Thirteen
Danica
Somehow, I’m back at my neighbor’s door, staring at the man in disbelief, my heart thumping a rapid protest. There has to be an explanation for this. I need it to make sense. How did this happen? I wrench my phone from the back pocket of my jeans, thumbing through the contacts until I find it. “Here,” I say, thrusting the screen toward him. “This is the number I have for the guy who owns the parking space.”
He leans in, his eyes narrowing. There’s a pause, as he studies the paperwork. “That’s not my number,” he finally declares, straightening up and looking into my eyes with an unsettling calm. “The last two digits are flipped.”
“Flipped?” My voice cracks. I stare at the phone as if it has betrayed me, the numbers blurring. A surge of frustration washes over me. “Can you just…” I don’t even know what I want from him. “Could you be in the wrong spot?”
He shakes his head, a strand of dark brown hair falling over his forehead. “Sorry,” he says, and though his tone is sympathetic, it does little to quell the rising panic inside me. “I promise you, the space you were towed from goes with this unit.”
“Fine,” I snap, my fingers trembling as they tap the screen. “I’ll just call him right now.” The phone rings once before a robotic voice cuts through, cold and impersonal. “The number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service.” I blink, disbelieving. This can’t be happening.
“Disconnected?” My gaze darts up to meet his. “That’s not possible.”
“Seems pretty possible to me,” he replies with an irritating nonchalance.
“Look,” I say, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. “I’ve been swindled, okay? I can’t believe this is happening to me.” My words trail off into nothing as the reality of the situation sinks in. I’ve been had, and the embarrassment burns hotter than my frustration.
“I’m really sorry. Sometimes big-city living is full of ridiculous shit.” He tilts his head, a grin playing on his lips despite the tension between us. “Let’s start over. I’m Austin. Austin Sands. The real Austin Sands,” he clarifies with a glance at my fraudulent parking paperwork.
“Danica,” I mutter, my fingers curling into a fist around the useless scrap of paper. “Danica Winters. I’m… I’m housesitting for Anna while she’s away.”
“Ah, Anna’s very…nice,” Austin says, and something in his tone confirms my suspicion that they’ve been involved. “And you’re taking care of Mischa?”
I hate that mention of the cat softens my guard for even a fraction of a second. “Yeah, that too,” I reply with a reluctant grin. I heave a sigh. “So you’re the owner of the parking space. The real one.”
“Guilty as charged,” he acknowledges with a shrug. “Sorry you got scammed and for all the confusion.”
“Sorry doesn’t solve my problem,” I counter, but my fight is waning. I need to find a place to park. Despite my determination to stay angry, to stay in control, there’s something disarmingly genuine about him. He’s not mocking me, not really. It’s more like he’s sharing the joke a joke that, until a moment ago, was squarely on me.
“Let’s figure this out,” Austin suggests, his hazel eyes meeting mine. “No one likes being played.”
“Figure it out,” I repeat, feeling suddenly exhausted. “Right.” Because what else can I do? I’m at his mercy, and the worst part is, he seems to know it.
“Look, I’m starved. Have you eaten dinner?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“Let’s get out of here and figure out a plan for parking.”
I reluctantly nod and allow myself to hope he has the inside track on a cheap place to park.
I go back for a jacket, and then shuffle alongside him, hands buried in my pockets, still feeling the sting of being duped.
“Fog City’s not far,” he assures me. “And honestly, I don’t trust your car.”
I scoff. “It’s mechanically sound, and it’s paid for,” I mutter. “It’s just been parking in your spot.” I sneak glances at him as we walk. He’s dressed like I imagine the frat boys I went to school with dress now—understated money. But given his choice in cars, my bet is he’s so far underwater, he can’t see straight.
We weave through the City, the hum of conversation and tangle of pedestrians an odd comfort. “Why aren’t we taking your car?” I probe.
“Left it at the office.” He shrugs. “We had a drink after work, and I don’t drink and drive.”
“Responsible,” I say with a nod, puzzling over this man who seems both down-to-earth and impossibly out of reach.
Fog City is three blocks away, across the street from the wharf, its warm glow a beacon against the encroaching night. Inside, the scent of smoked meats and rich spices washes over us, and my stomach growls.
We sit down in a red pleather booth, and I look out at the lights sparkling over the Bay. The server arrives and pours us glasses of water. She talks to Austin, and it sounds like he’s a regular.
“What looks good tonight?” she asks.
“You know I can’t pass up the barbecue brisket over polenta,” he says. “And I’ll have a Laughing Monk IPA.” He looks at me.
“Roasted chicken and a glass of Chardonnay, please,” I add.
Across the table, under the low ambient light, Austin is unreadable. Though I need to completely revamp my view of him anyway. Rather than vindictive, he’s likely been baffled at my aggressive refusal to stop stealing his parking place. That doesn’t explain the ridiculous parties, though. But perhaps he’s trying to fit into a lifestyle, living beyond his means, entertaining celebrities, drowning in debt.
He catches me staring, and I glance away, cheeks warming. “You’re not what I expected,” I admit.
His eyebrows lift, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Oh? And what were you expecting?”
“Someone…flashier, I guess.” I shrug. “You know, because of the car and the late-night parties.”
“Ah, the car.” He leans back, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “It’s just a car. I’m a lot more than my choice of transportation.”
I nod, still studying him.
“Are you from here?” he asks.
“Is anyone ever from here?” I tease.
“There are a few.” He looks at me, waiting for my answer.
“Seattle,” I say. “The Emerald City. Anna’s good friends with my older sister. When she said she needed someone to look after her place and Mischa, I’d just finished at U-Dub and figured, why not have a little adventure?” I rake a hand through my hair, still feeling out of sorts. He doesn’t need the whole story. In truth, I couldn’t stay at home one minute longer after Dad finally left.
“Ah, Mischa.” He chuckles. “That cat is something else. I swear, the first time I saw her, I thought she was some wild animal.”
“Definitely not your typical lap cat.” I laugh, the sound more relaxed than I feel. “Her yellow eyes can be a bit intense at night.”
“Intense?” Austin nods sagely. “That’s one way to put it. I could’ve sworn they glowed in the dark the first time I saw her in the hallway. And that tail—longest I’ve ever seen on a cat.”
“Right?” I grin, picturing Mischa’s grand fluffy tail. “But she’s adorable and surprisingly good company.”
“Sounds like you two are getting along well.” His hazel eyes twinkle.
“I’m better with her than I am with parking spaces, apparently,” I quip.
Austin laughs, a rich sound that seems to resonate around us. It surprises me how easy it is to talk to him, how natural it feels despite our awkward beginning. There’s an openness about him that invites trust, but I sense layers beneath that laid-back exterior, an unspoken depth I’m drawn to uncover.
“What do you do?” He takes a deep pull on his beer when our server drops it off, along with my wine.
I sigh. “I work in human resources for a startup that’s about to go belly up.”
He nods. “That’s the challenge of being a startup. Though some make it. And others get bought.”
The server places our meals in front of us.
“That sounds like experience talking.” I stare at my dinner and realize I haven’t eaten all day.
Austin shrugs. “What are you going to do about the money you’ve lost?”
I shake my head. “Let’s just enjoy dinner,” I suggest, eager to focus on something other than the mess I’m in.
“Sounds good to me,” Austin agrees.
For a little while, I allow myself to sink into the buzz of the restaurant and a good meal.
As we finish, I swirl the last of the Chardonnay in my glass. The warmth from the wine spreads through me, loosening the knots of frustration. “I should get home to Mischa soon, but I’ve done all the talking tonight. Tell me about yourself, Austin. What do you do when you’re not reclaiming parking spaces or dodging giant cats?”
He hesitates. “Nothing nearly as exciting as cat-sitting. I work for a manufacturer of electric-car batteries.”
“Electric-car batteries?” My curiosity piques. “And yet you don’t drive an electric vehicle.”
He laughs. “It’s a hybrid.”
“Electric-vehicle batteries are pretty cutting edge.”
“Yep.” He shrugs modestly, though there’s a flicker of pride in his eyes. “Just doing my part for a greener planet.”
“Sounds impressive,” I tell him. And it is. I have to respect someone who’s contributing to a cause larger than themselves.
“Thanks.” A slight blush colors his cheeks.
I pull out my purse and open my wallet.
Austin reaches across the table and shakes his head. “I’ve got this. It’s the least I can do after someone sold my parking space out from under me.”
He pulls out cash and leaves a hundred-dollar bill on the table, at least twice what we owe. It’s hard not to like a guy who takes care of service people.
I watch the fog swirl around streetlights as we walk back. The night air is cool, and I pull my jacket tighter around me.
“Must be tough being away so much for work,” I muse, glancing at Austin. His hands are in his pockets, shoulders relaxed.
He tilts his head, confusion knitting his brows. “Travel? Oh, there’s some, but not excessively. Mostly conferences or plant visits.”
“Sounds glamorous,” I tease.
He laughs softly, the sound mingling with the distant clatter of a passing cable car. “Believe me, it’s anything but. More like delayed flights and stuffy hotel rooms that always look the same.”
We round a corner and the familiar outline of our building comes into view, bathed in the glow of street lamps. I can’t help but feel a sense of belonging, an odd comfort given the day’s earlier shambles.
“Danica, about those parking tickets…” Austin starts, his tone shifting to something more serious.
“Ugh, let’s not,” I groan, the memory of the fines souring my mood.
“I know they’re a pain. A rite of passage in the City, really. I warn all the new hires at my company. If you don’t have an assigned parking spot, budget for tickets.”
“Great,” I mumble, the advice arriving a little too late for my liking.
“Hey.” He stops walking and turns to face me, hazel eyes earnest. “Drop them off at my place tomorrow. I’ll cover them. It’s the least I can do.”
“No, Austin, that’s… I can’t ask you to do that.” My protest is weak, and the offer is tempting, but pride keeps me resistant.
“Consider it an apology for the mix-up,” he insists.
“Thank you,” I say, conceding for the moment. I can’t continue to argue with him, and I appreciate the gesture, but I can’t give him my tickets. It’s not his fault I got swindled.
“Of course.” He smiles that easy, laid-back grin that seems to come so naturally.
As we approach the entrance to our building, I realize I’ve stumbled upon a neighbor who might just be an ally in this sprawling urban maze. Maybe San Francisco is starting to feel a bit more like home.
“Goodnight,” I mumble when we get to our floor. “Thank you for dinner.”
“Hey, we never talked about parking,” he says. “Why don’t you use the parking space until you move out? I’ll leave the Lambo at the office.”
Surprise flickers across my face. “I can’t do that to you. That’s nine months away. I’m not moving out until the end of December.” My heart flutters, an odd mix of gratitude and skepticism warring inside.
“Really.” He confirms with a nod. “It’s no problem.”
“Well, thank you. That means a lot.” I almost can’t believe it.
We stop at my door, and he turns to me. “Would you like to come over for a drink?” His eyes search mine, a quiet invitation lingering in his gaze.
I hesitate, knowing full well what accepting could lead to. It’s not just a drink. It’s an opening act to something more intimate, a prelude to entanglement. My mind conjures images of twisted limbs and tangled sheets, a complication I can’t afford with someone who lives just down the hall.
“Thanks, but I shouldn’t,” I say with a polite smile. “I should get back to Mischa. She’ll be wondering where I am.”
“Of course,” he replies. “Can’t keep the cat waiting.”
“Right.” I fumble for my keys, suddenly eager to retreat into the safety of Anna’s condo. “Goodnight, Austin.”
“Goodnight, Danica.”
He waits as I unlock the door and slip inside, and I catch the faintest hint of disappointment before the door closes behind me. Alone now, with only Mischa’s glowing yellow eyes for company, I press my back against the wood, my heartbeat slowly returning to normal.
“Close call, huh, Mischa?” I whisper. She blinks in response, her tail swishing across the floor.
Maybe another time, Austin Sands. Maybe when the stakes aren’t so high.