He blinks at me, then turns to Taylor, chuckling like I’m some big joke. “Did that just happen?”
“I dunno. Did it?” she says, giggling.
I shut off the vacuum, snapping my fingers in front of Taylor’s face, forcing her to look at me. “Taylor, you have to go home soon. I have too much going on right now.”
She groans, rolling onto her side. “Sure, but tomorrow. ‘Kay?”
I straighten up. Tomorrow? A wave of relief floods through my body, warming my skin. Tomorrow is okay. I can handle that. I’ll shower now and go right to sleep. I tuck the vacuum backinto the closet and scan the apartment. It’s not perfect but it’s manageable. I’ll finish the rest once she’s gone.
I take out my contacts, jump into the hottest shower of my life, then collapse in a boneless heap on my bed.
A noise startles me awake.Groggy, I fumble for my glasses and tap my phone on the nightstand. The screen flares to life. 12:30 a.m.
I came in just after five. Seven and a half hours of sleep. Not enough. I want at least two more. But my bladder has other plans.
With a groan, I shove back the covers and shuffle into the hallway. The faint, skunky scent of weed lingers in the air, clinging to the furniture, seeping into the curtains. Great. I’ll have to wash them and probably sanitize the couch too.
Low murmurs drift from the living room. Taylor’s voice. No one is responding.
Halfway to the bathroom, I crane my neck to peek inside. Harry or Jerry. Whatever his name is lounges on my couch with his feet kicked up like he owns the place, sipping a beer. My beer. Even from here, I recognize the Bass Ale label. My secret stash, raided. A hot pulse of anger flares in my chest. At this rate, these two will drink me out of house and home.
I still don’t see Taylor. She must be sitting at the kitchen table, talking on the phone. Hopefully, she’s making plans to leave. A twinge of guilt flickers through me, but I shove it down. I refuse to feel bad while her friend drains my beer supply like it’s an open bar.
I slip into the bathroom and lock the door behind me. In the mirror, my reflection stares back. Wild curls, the result ofsleeping with wet hair. At least it looks good. A small, pointless victory in the middle of this mess. Maybe it will still look decent when I drag myself to work in a few hours.
As I do my business, I check my phone. Another missed call from my father. This time he actually left a voicemail. I don’t listen to it. I will call him between shifts tomorrow. He has to understand. I have nothing left to give.
I turn on the sink to wash my hands. Then I hear it again. The same noise that woke me up. It’s hard to describe, but it’s coming from below me. Which is impossible. The bakery is supposed to be empty right now.
My stomach plummets.Please don’t let it be rats.
Heart pounding, I dry my hands quickly and rush out of the bathroom into the kitchen. Taylor stands by the window, staring into the darkness.
"Did you hear something?" I ask, urgency sharpening my voice.
She jolts and slaps a hand to her chest. "Fucking shit. You scared the hell out of me," she snaps.
Sorry, not sorry.
"I heard something weird coming from downstairs. Did you?" I pull the curtain wider and peer down into the street below.
"This old building makes a lot of weird creaky noises." She yanks the curtain closed, then gives me a slow once-over. I’m too exhausted to make sense of it. "Henry and I think it’s haunted."
Oh. Henry. That’s his name.
Another sound. A loud bang, like something heavy crashing to the ground.
My pulse jumps. Is it the pipes? Did something fall? One of the ovens? That’s not possible, is it? I bolt for the door.
"Where are you going? You're not even?—"
"Didn’t you hear that?" I cut her off, unlocking the deadbolt and shoving open the door. "What if a pipe burst?"
God, please don’t let it be a pipe. I can’t deal with an insurance claim before the place even opens.
Taylor says something else, but I’m already halfway down the stairs.
The moment my bare feet hit the cold cement between my apartment andThe Frosted Spoon, I curse under my breath. If there’s broken glass or anything sharp, I’ll regret this. Why didn’t I take the time to put on shoes?
