Except I don’t seem to have a choice. So I can either be shy about it, or flash him back.
I throw the covers off, swing my legs over the side of the bed opposite him, and let him get a good, long look at my ruffled backside as I slowly stand and stretch my arms up to the ceiling, feigning a yawn.
“I like them, by the way.”
I turn to him, smile sweetly, and nod. “I know. You told me that last night. Did you see them in your dreams?”
Tyse just continues to grin as I grab my pants off the footstool, then shake them out and pull them up my legs. He watches me the entire time. Like he’s mesmerized.
Which is, not gonna lie, kinda thrilling. Tyse Saarinen is not my type. At all. If he were living in my version of the world, he’d be living down-city for sure. I would not even look at him twice.
Well. OK, if I saw him—as in, had theopportunityto see him—I probably would look twice. More than twice, maybe. Because this image he’s projecting—it says seedy one-room apartment, dangerous backstory, and if you look too hard, you’ll probably be sorry.
But itworksfor him.
The muscles, the tattoos, the facial hair. I was never into the facial hair back home, but that’s probably because I never saw Finn with it.
I walk over to the door, get my boots, and then sit on the edge of the bed as I put them on.
Tyse clears his throat. Like he’s snapping himself back into the moment. And possibly out of a fantasy about me, perhaps? “Do you think you’ll be OK here today without me?”
I side-eye him as I lean over, lacing my boots. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
He holds up his hand, one finger raised. “Ya claim to come from another world.” He holds up another finger. “I’m literallythe only person you know.” He holds up a third finger. “Not to sound disparaging, Clara, but you come off as… a bit of a princess.”
“Well… thank you. I guess. I am kind of a princess. A haughty one at that. But I’m not stupid, Tyse. And I’m not socially awkward, either. In fact, socializing is probably my only true skill in life—if you don’t count dancing and dressmaking, I guess.”
“Talking, dancing, and dressmaking. Well. You might just be the most employable person in this whole fuckin’ tower.” But he’s shaking his head and laughing at me as he walks across the room, buckles his weapon belt to his hip, and pans his hand towards the door. “Let’s get you busy, then.”
Rodge isa dark-skinned man with a bright smile. Much to my relief, he does not smell, nor is he a dick. In fact, he’s quite charming. His accent makes every word that comes out of his mouth sound musical. It’s nothing I’ve ever heard before. Tyse has a weird accent too, but Rodge’s accent is different.
I am introduced, we shake hands, and Tyse explains that I am a very smart, capable friend of his and I am looking for work.
Rodge immediately makes an offer. “How about maid? I always need maids. Do you clean?”
Tyse holds up a hand. “No. Not a maid.”
“Ooooookay.” Rodge’s eyes roll up to the ceiling as he rethinks. “How about… runner? You look fit. I bet you could run those stairs?—”
Tyse presses that hand forward. “No. Not runner. Something here, on the eighth. Something that doesn’t require her to leave your sight.”
Rodge makes a knowing expression and he nods. “Ohhhhh. I see.” He studies me again. “Well, in that case, you are my newcustomer helper. You stand there.” He points to a space behind a long, wide counter. It’s the end destination for the literally hundreds of people in line waiting for service. “And you take orders and fill up bags. Sounds good?” He’s not looking at me for approval, though. He’s looking at Tyse.
“Yes, that’s perfect. And”—Tyse leans in towards Rodge a little—“I do need a maid. My place is a fuckin’ mess. Send someone down to clean it all up before she knocks off for the day.” Then Tyse looks at me. “Sorry to leave you like this, but I gotta go. I’ll see ya tonight.”
He turns and walks off, that weapon of his banging against his hip as he leaves.
I turn back to Rodge and smile my biggest professional Spark Maiden smile. “I guess I’m all yours.”
I spend the first hourshadowing Rodge as he fills order slips. Before the tower residents can enter the store, they interact with a teenage girl at the main entrance, who is Rodge’s daughter, Prisha. Residents tell Prisha what they need, she writes it down on a pad of paper and then gives it to them and they move forward in the line so that by the time they get to Rodge and me, all we have to do is fill the order they give us.
It’s all very efficient because everyone knows what to expect.
I like that. It’s comforting to be in a state of… sameness. Routines are easy. Because as the hours pass, I relax and almost seamlessly start to become one of them. A resident of the tower.
The store is more than basic goods. On the far end of the big room is another room where people do laundry in machines. Ican’t really see much from behind the counter where I’m filling orders because there are so many people in the way, but every time there is a gap in the crowd, I lean in, desperate to see what a washing machine looks like in this world.
I haven’t done my own laundry in a decade, but when I was in charge of it, our machine did not make noise like the ones in there.
