* * *
Spencer liveda few blocks from the beach in a hundred-year-old three-flat apartment that was a dime a dozen in Chicago. He enjoyed the stroll back home, taking in the greenery of the trees dotting the sidewalk, weaving around the bustling outdoor seating of restaurants. The city was alive, and he was a part of the magic. It was worth the suffering of a Chicago winter.
His apartment was on the top floor, and climbing three flights of stairs on a regular basis helped him get in his daily cardio. On the front stoop of his building, a guy sat hunched over heaving for oxygen, a column of sweat imprinted down his back. Two moving boxes stacked atop each other teetered on the sidewalk.
“I’m guessing you’re the guy who moved in across the hall. Spencer.” He held out his hand.
The neighbor gave it a shake/slap like the players of Bump and Grind. It seemed to be all the energy he could muster. He appeared to be in his early twenties, same as Spencer, and looked up at him with squinty green eyes interrupted by strands of blond hair falling into his face.
“Patrick,” he said in between breaths.
“Do you need help?”
“No. I’m done. My friends helped me out. They just left.”
He had a dazed look in his eye, like he just realized that he would have to walk up and down those stairs every day. Spencer didn’t mind the three flights. He didn’t have to deal with sounds from neighbors, and he had a view of the lake.
“You still have two boxes.” Spencer nodded at the pair on the sidewalk. Patrick followed his eyeline and instantly deflated.
“Shit.”
Spencer waved off his fears. “I got you covered.”
“Thanks.” Relief washed over Patrick’s face, bringing out a pert dimple on his left cheek. The redness of his exertion made his green eyes gleam, holding Spencer in place for a second.
“Hey, I’m inviting some of my friends over tonight to watch fireworks on the roof, if you wanted to join.”
“I appreciate it, but I’m not really into the Fourth of July.”
“We have awesome views of the lake and fireworks going off at Navy Pier.” Who wasn’t into the Fourth and fireworks? That was like hating going to the beach. Patrick had probably never seen good fireworks; these would blow his mind. “Come on.”
“That’d be cool. Thanks,” Patrick said with another dimpled smile.
“You’ll love them.” Spencer picked up the two boxes, which were heavier than he expected. He wouldn’t let on to his new neighbor, though. He climbed the steps of the stoop, inhaling a deep breath at the front door. With the heavy jangling bottom and light top, it felt like some glass items mixed with clothes.
“You don’t have to carry both,” Patrick said.
“I got it.”
“If I hadn’t already made a million trips up and down, I could do it.”
Judging by the lean muscles hugged by his maroon T-shirt, he probably could, Spencer thought to himself.
“Can you get the door?” Spencer tried his best not to grit his teeth. The boxes seemed to gain weight the longer he held them.
“Right!” Patrick jogged up the stairs and around Spencer. He tried two keys on his ring until the third one was the charm. He opened the door wide and with a smile, like a doorman expecting a tip.
The staircase creaked under their steps. Patches of the carpet had water stains that could’ve been older than both of them. It was part of the character of a three-flat.
“So where’d you move from?” Spencer asked, struggling to make sure the top box didn’t slide off.
“Santa Monica.”
“California?”
“Yep.”
“Isn’t Santa Monica by the beach?”
