Page 27 of His Reckoning

Now the place just looks like a collection of boxes.

I grab the suitcase handle.

“All right,” I mutter to myself, “let’s go relocate my life.”

* * *

By the time I reach Sawyer’s building with the third round of luggage, I’m already questioning my life choices.

I juggle two suitcases, one large box of books, and a tote bag full of random things I refused to throw away.

The doorman opens the door for me, eyeing me with mild curiosity.

“Moving day?” he asks.

“Something like that.”

I wrestle the load across the marble lobby and press the elevator button.

The elevator doors open, and I drag everything inside.

Once the doors close, I lean back against the wall and let out a breath.

Moving is expensive and so are storage units. And despite what people seem to think about writers, most of us are not secretly wealthy.

I make a living. Barely.

I’ve published five books so far. They do well enough to keep me afloat if I’m careful. But I haven’t had the kind of breakout success that lets someone casually stop worrying about rent.

The elevator reaches the top floor with a soft ding.

I haul the luggage out into the living room and drop everything with a heavy thud.

The apartment is quiet, which means Sawyer is probably at work—good. Because hauling three trips of luggage through this place feels significantly less embarrassing without an audience.

I grab the box of books and carry it toward the guest room. Halfway down the hallway, I stop because the sound of the door opening echoes through the apartment.

I turn just as Sawyer steps into the living room.

He’s holding a leather briefcase, and he looks exactly like someone who just came from a long day of meetings.

His gaze drops to the pile of luggage in the middle of the room, to the box in my arms, then back to me.

“You’re multiplying,” he says.

“I own things.”

“That appears to be the case.”

I shift the box slightly. “This is only the third trip.”

“How many trips are there?”

I think about the apartment and the storage unit where I’ve already loaded my main furniture then the alarming number of shoes I own.

“Let’s call it … several.”

Sawyer sets his briefcase down. “You’re moving everything here?”