Page 47 of Callan

MACKENZIE

The blue plushrobe pampers my skin.

Still warm from the shower, I loosely tie my belt, slip on my slippers, and shuffle to the kitchen.

Casually, I glance out the window.

The street is a bleak mix of darkness, snow-covered cars, and thick fog.

Enthralled with the smell wafting through my house––a fresh aroma of fir tree needles––I sit at the kitchen table and peel an orange before drinking coffee and eating fruit while pondering.

I love my life.

There was a moment when this time of year was incredibly stressful. It took a while to get used to spending the holidays alone before Quinn came into my life.

That sadly didn’t last for long, and now I’m back to spending the holidays alone at my place––for which I am grateful.

Tonight, I’ll watch a movie or read a book, and tomorrow I’ll sleep in. There’s no reason to go out in the morning. Everything I need is here, inside.

My thoughts come to a screeching halt when the distinct sound of an object brushing against my door raises my hackles.

I set my drink down and listen, not breathing, my heart pounding faster.

My place is quiet, and so is the corridor.

What was that again?

I love everything about this place, but solving mysteries that come to me so fast has never been my thing.

Seemingly, I can’t catch a break, and some weird shit happens.

An odd idea pops into my head, making me silently push my chair back, rise, pivot to the top kitchen drawer, and retrieve a flashlight before turning the lights off.

Hopefully, I’m not dealing with some weirdo.

Could it be the man who’s trespassed the place upstairs?

My fears are unfounded as nothing seems to move, and no sound comes from the corridor.

I slip my feet out of my slippers and tiptoe to the door.

Slowly, I rise on my toes and peer through the peephole.

Short off someone bending down in front of my door to pull a prank on me, I have nothing to worry about.

I wait a few moments before I carefully unlock the door and crack it open.

My eyes tear into the space before me, my mouth falling open. A beautifully wrapped Christmas gift sits on the mat in front of my door.

Breathlessly, I drag my gaze down the corridor. And then up the corridor.

Is this a mistake? It must be a mistake.

This can’t be for me.

I have no friends in New York except for Kayla, who is still at her parents’ house in New Jersey.

Quinn is out of the picture.Besides, he’s never bought me gifts.

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