A breeze brushes over my legs, and I shiver slightly.
Cool.
So very cool.
I look down at the bracelet on my wrist. Strength.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “God willing.”
I turn slowly, scanning the quiet street, the neighboring houses, the very real possibility that I am about to have to knock on someone’s door and explain that I’ve locked myself out like a complete idiot.
“Okay,” I say, squaring my shoulders. “When in doubt, we adapt.” I glance once more at my door. Still locked. Still judging me. But it’s not going to open if I stand here and stare at it, now is it?
I make a quick circuit of the nearest houses, knocking once, twice, trying to look like a completely normal, fully dressed person and not a woman gripping her towel like it’s emotional support. No answer at the first place. Or the second. Just as I’m about to try a third, something rustles sharply in the hedge beside me and I let out a very undignified yelp before turning and speed-walking—fine, running—back toward my porch, fully aware I look like I’ve lost my mind.
“Great,” I mutter, dropping onto the step and grabbing my phone. “This is how I die. In a towel. Over pizza.”
I hit Lucy’s name. It rings. And rings. And then goes to voicemail.
“I need you to pick up, please,” I whine out loud to no one,hanging up and scrubbing a hand over my face. “Why would anything be easy tonight?”
I stare at the door, seriously considering whether I can break in without permanently damaging something, when my phone buzzes in my hand.
Lucy:
I’m in a meeting. You okay?
Yes, and no. Locked out of my house and need help getting in.
Lucy:
Oh man! I can be there in about an hour after we wrap up?
While an hour might seem reasonable, it isn’t when you’re in a towel. I snap a selfie of me looking my finest, pizza front and center, and send it to Lucy.
Lucy:
OMG! Okay, that’s next level. Give me a few minutes to figure something out.
“Thank God,” I murmur, pressing the phone to my chest for a second. Lucy always knows what to do. If there’s a solution, she’s already halfway to it.
My phone buzzes again.
Lucy:
Okay, Liam’s on his way. He’ll be there in 10. Hang tight. Is there a way in?
Relief floods through me so fast it almost makes me dizzy. I type back quickly.
Maybe? There’s a window on the second floor in grandma's bedroom that’s sometimes unlocked. If he can climb in, we can get inside that way.
Lucy:
Sounding positive! Also…why does your grandma keep her bedroom window unlocked? Isn’t she worried someone could break in?
She likes to climb out on the roof and threaten to sneak out. Also she keeps a baseball bat next to her bed. Good luck, burglars, she was a home run champion.
Lucy:
