How is this possible?
"Yes. D.C. or New York, or honestly? Anywhere but here."
I shelve this information for later and focus on the more pressing problem first.
"There is a Lowe's in this complex. Do you know how to change locks?"
She shakes her head, looking anywhere but at me. I can tell she feels self-conscious about the way she just opened up to a total stranger.
"Alright. I'm parked near there. Do you feel safe enough with me that I can follow you home and help you out?" Pulling my wallet out, I hand her my driver's license and work badge. "Take pictures of those and send them to someone you trust so they know you're with me. I want you to feel safe with me and know that I'll protect you if it comes to that, alright?"
I've never been prouder than in this moment, taking in her widened eyes as she stares at my CSI badge, her fingers tracing the emblem of the local police department.
“You’re a cop?” she asks, seemingly surprised.
I’m quite proud of what I’ve become, given I came from nothing. Even though the disbelief in her tone should put me off, it doesn’t. I spent so much time at the café, maybe she doesn’t believe I actually have a full time job, let alone wear a badge.
Hopefully, after all this is said and done, I’ll have another opportunity to ask her out. Maybe out for coffee or lunch. I need to explain to her why she’s seen so much of me these past few weeks.
I grin and shrug like it’s nothing. “I’m a sworn officer of the law.” I nod my head towards the hardware store at the other end of the complex. "Let's go."
He’s a police officer.
The guy who has been coming in at every one of my shifts for the last few weeks is a cop.
I wonder if he knows that we know--that every single person who works at the café has noticed that he’s only here when I'm on the schedule. I really should be creeped out, but everyone insists it’s flattering.
Missy and Julia, who I work with the most, have sung his praises as they ogled him from the other side of the bar. I don’t typically do friendships, but I’ve worked in this café with them for the last four years, so they’re the closest thing I have to friends. If they think he’s worth a shot, I feel sort of obligated to follow their advice. It’s not at all because I also find myself intrigued by the guy… and find him somewhat attractive.
I bet none of my coworkers have ever spent a night in their pajamas watching true crime shows. It’s always the good-looking guy who turns into a serial killer.
Hello,Ted Bundy.
Ironically, Noah sort of looks like Zac Efron.
The way his lips curled up and his eyebrow hitched up to his forehead like he was trying to figure me out? It made me feel seen. I may not know the exact moment things shifted for me, but I grew curious. I started wanting to figure him out.
Call it curiosity or mild attraction but today, I felt that push to approach him.
It didn’t seem like he was ever going to make a move, so it appeared safe for me to be friendly. Then he asked me out.
He really asked me out. And I really said yes. Until, of course, Penelope had to ruin it.
That girl must have some internal radar so she can sabotage me whenever something good happens. As crazy as that sounds, I wouldn’t put it past her. Ever since I could remember, she’s had a vendetta against me.
Our moms were friends once. Growing up, I know they had both hoped that somehow we would be friends too, but that never happened.
We were way too different, and she simply hated me on sight.
Penelope does what Penelope wants--living the life of an entitled rich girl.
Aunt Patty has come to terms with it over the years, but I think she still hoped I could knock some sense into her daughter but it never shifted from the initial animosity, I was never able to fix our relationship. She hated me through and through.
After my mom died and Aunt Patty offered her condo, I jumped at the opportunity.
Living with Penelope has been a chore and ironically enough she doesn’t do a single one. Early on, I had to put my foot down and make her switch rooms with me because I got sick of cleaning the bathroom just for her friends to dirty it up when they were over. After the third time I found coke lines on my sink and had to air out the smell of weed, I gave her an ultimatum: either she would give me privacy and hire a housekeeper to do her chores or I would tell her mom. I didn’t know how she would react given that she and Aunt Patty were pretty close, but to my surprise, Penelope agreed. Probably too afraid of getting cut off from the purse strings. She definitely needed the money to keep up with her lavish lifestyle. In the years that I had become her roommate, I quickly realized that she was as entitled and spoiled as could be. She was constantly partying, and when she wasn’t, she was shopping. The third bedroom in the condo was specifically allocated to her as a second closet, filled with racks and stacks of clothing and shoes.
I couldn’t fathom living the way she did. I may pay Aunt Patty close to nothing for a place to stay but I still did my part in making sure I respected her and was grateful for what she’s done for me. Thanks to her, I’ve been able to save money for the last few years.