“You think they’ll rip up your apartment for fun? In this economy?”I raise a brow.
“They told me they were soundproof.”
“And they told me,” I reply, “that mine was a ‘special’ unit, which is how I got it at a steal.”
His eyes flicker. “Cheaper rent? Really?”
“Congratulations,” I say. “You live above a bargain. Now take your mats and go.”
We stand there for a beat too long. The hallway is quiet, but the air between us is screaming. Finally, he bends and drops the second box on my welcome mat with a heavy thud.
“I’m not accepting them,” he says again, his voice final. “I’ll leave them right here.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“I dare.”
He nudges them just inside my doorway with his boot and starts to turn away. My jaw is so tight it’s a wonder it doesn’t shatter.
“Oh, so this is how it’s going to be?” I call out.
Infuriatingly stubborn, he looks back over his shoulder. “This didn’t have to be a thing, Madison.”
I force my lips into my most professional, lethal smile. “You’re right,” I agree. “But now it is.”
He steps back toward the stairs. “Good luck with the return policy.”
“Hope you enjoyed your last peaceful night’s sleep, Doctor Thuddy!” I shout as he disappears around the corner. “Because the Spice Girls are going on tour in my living room tonight!”
He doesn’t respond, but I see his shoulders shift, and I know he heard me.
Game on, neighbor.
Fourteen
“Okay, go,” I say, reaching for the front door handle before Emmy can change her mind. “You’ve already said goodbye twice. I’m going to cry if you don’t leave soon, and no one needs to see that.”
Emmy adjusts the strap on her bag. “Levi prefers the blue plates, not the green ones. Sasha already ate but might say she didn’t. No juice after seven, unless you want a bedtime monologue about fairies.”
I stare at her. “Do you think this is my first babysitting shift?”
Emmy still hesitates, glancing at the kids.
I step in, grip her shoulders, and shake her. “Emmy, go have dinner with your husband. Drink something fancy. Do all the wildly inappropriate things people can’t do when there are tiny humans in the house.”
Her mouth twitches. “I don’t know why I still get nervous about leaving them.”
“Because you’re a mom,” I say, steering her toward the hallway. “And because you’ve forgotten that I’m the one who taught Sasha how to lie to pediatriciansabout screen time. We’re good here.”
“Okay, but text me—”
“Emmy. Leave.”
She gives each kid one more kiss, lingers a second longer, then finally walks down the hallway. I wait until I hear the ding of the elevator before I close the front door and turn around.
Two faces stare at me from the couch.
Sasha’s crossed-legged, arms folded. Eleven going on forty.
