Bree #2
I inhale the cold misty sea air and take my suitcase by the hand, dragging it up to the paved walkway to the dark front door.
Then I wait for the taxi to completely disappear, in case he’s got an ultra zoom lens and is waiting to watch me key the lock code into the door.
This isn’t extreme paranoia. It’s caution.
I’m not planning on being murdered in my sleep.
His lights glow down the road, the fog rolling in thick and obscuring his car.
Alone at last. I key the code into the door and reach for the handle, but it doesn’t budge. Instead, I get red flashing buttons and an unhappy beep.
So, I try again. And again. I pull up the screenshot of the house’s check-in instructions and try again while reading the numbers. I’m definitely keying in what they told me, and it’s not working. I reverse the numbers, try that. Add a pound sign. Nothing but angry red beeping.
And now it’s locked me out from trying any more codes.
Okay, don’t panic. The rain is coming down in earnest, and I want a hot shower and sleep. I also need to use the bathroom, like yesterday.
I shoot an email off to the owner, then message them through the booking app, but neither of those things promise to yield quick results at almost one in the morning. I’m not entirely sure either of them sent while I only have one weak bar.
Bouncing on my toes, I consider my options.
There’s no streetlamp, and the houses are all sleepy.
It’s so late, it’s technically morning, so I don’t blame them.
But this is the house I’ve rented for the next four weeks, and it’s not breaking and entering when the person who’s supposed to let me in gave me the wrong code and is probably asleep, right?
I sneak around to the back of the house—there are no fences here, which I find interesting-slash-mildly concerning—and try the back door. Locked.
But there are two windows over the length of bushes lining the house.
The first one doesn’t budge, but the second one moves a little when I throw my full weight into it, wedged into the prickly bush.
Hallelujah. It only takes a few more heaves to get the window up enough for me to slip through.
Getting over the hedge onto the sill is another matter.
I’ve never been so glad for Paula, my relentless trainer and Pilates instructor, helping with my core strength.
Planks and mountain climbers to the rescue.
I heave over the windowsill and fall on the wooden floor in a wet heap. It’s warm in here, which is surprising since the house spent the day empty.
I roll onto my back and breathe out. I made it.
The room immediately illuminates around me. Glaring light blinds me with sudden force. I scream, noting a man in dark clothes and messy hair standing a dozen feet from me with his hand on the light switch.
Jumping to my feet, I reach for the closest thing to defend myself. I’ve had a few close calls over the years with whack jobs. That’s the nature of living a public, famous life. But never have I been in such proximity to an attacker all by myself.
I should have done less mountain climbers and more kickboxing last week.
“Stay back,” I warn, brandishing my statue of a—what is this? Looks like a carved wooden sea lion the size of my forearm and is much, much lighter than I expected. It’ll likely crumble against the guy’s forehead if I try to defend myself with it. But he probably doesn’t know that.
“Me?” he says, scoffing. His voice is deep gravel and his eyes are alarmed. “You’re the intruder.”
“Am not!” I shout.
“Did you not just climb through my window?”
“No. Yes. Well…” I shake the sea lion at him. “Define your window. You own this specific window?”
A strangled laugh slips out of him. He rubs his hand over his eyes, pushing his hair back and exposing his face.
It takes everything in me not to gasp.
I know this man. It’s Benny freaking Rhodes, my one-time teenage boyfriend who I’ve not seen in years because he fell off the face of the earth after breaking my little heart.
Doesn’t he live in Montana? We’re pretty far from Montana. If this is a case of him thinking he’s renting this Airbnb, we will be having words. Once I can load my emails.
He narrows his eyes. “You look really familiar.”
A shrill laugh comes out of me, and I prop my sea lion on my hip.
Whatever happens in the next five minutes, I can’t allow this man to recognize me.
This is not a conversation I’m capable of having.
Luckily, my disguises are apparently still working.
Freckles and blonde wigs for the win. “Weird. I get that a lot. One of those faces.”
His skepticism is growing.
“Anyway,” I say loudly, searching for a way out of this mess.
I no longer fear for my life, at least. Unless he does need witness protection, he’s harmless.
Benny has probably changed in the last ten years, but I doubt he gained murderous tendencies.
This is just a mix-up, which is a huge relief.
“I think you’re in the wrong place. I booked this house for—”
His expression straightens. “You booked this house?”
“Yes,” I say patiently. “On Airbnb.”
“I see.” He looks at the open window. “And the door code didn’t work, so you let yourself in?”
“Exactly!” I knew he’d understand. “It’s been a long day, so if you could leave—”
“Listen, I realize it’s late and you’re probably tired, but this isn’t your Airbnb. It’s my house.”
Please let him be wrong. I can’t afford a reality where he lives where I’m supposed to find refuge. “I double checked the email on my way here.”
“All the same, the house next door is a short-term rental property, and this is not.”
Hot mortification seeps into my cheeks. I’ve never been so grateful for a wig. He still doesn’t know who I am. I need to hightail it out of here before he sees through the black eyeliner dripping down my face and the short blonde bob to the reality show star he left in the dust a decade ago.
Oh my gosh, I just leaped through his window.
His grandma’s window? Is this his grandma’s house?
I’m a little sheepish now, and I can’t ask who this house really belongs to without giving myself away. “So the door code—”
“Probably works next door,” he says. “You meant to go to 1068; this is 1066.”
“Cool.” I set the sea lion back on the table gently and back toward the entrance, all while his stare lasers me with intense focus.
This isn’t even something I can blame the taxi driver for, because I should have checked the house number myself.
A gust of wind blows into the house, ruffling the drapes, and I return to the scene of the literal crime with a watery, awkward laugh.
I close his window, noting the rain that came in with me and soaked his floor. “Uh, do you have a towel?”
“I can take care of it,” he says.
Of course. Because Benny wants nothing more than for the crazy intruder to get out of his house.
Benny Rhodes. Whom I haven’t seen in ages and spent a lot of time thinking about in airports today.
I still kind of feel like I’m in a drug-induced dream.
Maybe that Tylenol I popped earlier to stave off an airport-headache was really a hallucinogen.
Can you get visions from acetaminophen? Asking for a friend.
Okay, that’s nonsense. It’s the full day of travel talking.
He walks behind me to the door, where I see that the rain has turned torrential. I grab my suitcase and pull my purse over my shoulder.
“The house on your right,” he says. “Just flash your porch light twice, so I know you made it inside.”
I salute him. Why did I do that?
Just as I run out into the rain, his voice follows me. “It was good to see you again, Bree.”
My foot slips on his slick walkway, and I go down. Hard.
Guess my wig doesn’t work so well after all.