Chapter One #3
He studies me for a beat longer, maybe hearing that I’m coherent and sober and not looking for trouble, and that seems to loosen him up.
He takes a step closer, then another, until the lamplight spills a little further into the alley and I can see his face better.
Friendly eyes. A neat jaw. A suit that fits like it was made for him, no wrinkles, little pocket square and all.
He looks me over from my messy hair to my wet shoes, and I tense up because I don’t know what he wants.
I’ve had a weird night already and my nerves are shot.
He doesn’t reach for me or crowd me, though. He just gives me a considering look, lips pressed together, and gestures with his cigarette toward my hoodie.
“You look a little cold, kid,” he says. “You got a warmer jacket or anything in your bag?”
I shake my head. “Nah. I’m not from here. Didn’t expect it to get this chilly in July. But it’s okay. I’ll get used to it.”
He breathes out smoke and frowns, eyes dropping to my hands jammed under my arms and the way my shoulders shake under the thin cotton. I try to hold still, but a shiver runs through me hard enough to rattle my teeth, and he sees it.
“You’re shivering,” he says.
I shrug because I don’t want to make it a thing. “I won’t freeze.”
He hums, not buying it, and taps ash onto the wet ground.
He glances back toward the street where his friends’ laughter still drifts, then back at me, and he sucks on his cigarette once more before pinching it out between his fingers and dropping the butt into a little metal trash can by the kitchen door.
“Hold that thought,” he says, holding my eye for a second.
I don’t know what he means by that. He turns and strides out of the alley, suit jacket shifting with his walk, hands slipping into his pockets, and disappears around the corner. His shoes click on the pavement and then fade.
I let out a breath and settle back onto the cardboard.
My heart thumps in my ears. Hold that thought could mean anything.
Could mean he’s going to call someone to haul me off.
Could mean he’s grabbing his buddies for a laugh.
Could mean nothing, just a polite exit line guys use when they don’t know what else to say.
I’ve heard plenty of those in church lobbies.
We’ll pray for you. Hang in there. Blah blah.
I pull my hood tighter and stare at the ferry lights again and try to get comfortable.
Footsteps come back.
I peer up as the blonde reappears in the mouth of the alley, moving quicker now, a folded bundle tucked under one arm. He crosses to me without hesitation and crouches down a few feet away so we’re closer to eye level, and he holds the bundle down toward me.
It’s a blanket, soft and gray, fleece lined, folded into a neat square.
“Got an extra in my car,” he says casually. “Here.”
I look at it without taking it for a second because nobody’s given me anything today except advice and a push out of a doorway. My hands are dirty. His suit is clean. The blanket looks clean and warm and way too nice for an alley floor. I don’t want to ruin it. I don’t want to owe anyone.
He must catch the hesitation because he shakes the blanket a little and smiles, easy and coaxing. “Go on. Take it.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, and I sit up enough to take it from him. The fleece is unbelievably soft under my fingers, plush and dry, still holding a little heat from his car. “Seriously. Thanks a lot.”
He flashes me a warm smile, teeth white in the dim light, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Take care of yourself, okay?”
I nod, clutching the blanket, and he pushes up to stand, slips one hand back in his pocket, and strides away without waiting for more thanks.
No lecture or card with a sermon on it or pity stare.
Just gone around the corner, footsteps fading, voices rising briefly as his friends greet him, then car doors and an engine and quiet.
I spread the blanket out with numb fingers and pull it over me, tucking it around my shoulders and down over my legs and feet.
It’s big enough to cover me fully, and the second I’m wrapped up the shivering eases.
I bury my nose in the edge and breathe in.
It smells of sandalwood and leather, like his car, like cologne and clean upholstery.
Gratitude hits me hard and fast, my eyes sting, which is embarrassing, so I blink hard and stare at the ferry lights until they steady. I’ve had the worst day of my life and this guy I’ve never met hands me warmth and walks off like it’s normal.
I pull the blanket tighter and curl back onto my side, backpack pillowed, body finally loosening as heat builds under the fleece.
Tomorrow might suck. I might get turned down at five places.
I might eat another gas station protein bar for dinner.
But I’ll be a little less drained because of this, and I hope I’ve got better luck tomorrow than I did today.
And I think, as my eyes get heavy and the vent puffs warm onion air over me and the blanket holds it close, that if I ever get my feet under me here, if I ever have a job and a bed and a car with space in the trunk, I want to be like that man.
I want to be the guy who notices and stops and comes back.