commute into Charlotte from a suburb, the only place I could afford rent, or live in a cramped apartment with other grad students. Living with my girlfriends in college was one thing, but they’re now all starting their careers while I continue to get a Master’s in Education, and I don’t want to be studying while they’re out having fun.
Essentially, life is good, better than I ever expected I could have growing up the daughter of a plumber and a dental hygienist. And it will be fantastic once my sushi and noodle bowl arrives.
Give me all the carbs. I’m a hungry girl.
A loud thump echoes from the hall and my brows furrow before my feet quickly take me to my peephole. Yeah, it’s possible I’m a stalker, but my neighbor across the hall is to die for gorgeous.
He’s young like me and I’ve seen him wear a pinstripe suit looking mouth-watering sexy. It’s a debate I have with myself whether he’s sexier in the suit carrying a weekend bag when I see him come and go or if it’s the black athletic pants, skintight T-shirt he wears while carrying a large duffel bag that’s even more glorious.
Honestly, the man is too beautiful for words, and while I’ve never gathered up the courage to say hello to him, I can’t say I don’t semi-stalk his departures and arrivals whenever I hear his door close.
By the time I get to the peephole, there’s a blur of movement in front of my door and then my cell dings with a text. I grab it quickly only to roll my eyes. Pierre is super nice, but he’s not exactly the best doorman in our building. Which means the blur of movement outside my door is the delivery man.
I should be notified before they reach the elevators, but Pierre gets distracted easily.
Without thought, I open my door, thank the boy who looks only a year or two younger than me for my dinner and give another wistful look at my neighbor’s now closed door.
Someday I should gather up my courage to go say hello. Maybe ask him for a cup of sugar or an egg. Bake some cupcakes for him or find some excuse to introduce myself instead of the hellos we exchange as we cross paths in the hallway or elevators.
He always seems to be leaving when I’m returning home or vice versa.
Further, unfortunately, I’ve never successfully baked a thing. I’m allergic to eggs, and when it comes to courage? Well, I’m not sure I got the lion’s share of that growing up.
Maybe someday I’ll think of a viable excuse, but until then, there’s sushi, noodles, and bubble baths to keep me company. I flip on Netflix, drown out to the afternoon evening news, something I find equally depressing and intriguing while I eat my dinner. When I’m full, I pack away half of it for leftovers. Then I fill my wineglass and grab my Kindle. It’s bath time, and then a night of solo Netflix and chill for me.
As I make my way down the small hallway to my bathroom, my ears perk up at a soft, odd noise. I give a quick scan around the living area and entryway and I double check that the television is off. It’s not sirens from outside, at least not that I can tell, but it seems to be coming from inside my apartment.
Like someone screaming, or crying, but far away. It’s muffled and soft, but it has to be loud for me to hear it. Other than his door slamming when he comes and goes, my unknown and hot neighbor is usually quiet. The strange sound grows louder, and I can’t brush away my curiosity. I set down my glass of wine and peer out the door.
What in the heck? My jaw almost hits the wood floor surface at my feet. I pull back and rub my eyes. There has to be a mistake to what I’ve seen.
Without further thinking, I throw open my door and hurry to his. A blanket draped over the car seat sitting outside his door moves. The ear-piercing squealing sound is no longer unknown.
It’s a baby. In a car seat. Left outside my neighbor’s door and there’s absolutely no one else in sight.
What in the hell is going on?
This baby can’t keep screaming like this. Its cheeks are already bright red, turning purple and huge tears fall down its cheeks, so I fling off the blue and white checked blanket,