4. Astrid
Icannot believe how perfectly everything is working out. Things are finally looking up in my life. Finally. Heather helps me pack my entire apartment in less than a day. It’s crazy how fast this all happened. I’m moving in so fast. I can barely contain my excitement.
It’ll be an easy move. I don’t have a lot of stuff. Mostly books. That’s the hardest part to move. As a history teacher, books are important to me. When I gave some of my stuff away, books were not one of the options I considered.
I try to reward Heather’s hard work with pizza and beer, but she insists on waiting to cash in until after my first nanny paycheck.
She really is the best friend.
I went from not having any idea where I would live or how I would make it, to moving into a beautiful house tucked away in that tree-covered neighborhood I like so much. The Glades. Sure, it isn’t technically my house. But for the next few months at least, I get to say I live in the Glades.
I haven’t met the family yet. Not that it matters. The daughter’s name is Violet and she’s six. She’s started school already, but I guess the hockey season doesn’t start for another few weeks, so I’m not really needed, professionally. I’m basically living for free this month so that Violet can get to know me and everyone feels comfortable. Oh, and I have zero responsibility at the house, so I can focus on the start of the school year. I really lucked out that the dad is letting me continue to teach since even when he’ll be gone, I won’t be needed during the day.
Sounds like the perfect job.
If what Heather says is true, the dad wants to stay out of my way as much as possible. And he’s kind of weird. Cold, I think was the adjective she used. Which is fine. When he’s home during the season, I get a free place to live, and he resumes his dad duties. When he’s away, I get to make my teacher’s salary in a third of the time and probably a tenth of the effort.
To say that I’m excited to start this job is an understatement. As long as the house doesn’t smell like a locker room with used hockey gear, I’ll be a happy girl.
I pick one of the smaller boxes from the rental truck and carry it towards the ornate front door. This house is tucked away on a cul-de-sac with beautiful white oak trees that shade the sidewalk from the road, creating a little bit of privacy. The text I got from Sean, the dad, said I could start to move in anytime between eleven and one, that he’d be home to show me around and give me the keys I would need.
That’s all I know about this house that I’m staying in, which isn’t a lot, but it has to be better than where I was before. That was more than enough to get me to sign the contract and tell my apartment office to shove it. I was paying to live in a nice area, but the apartment itself was kind of awful. As long as I have my own room and bathroom here, I know I’ll be happy.
I knock on the door, not sure it’s polite to just walk right in on my first day.
No one answers. I knock again, my fist beating against the door a little more aggressively, when it opens.
“Oh, sorry,” I start to say, I don’t want to come off as rude. Maybe there was a doorbell I should have rung instead. I shift the box in my arms to better apologize, but my words dry up as I forget how to speak.
It’s him. Shit.
He’s unmistakable. The man from the other day. His large frame fills the doorway. His hair is more disheveled than I remember, the dark ends flopping in his eyes as the wind blows against my back. He runs a hand through the tussled ends. His long fingers combing through until he can look at me.
Oh no. I am fucked.
“Hi, uh,” I say. I shift the box to my other hip. It was the lightest box in my car, but it sure doesn’t feel that way now.
“What are you doing here,” he asks, accusatorily.
Great.I’m never rude to anyone. Never. My mom always said that being rude to someone had its consequences. I took it to heart. I’m actually known for being quite nice and upbeat. The other day was the first time in a while that I snapped at someone. I didn’t realize my first-time offense would carry such consequences.
“I’m Astrid.”
“You’re Astrid?” He repeats it like a question he doesn’t understand the answer too.
“Right, so…” I shift the box again. “Are you going to let me in or?”
He doesn’t step aside at first, and there is certainly no space to scoot around him. His shoulders nearly fill the open space and when he rests a hand against the top of the door frame, I give up hoping that he’ll step aside.
“Did you know it was me?” he asks.
“What?”
“Is that why you’re here? You’re stalking me?”
I blink, slowly realizing what he’s accusing me of. “Did I know the rude man lecturing me instead of helping me when I was hurt was going to become my boss? No. Can’t say that I knew that.” I give up on the box, letting it thud to the brick walkway in front of the house.
“I’m not your boss,” he says, still not moving.
I roll my eyes. “Are you going to invite me in, or did you forget the contract?” I made sure to get a contract. We both signed it electronically. I’m not about to risk being kicked out of another place. I’ve bought myself nine months, guaranteed, or he has to pay me out.
His lips flatten as he considers me, and for a moment, I think he’s really about to turn me away.
Asshole.
“You can come in,” he says, clearly reluctant.
I sigh. I should’ve done research before agreeing to this. I know better. Sean Daniels, it would’ve been super easy to search. I know what team he plays for, The New Jersey Devils, where he lives, the Glades. A quick look on the internet would’ve brought pictures up and told me that this man is the same one who lectured me on my run the other morning.
I bend down to get my box, but his hand grabs my wrist. “Don’t,” he says. “I’ll get it.” He scoops the box up and shifts it so that he can hold it with one arm wrapped around it.
Jesus. He’s tall tall.
“This is the living room,” he points to an open-concept space.
I hurry behind him, surprised to find myself becoming annoyed. I don’t like that he’s so indifferent. Or that the box I was struggling so much with is light as a feather to him. So light, he can carry it with one arm while he strolls leisurely through his house.
“The kitchen. Your space doesn’t have its own kitchen, so feel free to keep whatever you want in here. You can help yourself to whatever we have. Just don’t cook something that makes the house smell bad.” He walks ahead of me, not checking to see if I’m following behind or paying attention. “Down this right hallway is my office and a dining room we never use. To the left is the laundry room and the garage. You can keep your car in the garage, just remind me to give you the code for the app.”
The garage opens with an app. This is a whole other tax bracket.
“Upstairs is Violet’s bedroom and the guestroom.” He waves a hand at the staircase. “Come this way.” He gestures for me to follow him down the hallway in front of us. “This is my room,” he says as we pass a closed door. “And then through here, is your room.” He opens the door at the end of the hall, which leads to the basement steps. He flips up the light.
“So the basement has two entrances. Obviously where we came from. That door locks, so feel free to keep your privacy. And then you’ll see the other door down here to the right, it leads to the garage and?—”
He keeps talking, but I stop listening. It takes all my effort to keep my mouth shut and not hanging open in shock.
The place is beautiful. I wouldn’t know I was stepping foot into someone’s basement if he hadn’t told me. The walls are painted a deep grey with wall trim that gives the room an elongated feel. The living room area is dark, with muted greens and sconced lighting that gives the space a cozy glow.
“Through here is your room. I’m sorry, I didn’t have a bigger bed, but,” he looks me up and down. “I don’t really think that’ll be a problem for you.”
This room is smaller, but more than plenty enough for me. There is a full-size bed, two nightstands, and a dresser, which is good, because most of the hand-me-down furniture from my apartment was broken and had to be thrown away.
I walk around the space. There is a closet. I open the other door. Wow. A spacious bathroom. A walk-in shower and, “are these floors heated?” I turn towards him, wiggling my feet against the tile.
“Yeah,” he says it as if that should be obvious. “So, this is your space. I won’t invade your privacy, but if you need anything, let me know.”
I nod my head.
“Do you need anything?” he asks. He crosses his arms when he looks at me. It seems that every time he looks at me, he’s unhappy.
“I, uh, nope. I don’t think so… I’m just going to move my stuff in and then?—”
He cuts me off. “Don’t worry about it. I was supposed to lift today, and I missed my workout. I’ll grab your stuff.” He runs a hand through his hair, his t-shirt lifting with the movement, revealing a glimpse of his defined abs.
“But there is a lot,” I say, fighting with myself to keep my gaze on his face and not the little bit of skin that is still showing. This man is off limits.
He smirks. “You packed it all?”
“Yeah.” I realize it is the first time I’ve ever seen him smile. Maybe it is a good thing he doesn’t do that often. I don’t like the way my heart beats in my chest as he looks at me.
“I think I’ll be alright then.” He grins, and then walks away.