I trailed my fingers over the spines, which were stamped in gold or silver with the titles. Pride and Prejudice was the one I knew everyone went for, but I decided on Persuasion, curious about a book that touched her, that shaped her.
I glanced at my watch and noted the time, settling into the couch to read, trying not to think about her sleeping just upstairs.
A very fat, very old calico appeared silently next to my legs, peering up at me with yellow eyes. Patches of orange and black were surrounded by white fur, and it had a black stripe on its face through its eye, which made it look like the Scarface of cats.
“Hey, there.”
It gave me a single meow and blinked, watching me.
I reached down and scratched its jaw, rubbing my thumb against its ear, and it leaned in. “Wonder what your name is.”
Meow , it said in response. I smiled and leaned back, and the cat hopped up, stretched out next to me, and went to sleep, purring.
I chuckled, comforted by the
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