one
Christian Hanson
“I’m sorry, sir.” The hotel receptionist clicks her ridiculously long and stabby nails on her desktop keyboard, glaring at me through her obviously fake eyelashes. “We don’t have a reservation for a Christian Hanson, and we are fully booked for the night.”
“Are you sure?” I shift my weight from one sneaker to the other while shuffling my worn leather backpack to the center of my back. My whole body aches from the most grueling commute ever. My flight from Boston to New York had been delayed, and eventually canceled, due to a winter storm. Of course, I only found that out after sitting at the airport for hours. I tried to rent a car. Any car would have done. I would have driven an electric scooter if I had found one to rent. All the car rental companies were booked from the influx of flight cancellations.
But lucky me, I found a bus ticket. It should only have taken about five hours to get here, but with the reduced speeds fromthe road conditions, it took eight. I won’t mention I had to sit by a gum-popping woman who didn’t know the meaning of personal space. It had been a grueling day. All I wanted was my hotel room and a bed.
I let out a defeated sigh. In hindsight, the bus ticket was a good thing. It only set me back thirty-five bucks, which I didn’t really have to spend anyway. A car would have been another dent on the credit card.
I don’t doubt that I will pay itsomeday.
That someday due date is largely what contributes to the recent knot in my gut. I’m on a mission to make it smaller, not larger. It’s all part of my plan to realize my dreams of true financial abundance. “I’m certain I booked a long stay. A whole month, in fact. Can you check under the name Christy? I know it’s weird, but it’s close to Christian and sometimes that happens.”
Her eyes widen, fanning her spider-leg lashes. “Just one moment.” More clickity clicks with her knife nails. “I’m sorry, Sir,” her automatic not-sorry tone resumes. “We don’t have a reservation forChristyHanson. Last I checked, most of the hotels and shelters on the east side of the city are full, as they pulled homeless off the streets for the night. The weather forecast is for record lows tonight.”
I rake my hand through my hair as tension pools in the back of my brain. I clearly recall making the reservation when I booked the flight. It is . . . well, maybe not clearly. I almost vaguely remember making the reservation. I pull out my phone, tap my emails, and scroll.
“Is there anything else I can help you with, Sir?" Spider lashes rushes me.
“Well, hmm, I’m looking for my confirmation number.” I scroll, knowing the email is here. “Maybe you could try ChristianManson?”
Her lips tighten together, not even twitching as she resumes her clickity clicks, this time with more force. “I’m sorry, Sir—”
“You know,” I hold up my palm, “it’s fine. Thank you for your assistance. I’ll call around to another hotel.” I had heard her say all the hotels were full, but standing here is a waste of time. Tomorrow is a huge day, my first day at my Coffee Loft store. With the excitement brewing, my nerves twist into a tighter knot thinking about it.
My Coffee Loft is located in the middle of Station Square on Long Island, a historic building founded in 1906, with a Tudor roof resembling something straight out of Europe. It was a fantasy location, which I was lucky to be able to snag when a local coffee shop sold out.
I started working at a Coffee Loft franchise in college as a barista. I would have never dreamed that five years later I’d own my own. The Coffee Loft franchise has been good to me. I loved it so much. Now that I own my own store, it is fulfilling my dream of building an empire. Sure, it takes huge sacrifices right now. It’s worth it to show my family, especially my grandma, everything I did on my own. She’d be proud of me. She might even smile as big as she used to before my mom passed.
I push off from the counter and roll my single suitcase back toward the exit, scrolling my phone for hotels. Nothing on this part of Long Island. Just as spider lashes said. Everything on the east side of New York is booked. I sure didn’t have the funds to take a cab to Jersey, and I couldn’t handle another bus. A brief glance from the lobby window shows thickening snowfall blowing at a near-horizontal slant.
I wish I had the money to secure a long-term Airbnb, but it might be a month or two of working before I have money to do that. I need somewhere to lay my head for a few hours until I can look for something nicer tomorrow.
I had carefully selected this hotel because it is the cheapest on Long Island, and it is only a block away from the Coffee Loft. My eyes arc around the top of my lids as an idea fills my brain. I mean, it ismystore. It’s a block away, and it would give me a respite for the night. It’s not a Holiday Inn, but it’s warm, has a bathroom, and a sofa I can crash on in my office . . .
I flash my phone screen, confirming it is nine. All the staff should be gone. It’s not like anyone will even see me sleep there.
Why not?
I shove my phone into my coat pocket and head out the exit.
My feet crunch in the new layer of snow as the sidewalks are nearly empty—a rare scene for a city normally so bustling even at this time of night. I pull my wool jacket collar up, hugging it against the bottom of my ears, but it barely takes the sting off. I am not dressed for a winter walk. I pace faster, shoving my hands in my pockets to keep my fingers from freezing.
At the corner, I wait for the crossing light. It’s too cold to stand still, so I shuffle my feet in place, trying to keep warm. Across the street is a small grocery store that’s been closed for the night. A soft light glows in the window, displaying some of their bakery items.
A flitter of movement next to the building catches my eye.
A homeless man standing under the awning, with nothing more than a light jacket on. My first thought is to look away, and I check on the crossing light. Still red. My mind returns to spider lashes saying all the shelters and hotels are full for the night.
He’ll freeze.
The subway exit is right behind him, and it gives me an idea as I reach in my fleece-lined pocket and pull out my wallet.
A few bucks cash, and my credit card.
The light finally swaps to green, and I cross the street, walking the cash over to him. With a weary smile, I offer it to him. “Do you think you can get on the subway with this to stay warm?”
