Chapter 13
LOREN
Meg
I miss The Alley
Folks head in and out of the diner down the road from my apartment while I sit in my car munching on the remains of my pie, watching the clock on my dashboard.
Don’t worry. It wasn’t in my purse all night. I put it in my fridge the moment I got home and then transferred it to a plastic tub to bring with me to work because I am a grown adult woman and not a heathen.
The fur around my coat’s hood tickles my cheeks as I snuggle deeper into its downy warmth. I could turn on the ignition and jack the heat but that would require gas, and the tiny gas pump icon came on before I went to work this morning.
At this point, I’m running on fumes in every sense of the word.
At five minutes to five, I grab my phone and make the call.
“Talbott Property Management, this is Tony.”
“Hey, Tony. It’s Loren Piper from Apartment 5316. How much longer are you going to be in the office? I’m stuck in traffic on my way home from work and need to pay my rent.”
His response sounds as flat as a pancake. “We will be gone at five.”
“Oh, crap. Is it okay if I just drop it off tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow is a holiday. The office will be closed until Monday at nine.”
Perfect. “Crap. You’re right. I don’t know where my head is. I’m so sorry. I should’ve left the check yesterday.”
“We’ll see you first thing Monday morning, Miss Piper.”
“Yes, of course. First thing.” First thing after I get home from work, that is.
By then, it’ll be too late to cash the check and if I drop it off in the office mailbox but forget to sign it, that might give me until Tuesday after work.
They’re only open until noon on Wednesdays, but since I’m working all day, I won’t be able to sign the thing until Thursday, which means they’ll deposit it on Friday, also known as payday.
I drive into the apartment complex with a smile on my face.
That is until I pull into my parking space and find Toby coming down the stairs of my building.
When he sees me, his eyes gleam like one of those cartoon villains, the ones who twiddle their fingers together while laughing maniacally.
Except he’s not laughing.
He’s coming over to the car and folding his arms over his chest.
So much for hiding in here until he’s gone.
Cold air rushes into my vehicle when I roll down my window to offer him a wan smile.
“Just the woman I wanted to see,” he says. “I’m not sure if you received the many notices we’ve slipped beneath your door, Miss Piper, but rent is due today.”
“Yeah, I know. I called the office. Got stuck in traffic.”
“It’s a good thing I ran into you then.”
Shit. “You want the check now?”
“That would be great.”
“Sure. No problem. Just a sec.” I rummage through the sticky napkins in my purse and shove aside random receipts. Would you look at that? Turns out I didn’t leave one of my spoons at work, after all. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have a pen on me. Can I drop it in later or…?”
Toby whips a shiny silver pen from his breast pocket.
How fortuitous.
With a wobbly smile, I take it from him and fill out the check, giving the man every last penny to my name.
He clicks the top before stuffing both the pen and my check into his pocket. “Happy New Year.”
“Yeah, same to you.” I watch him leave, that weight in my stomach growing so heavy I can barely drag myself over to the cube of tiny mailboxes outside our apartment block.
So much for letting loose this weekend.
Not that there’s much I could have afforded to do anyway.
More good news waits inside in the form of a late notice for my credit card payment that I could’ve sworn I scheduled. Dammit. These interest rates are criminal. Whoever thought it’d be a good idea to let eighteen-year-old college freshmen sign up for credit cards should be thrown in jail.
I shuffle through the rest of my mail—mostly junk, thank goodness. All except for the final envelope from a bank I’ve never heard of. Probably because it’s not my bank, but Elliott’s.
I seriously hope he has more money in his account than I do.
I trudge up five flights of stairs, stopping by Elliott’s apartment to slip the mis-delivered letter under his door. Right when I kneel down to dop it off, his red door suddenly swings wide open.
Elliott glances down at where I kneel, letter in hand, his eyes wide and a slow smile curving over his lips. “How did you know it was my birthday?”
Wait. Does he think I’m leaving him a birthday card? “What are you talking about?”
“You’re on your knees at my door, Loren. I think you can see where I’m going with this.” He waggles his brows, his grin growing.
What an idiot. How I’d love to offer a sarcastic remark in response to that, but I’m all out of money and humor. “Hilarious.” I shoot to my feet and shove the letter at his chest.
He catches it, then my hand. That smarmy smile no longer anywhere to be seen. “Hey. You okay?”
No, I’m not.
“Sorry for the tasteless joke,” he says. “It was inappropriate.”
“You’re the only tasteless joke I see.”
His grin returns, and he drops my hand. “There she is. For a second I thought I offended you. We still on for this weekend? I’ve been looking forward to crab cakes all week.”
Crap. I completely forgot that with all the holiday craziness we had to postpone our dinner.
Josh may have apologized for playing the jealousy card, but my neighbor clearly bothers him. It feels dishonest to cook for Elliott the moment Josh heads out of town. “Actually, I can’t tonight. Something came up. Sorry.”
“Sure, sure.” He winks at me, which shouldn’t make my stomach jump, but it leaps anyway. “Whatever you say. You let me know when you feel like ‘cooking.’” His air quotes irritate me a hundred times more than his stupid joke.
Part of me wants him to press, to try and convince me. But he doesn’t. He winks once more, turns on his heel, and heads back into his place.
I slip inside my stuffy apartment and throw open the windows before dropping onto my bed and praying for a breeze.
When Duran Duran’s “Hungry Like the Wolf,” drifts through the adjoining wall, I can’t help but smile. That is until I realize that, in denying Elliott his crab cakes, I won’t have anything to eat later either.
The knock at my door is as unexpected as the snow that’s fallen outside on the balcony, dusting the concrete and the trees beyond in white fluff.
I pause the episode of Antiques Roadshow and mosey over to the door, completely stupefied when I whip the door aside to see Elliott down on one knee, a box in one hand and a sheepish smile on his face.
“Well, well, well.” How the tables have turned. “You know, it’s not my birthday but I do appreciate a man on his knees. Unfortunately for you, I have a boyfriend.”
He pops back to his feet with a grin and a teasing, “Unfortunately for us both, you mean.”
Okay, that was… well, it was the kind of banter I would normally die for. Single-Loren would clap back with something even more inappropriate; however, coupled-Loren thinks all these innuendos feel a little too close to flirting.
Instead of pointing out that he sounds awfully full of himself and having him say something ridiculously cringe like, “Would you like to be full of me?” I make the very mature choice to change the subject and save us both.
“What’s in the box?” I ask, very non-flirtingly.
“Crabs.”
“I don’t want your crabs, Elliott Grant.” That was the last one; I swear.
His chuckle is totally worth it. “I bought them for us the other day, so technically they’re our crabs. They’re going to go bad if someone doesn’t eat them. Since I don’t know how to cook, I figured someone might as well enjoy seafood this weekend.”
As much as I’d love to have crab for dinner, this doesn’t feel like a line I should be crossing, and taking this food from him without paying for it feels like theft.
What to do? What to do?
Suddenly his brow furrows, and he takes a step back. “Are you sick or something?”
“No. Why?” Do I look sick? I mean, I’ve lost most of my tan but didn’t think I looked that bad tonight.
Elliott drags the sleeve of his blue henley across his forehead. “I can feel the heat pumping out of your apartment all the way out here. It must be like an oven in there.”
That’s an understatement. Before he knocked, I was this close to stripping completely. “My heating is broken, and the twins have an aversion to fixing it.”
“Want me to take a look?”
“That depends? Do you fix HVACs for a living?”
“No, but the office where I work had a thermostat that was all out of whack, and I figured out how to fix that.”
It would be nice to sleep without the window open, especially given the recent snowfall. There’s no harm in letting him take a look, is there?
“Give me two minutes.” I close the door in his face and proceed to sweep all the random clothes sprinkling my floor into the hamper. The good part about having an apartment the size of a matchbox car is that it’s easy to clean—mold in the bathroom notwithstanding.
When I open the door once more, Elliott carries the box of crab into my apartment. He turns in a circle, his eyes wide and jaw hanging.
I wave him in with a formal bow. “Welcome to Chateau Piper.”
“More like the Den of Chaos.”
He’s a den of freaking chaos. “I’d give you a tour but, as you can see, that’s not necessary.”
“You’re not kidding. This place is like a fucking closet.”
“Pretty sure it was. See that old door right there? I think it’s meant to connect to your place, but it’s been boarded up.”
He sets the box onto the counter next to my empty fruit bowl. “Good thing, too. Wouldn’t want you breaking in to stare at me while I sleep.”
“Since that’s something I do.”
“You can never be too careful these days. Where’s your thermostat?”
“Through that door, next to the toilet.”
“Can you legally have a thermostat in a bathroom?”
“Why are you asking me?” I don’t know anything about thermostats or HVAC units besides the fact that you’re supposed to be able to set the temperature and the air in your apartment is meant to then become that temperature.
With nothing better to do, I snag the box of crab and head into my meager kitchen-living-dining-bedroom. I still have all the ingredients from the last time I cooked crab cakes, along with my secret ingredient that isn’t really a secret if you’re from Maryland.
While Elliott fiddles with my thermostat, I take out my pan and start cooking. When he finally emerges some time later, I feel it: the sweetest breeze—and not from the open window.
“You fixed it?”
He shrugs. “I think so. You seemed to be having the same problem we did. Just needed a good clean.” He drags a hand down the back of his neck. “Speaking of cleaning, you have a shitload of black mold in your bathroom.”
“Which has been here since I moved in, so stop giving me that look.”
“I’m not giving you a look.”
He totally is, but there’s no point arguing because he can’t see his own face right now. “Jut like with fixing the thermostat, I’ve asked the twins to have it removed, and you can see how well that’s been received.”
Elliott glances over his shoulder toward the open bathroom door, his lips pressed flat.
He already helped me escape another night in the fiery pits of hell; the black mold is a problem for tomorrow.
“Thank you, Elliott.” I’m so happy I could cry.
He leans his hip against the counter and nods down at the pan. “Give me two of those crab cakes and we’re square.”
That, I can do.
I rinse out one of my only reusable containers from my lunch, dry it, and then throw three crab cakes inside for good measure. I thank him again on the way out and then head back into my apartment to enjoy dinner beneath a working heater.