Page 21

Maggie threw a glance at me over her shoulder. I mouthed, Distract her more. My knees were turning into Jell-O.

“Um, nope! Just me and my extremely average, completely human roommate… who’s out. Getting groceries. Fully clothed. As usual.”

I tried to sneak behind her, fern still in place. My hip slammed into the end table. Loud. Painful. Obvious.

Maggie fake-laughed so hard. I was sure she was going to give herself an aneurysm. “Old pipes! Very haunted. Super charming, though!”

Doris sniffed. “Is that fur I smell?”

“Nope! Felt! I have a craft side hustle. I make, uh, felted taxidermy.”

I winced. Even I wouldn’t have gone with that one.

“You do know you’re not allowed to harbor animals? I’m extremely allergic to animal fur.”

“Really?” There was a dangerous curiosity in Maggie’s voice. “What happens when you’re around fur?”

Doris hesitated. “Well, it depends on the animal. But typically”—her voice dropped to a whisper—“I get horrible UTIs.”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

“Wait. Are you… are you rubbing the fur on your nether regions? Or how exactly does that happen?”

Even from my hiding place, I felt Doris combust. She straightened her clipboard like she was going to smack someone with it. “I prefer not to discuss my private areas with new tenants. You understand, don’t you, dear?”

Maggie slapped a hand to her ear. “Oh no! Sorry, that’s my boss calling. Zoom time! She has twelve cats and no soul. Gotta go!”

Doris narrowed her eyes and tapped her binoculars like a Bond villain polishing her scope. “Well. I’ll be watching.”

“Oh, I definitely think of you as twenty-four-hour security.”

The door shut. I sagged to the floor, the fern rolling away like it, too, had been traumatized.

“I owe you my life,” I said solemnly. “Also, a new fern.”

“You’re the weirdest man I’ve ever met.”

“And yet…” I gestured around the apartment.

“I haven’t moved out,” she finished for me. “I’m strongly considering it.”

“But you won’t,” I said smugly.

She sighed and took the vacuum out of the closet.

“If Doris finds one hair,” she muttered, “we’re both getting evicted. And I am not explaining your weird ass to my sister when we have to move in with her.”

I reached across the counter and grabbed one of the muffins she’d baked this morning. Blueberry, still soft.

I took a bite and grinned around a mouthful. “Worth it.”

6

MAGGIE

The bakery logo I was working on looked like an angry toddler had taken out their feelings on the computer screen. I’d spent two hours tweaking typography and debating between peach and mauve, all while sipping a lukewarm oat milk latte and reminding myself this was the life I’d chosen.

Freelance freedom. Designer dreams. Branding artisanal sourdough empires from the comfort of my laptop. Woo.