But given how awkward the circumstances were, I didn’t know what to think.
I shoved the phone into my back pocket without responding and carried the box down the narrow stairwell to the first floor.
The laundry room was already bustling with activity when I arrived.
Four other tenants had gathered, all wearing various levels of enthusiasm.
Someone had brought a portable speaker that was playing classic rock, and the air smelled faintly of pine-scented cleaner.
Clara, one of tenants from the floor above mine, stood near the folding table in the corner, sorting through a box of doorknobs.
She was in her seventies, with white hair that she kept in a neat bun and a habit of wearing cardigans even in summer.
She'd been the first person to introduce herself when I moved in, bringing me a plate of cookies and asking if I needed help unpacking.
"Ember! There you are." She waved me over, her face brightening. "I was hoping you'd make it. We're just getting started."
I set my box on the table and began unpacking the supplies. "Sorry I'm a little late. Slept through my alarm."
"No apology needed, dear. We're all moving at a relaxed pace this morning."
She set the box aside and reached for a feather duster before turning to me. "How are you settling in? It's been a few weeks now, hasn't it?"
"Almost two months," I said, ripping the plastic off the sponges. "It's been good. Quiet."
"That's the best thing about this building. We’re all nice and quiet. None of that loud partying you get in some of the newer complexes." She nodded at the doorway and grabbed a bottle of spray cleaner, so I followed her with my sponges. "There we go. I swear you can never keep doors and doorjambs clean."
I smiled and took the bottle of cleaner from her as she dusted around the door trim and jamb and followed behind her with a spritz of cleaner.
Another tenant—a middle-aged man whose name I could never remember—was tightening screws on the door knobs.
Two younger women were changing light bulbs along the hallway ceiling, standing on stepladders and arguing good-naturedly about smoke detector batteries.
Clara glanced at me while swiping her feather duster along some cobwebs. "I saw you on the news yesterday. You and Dr. Bradley at the candle lighting. It looked lovely."
My hands trembled a little as I wiped with the sponge to remove the dirt from the trim. "You watched the news?"
"Of course! The Lightkeeper ceremony is always big news around here. And to have someone from our own building chosen as Hearthkeeper? Well, that's exciting."
She turned and shook her duster, and particles burst into the air around me, almost making me sneeze. "We're all very proud of you, Ember."
I forced a smile and went back to washing the dirt off the doorjamb. "Thank you. It's been a lot to take in."
"I imagine so. It's quite an honor." With her duster cleaned, she returned to swiping at cobwebs and dust bunnies. "Are you doing all right with everything? You look a bit tired."
I hesitated, unsure how much to share.
Clara had been nothing but kind since I'd moved in, but we weren't close.
I didn't know her well enough to unload the full weight of what I was feeling.
But she was looking at me with genuine concern, and I was blurting everything out before I could stop myself.
"It's just a lot of responsibility," I admitted. "And pressure. The media attention is pretty intense."
Clara nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, I suppose it would be. You're in the public eye now, representing the community."
"Exactly." I felt a rush of relief that she understood. "I didn't sign up for this. It all happened so fast, and now I'm committed to months of appearances and interviews and cameras everywhere."
