Two
Vivian
Freight elevator. I’m not a fan of this feature of my new office building. Slow, lumbering… But at least they’re spacious enough that Tegan and I can move all my stuff upstairs in one journey. Hiring a moving company would’ve been easier, but those are expensive, and I have a specific storing system. I couldn’t risk them messing up my files. So, elbow grease it is.
“Mom,” Tegan wines as she hauls one of the last boxes into the elevator. “You promised today would be fun.”
“We’re almost done, honey,” I say. “And then we can go get ice cream like we do every Saturday.”
She drops the box to the elevator floor, still with the long face. “I’m not five anymore, you know?”
Don’t I? At fifteen, my daughter is in that weird phase of life where she’s not yet a woman but is no longer a kid. But to me, she’ll always be my baby. And we’re going to keep the tradition of Saturday morning ice creams alive for as long as she’ll allow it—even under protest.
“Wait here,” I say, heading for the front doors that lead out to the street. “And make sure the elevator stays put.”
Before exiting, I pause, checking behind my shoulder to see if Tegan has blocked the doors like I asked. And there she is, leaning against the doorframe in her faded jeans, white sneakers, and a flannel shirt. Dark-blonde hair loose on her shoulders, arms crossed over her chest, and a slight frown complete the teenage-fantastic look.
I tear my eyes from my sulky daughter and quickly cross the street to where I’ve parked the small truck we rented for the big move today. But instead of one, I find two identical trucks parked next to each other. I’m not even sure which one is mine, until I spot the driver still behind the wheel of the truck on the left. The man is tall, even sitting down, with a distinctive mop of curly dark hair, blazing blue eyes, and a chiseled face that’d be hard to forget. He’s the crazy guy who barged into my new office two days ago, a minute after I’d signed the lease, accusing me of everything that ever went wrong with his life.
What is he doing here?
Keeping to the side opposite of him, I close the distance to my van. Let’s hope he won’t spot me so I can dodge another unpleasant exchange. Also, I don’t want him to see me in jeans, sneakers, and an old sweater. When I go into battle, I prefer to wear my lawyer armor, and for my shoes to be spikey. Especially because the fool must’ve decided it’d be a good idea to move offices while wearing another impeccably tailored suit—navy blue like the one he had on the other day. Rude and impractical. What an idiot.
Luck isn’t on my side, though.
The moment I unlock the rental vehicle and its lights blink to life, the man rolls down his window and yells, “Hi, hello, sorry to bother you, but I’m stuck. I can’t open the door enough to get out. Could you please move your truck to the left a little? You have space.”
I pick up the last box from the rear of the van and circle back to the front, this time walking directly into his line of sight. “Sorry,” I say, watching with gusto as his blue eyes widen in recognition. “But I have an elevator full of boxes and I can’t keep it busy all morning.”
A flash of challenge blazes across his eyes, but it quickly disappears. He must have realized he can’t yell at me again and expect me to do him a favor. Time to eat some humble pie, Mr. Stuck.
His Adam’s apple bobs up and down in one dismayed swallow.
Ah, bet that pill tasted bitter.
True to expectations, his voice is polite-verging-on-pleading as he speaks next. “Please, it’d only take you a minute to move the truck.”
“Sorry,” I repeat, using my most civil tone. “I can’t help you. But I’m sure you can find another parking spot somewhere.”
I turn on my heel and stroll back into the building, not sparing the man a second glance. Guess he should’ve thought about paying it forward with kindness before he started asking for favors. What goes around always comes around, buddy.
“What took you so long?” Tegan accuses the moment I drop the last box on top of all the others.
“Nothing, honey, we’re good to go,” I say, pushing the button to the third floor.
The ride takes forever, and when the doors finally open, I place a big box in the middle to keep them from closing. Without wasting time, Tegan and I begin hauling boxes out of the elevator and into my new office. I only need to move everything inside today; I’ll come back tomorrow alone to sort and organize. I’ll also have to put together the new furniture, which came in suspiciously tiny packages that promise an assembling hell.
We’re halfway through the moving when an Indian woman clad in all black—jeans, sweatshirt, beanie—with combat boots to match comes up the stairs, panting. She can’t be much older than Tegan; twenty-three to twenty-five, tops, would be my guess.
“Oh, that’s why the elevator isn’t working,” she says.
“Hi, sorry,” I reply. “I’m trying to make it as quick a job as possible.”
See? I’m already disrupting the building’s services as it is. I couldn’t have possibly kept the elevator locked any longer to move the truck.
And why am I still thinking about that man and his problems?
I’m not. He couldn’t be further from my thoughts.
“You must be our new neighbor,” she says, extending a hand. “I’m Indira. Nice to meet you.”
I shake her hand. “Vivian Hessington. Nice to meet you, too. This is my daughter, Tegan.”
Tegan gives Indira that cool, indifferent nod that all teenagers seem to have perfected.
“You gals need help?” Indira offers.
“No,
