“I’m good. It’s not as bad as it looks. Everyone pretty much keeps to themselves and has never given me any problems.”
“If you say so,” she looks doubtful as I get out of the van and shut the door. “Text me when you get inside and have the door locked.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say through the open window. “Thanks again for the ride.”
“Anytime, dear.” She waves, and I watch her pull away before walking to the front door of the older brick building. I take the stairs to the second floor and put my key into the lock, entering my small one-bedroom apartment.
It’s old and needs lots of updates, but after scrubbing it from top to bottom and adding a few touches from second-hand stores, I’ve made it as cozy as possible.
Locking the door behind me, I cross the worn tile to the tiny kitchen. I snuck in dinner earlier on a break, so I put the rest of the leftovers in my small fridge to eat on for the next few days before heading to the bedroom. I shoot a text to Clara real quick, letting her know I’m safe before taking off my shoes and stripping down to my underwear, too tired to shower.
His smell hits me when I undo the knot, letting the fabric hit my knees. Unable to resist, I lift the collar to my face and inhale deeply. The spicy scent fills my lungs. I can tell he doesn’t wear cologne…it’s just…him. Not ready to let it go just yet, I slide my bra through the arms and keep his shirt on.
I wash my face and brush my teeth before remembering the envelope in my purse. Curious about what it is, I get it from the kitchen before curling up in bed. A single piece of paper falls out with two one-hundred-dollar bills.
What the…?
I quickly read the handwritten note.
Lyla,
I’m sorry I ruined your shirt tonight. This should cover the dry cleaning or the cost of buying a new one. If you ever need a taste tester for your desserts, I’ve left my number. It seems I’ve developed quite a taste for your sweets.
Jake - the guy whose heart you make beat incredibly fast whenever you are near
I stare at the cash and the number in my hand. It triggers something inside me, and I angrily grab my phone and send him a text.
Lyla
Two hundred dollars for a dry cleaning? I don’t need handouts. I’m perfectly capable of paying to have my shirt cleaned.
I hit send before I chicken out. It’s almost two, so he’s probably sleeping, or worse, he’s with someone right now, and I’m interrupting.
I blink, surprised when I see three dots immediately appear.
Jake
Whoa. I never meant to make you feel like it was a handout. I felt like an ass for ruining your shirt and just wanted to apologize again. I threw in some extra to make me feel better, not because I felt like you couldn’t take care of it yourself.
I bite my lip and read his text, feeling some of the anger drift away. It sounds like he’s just being a nice guy, and I completely took it the wrong way.
Sighing, I type out a response.
Lyla
Sorry. I guess that’s a sore spot for me, and I jumped to conclusions. Now I’m the one who feels like an ass.
Jake
Apology accepted.
Lyla
Why are you still up? It’s two o’clock in the morning.
Curiosity gets the best of me as I hit send, ignoring the part of me that says I shouldn’t care.
Jake
