friends. I wanted to become someone new, but the truth is,
I would never be new.
I would always be me.
Somehow, whoever was sending these notes knew that.
I slapped the note closed. I walked around the corner to
the desk. I could see her through the office door and after
a second she came out. 'Alice? Did you see who put this
in my mailbox?'
'Nope.' She barely glanced at it. 'It's not a religious tract, is it? We have a strict policy about that.'
'No, it's not a religious tract.' I kept the note close to my body so she wouldn't see the number on the front. 'I just
wondered if you'd seen who put it in there, that's al.'
'No, sorry, hon.' Alice flashed me a grin. 'What is it, love letter?'
I laughed when heat spread up my throat. 'No. Nothing
like that.'
'Wouldn't be the first time,' she said. 'Last year at Valentine's we had a bunch of anonymous notes coming
and going. The T.A. wanted to ban people from putting
notices in the boxes but then they realized if they did that,
they couldn't deliver their newsletter, either.'
The Tenant Association could be a little overzealous.
'Maybe I'l get lucky next time.'
'I wouldn't doubt it, hon,' Alice said. 'This place is a hotbed of lust.'
She said it without so much as a blink and I had no reply.
Seeing I wasn't going to comment, she gave me a nod and
went into the back to finish sorting the mail. I looked down
at the note.
I couldn't stop myself from opening the note one last time
before I gave it back.
before I gave it back.
I was stil thinking about it as I went outside and faced the
sunshine for a moment. I knew I wasn't alone, but I hadn't
expected an audience. When I opened my eyes, blinking, I
saw Mr. Mystery watching me. He hovered over the
sand-filed tube meant for disposing cigarettes, and when
he saw me looking he stabbed his out with a furtive smile.
'Caught me,' he said.
'And without a net,' I replied. Clever.
He laughed and looked with unrestrained longing at the
cigarette butts nestled into the sand. 'I'm trying to quit.'
'Good for you.' It was a little surprising for someone as
into fitness as he'd seemed in the gym to be a smoker. But
appearances weren't everything, and I should know that.
'Eric.' The hand he held out engulfed mine as we shook.
My name wasn't a prize, but I offered it like one. 'Paige.'
Eric shifted on battered hiking boots. Today instead of the
long-sleeved T-shirt, he wore a faded black AC/DC shirt
under an open plaid button-down minus a few buttons. His
under an open plaid button-down minus a few buttons. His
hair, long to his colar in the back, ruffled in the wind. A
