Three quick, polite taps.
Which was already weird.
Nobody who knew me well enough to knock politely ever knocked at all.
Then I remembered I wasn’t the only person who lived here.
I glanced at the door, then at the TV. Pauly D was screaming something about hair gel while I weighed my options. Ignore it, or answer and risk a Jehovah’s Witness?
The peephole was covered, which felt intentional. Who covered the peephole unless they were actively trying to give me a reason to imagine all the different ways I could die? My brain did a quick mental scroll through every possible horror scenario: man with a knife, man with a badge, man with a Bible. All bad.
Still, against my better judgment and literally every true-crime podcast I’ve ever listened to, I opened the door.
And there a stranger was.
Tall. Broad. Drenched from the rain.
He looked at me likeIwas the surprise. Like he’d been expecting someone else entirely and couldn’t figure out what kind of admin error had led him here.
“Sorry, ma’am,” he said immediately, and“ma’am”made my left eye twitch. He said it like Marco did. “I must have the wrong house. Have a good day.”
“Who are you looking for?” I asked, crossing my arms and leaning against the doorframe, because now I was curious and suspicious and still annoyed I’d had to pause my show.
“Marco,” he said, pausing slightly. “Marco Grey.”
I blinked.
And then, because my mouth always worked faster than my brain, I said, “He’s at work.”
“Oh, okay.” He nodded once politely. “I’m Tommy,” he said, extending a hand.
His grip was strong. Too strong. Like someone who didn’t know how to offer anything halfway. His hands were calloused, his build solid enough that I was immediately convinced he could carry three grown adults up a mountain without breaking a sweat.
Light brown hair, cut short. He looked military. Definitely military. But the quiet kind. His hoodie was white, but the shirt underneath was black with blocky gray letters that read“ARMY,” confirming my suspicions.
I stared at him for a second longer than I probably should’ve, because who just showed up like this? Who showed up looking like that? And why hadn’t Marco told me anyone was coming?
“Well, he’s not home,” I repeated, stepping back slightly. “And he wouldn’t want me to let strange men in while he’s not here.”
Something about that made him smirk. “Good policy.”
I nodded. “But if I let you in, are you going to kill me?”
He looked shocked. “Uh, negative.”
“Good.” I stepped aside.
Tommy’s eyebrows lifted slightly, but he didn’t say anything else as he stepped inside. I closed the door, half-annoyed at myself for letting in a stranger who could probably snap me like a toothpick if he felt so inclined.
He didn’t feel inclined, apparently. He just stood politely, like he wasn’t quite sure where to put himself.
I gestured to the couch. “Have a seat, I guess. You want anything? I was gonna make dinner, but ...” I glanced sheepishly at the bowl of cereal on the coffee table. “Plans changed.”
He smiled slightly, like he was trying not to laugh. “No, thanks. I won’t stay long. Just needed to drop something off for Marco.”
“What is it?” I asked immediately, unable to stop myself. Curiosity was a persistent disease of mine.
“It’s a gift.”
