Just a Guy and His Ceiling
Griff
The pounding at the door was pissing me off.
I ignored it, just like I'd been ignoring the smell of dead fish and the grumbling of my stomach. I had plenty of food. I just didn't want it.
As far as the person at the door, whoever it was, maybe they'd go away.
It wasn't Maisie. She wouldn't pound. She'd knock, all nice and polite. Yeah, even at a dump like this.
The pounding grew louder, and Ryder's voice carried from the other side. "I know you're in there." He paused before adding, "Unless the cockroaches locked you in the closet."
Shit. I pushed up from the bed and strode to the door. I yanked it open with a frown. "No cockroaches here ." It was surprising, but true.
He grinned. "No closet either." He strode past me and headed for the table. He dropped a paper sack onto its surface and said, "Look. Lunch."
My eyes narrowed. I knew that bag. It was the same type Maisie had been using to pack my sandwiches. "You mean it's your lunch. She gave it to you , right?"
He scoffed. "Yeah. Grudgingly."
I knew Maisie better than that. She was unfailingly polite even when upset. I knew this firsthand, just like I knew that Ryder hadn't come here to deliver lunch.
An hour after dawn, he'd shown up with biscuits, orange juice, and a pastry box suspiciously free of dried fruit. No cranberries. No raisins. And if there were prunes hiding somewhere in the box, I sure as hell hadn't found them.
Then again, it's not like I'd looked. I'd given the pastries half a glance before shutting the box and going about my day.
Unfortunately, this mostly involved staring at the water-stained ceiling while pretending I was done.
Done with Maisie.
Done with the island.
Done with that fucking bet.
I had what? Ten days left? I could bolt now and not break a sweat. I mean, sure I'd get some ribbing, but it would be better than this .
There was only one problem.
I didn't want to go.
Talk about messed up.
At the table, Ryder was opening the paper sack. He pulled out a wrapped sandwich, a nice bag of chips, and a big red apple. He held up the apple and said, "What are you? Five?"
I liked apples, as Maisie well knew. She'd once brought me a pear. I hadn't eaten it, and she must've noticed, because that was the last one I'd seen.
She was thoughtful that way – and in a thousand other ways that were quiet and sweet. She wasn't loud or flashy. She was real, with an inner beauty that didn't need sparkle to shine.
In my book that was a good thing. Or at least it had been until everything had gone to shit.
To Ryder, I said, "It's your apple now."
He frowned. "The hell it is." But then, the fucker took a big bite out of it anyway and said mid-chew, "You know, it's not half bad."
For some reason, it pissed me off. "What are you doing here, anyway?"
He took another chomp at the apple. "What do you mean?"
"You're working today, remember?"
"No shit," he said. "I can't believe you talked me into it."
In truth, it hadn't taken much talking. I'd barely had to ask before he'd said yes with minimal grief. But now he was here , leaving Maisie on her own.
I didn't like it. "So why aren't you working?"
He grinned. "Lunch."
I never left the shop for lunch. True, Maisie had told me countless times that I shouldn't feel obligated to eat at the shop. But I'd done so anyway – not because I was bucking for Employee of the Month, but because I liked being there.
I liked being with her . It didn't matter where. And hey, the shop wasn't half-bad either.
I could see why she liked it.
I liked it, too.
To Ryder, I replied, "And you left her alone?"
"Not alone," he said. "She was with Franny."
"I meant working alone," I clarified.
"Trust me," he said. "Maisie was glad to see me go."
"Bullshit."
"No bull," he said. "You want the truth?"
I gave a non-committal shrug even as I leaned in to hear more.
He let out a low scoff. "She's mad that I'm not you. She looks like shit, by the way."
Anger flared in my chest. "Hey, don't be a dick, alright?"
"Jeez, chill," he said. "I'm not calling her ugly. I'm just saying, she looks glummer than you."
A nicer guy would've been sad to hear it. Don't get me wrong. I didn't want her miserable. But the fact she wasn't jumping for joy? Well, it wasn't all bad to hear.
Still, I tried for another shrug. "Yeah, well…it's for the best." But saying it and meaning it were two different things. More to myself than to Ryder, I added, "And she was the one who ended it, remember?"
"Yeah. But why?"
"You know why." I took a good look around. "This place scared her off."
"So what?" he said. "It's not like you really live here."
"Yeah, but you're missing the point."
"Which is…?"
"If she's gonna dump me because of where I live, she's not the girl I thought."
Ryder looked unconvinced. "Did she say that was the reason?"
"She didn't have to say it." I grimaced at the memory. " You saw her. She bolted like the place was on fire."
He looked around. "If you ask me, a fire would improve it."
No kidding. I said nothing in reply.
But Ryder wasn't done. "If you want her back – and it looks to me like you do – just show her the place in Chicago. That'll fix it."
I considered the place I called home. Thirty floors up in River North – all clean lines, warm floors, and blackout shades I never used. I had four bedrooms and two balconies with a skyline view. The place was everything the boathouse wasn't.
And yet, the thought of going back to the penthouse alone had me thinking that the place was too big, too empty, and too cold in spite of the heated floors.
Fuck.
To Ryder, I replied, "Yeah? And what if she likes it and wants to give us another chance?"
He looked genuinely stumped. "That's good, right?"
"Sure," I scoffed. "Until we hit a bump in the road."
He was still holding the apple. He moved it toward his mouth but took no bite. "What sort of bump?"
"Who knows. I'm just saying, if she can't stick through a shitty apartment, she sure as hell isn't gonna stick in sickness and in health."
The apple fell from his hand and thudded to the floor. "Wait…you're not talking forever, are you?"
"Me?" I forced a laugh. "Nah." And then, there was the part I didn't say. Not anymore.