Page 50 of Pack Plus One

“You’re a terrible friend,” I inform her before ending the call.

I ignore Zoe’s terrible advice and tiptoe toward the stairwell, wincing at every creak and groan of the old building. Mrs.Finley’s door opens just as I’m passing, and I freeze like a startled deer. She’s a tiny woman, barely five feet tall, with steel-gray hair cut in a bob and eyes sharp enough to fillet a man at twenty paces.

She’s lived in this building even longer than I have and she helped me settle in those first few weeks. Always bringing me dinner with the excuse that she cooked too much. Pretty sure that was a lie.

“Oh! Leah, dear,” the elderly woman exclaims, eyeing my hunched posture and wild eyes. “Are you alright? You look... furtive.”

“Fine!” I chirp, voice three octaves too high. “Just... getting some exercise! Stairs! Great for the... glutes!”

She blinks at me for a long moment, then peers down the hallway. Her face lights up. “Is that handsome young man still looking for you? The tall drink of water by your door? I saw him when I came up earlier.”

Fuck, she saw Caleb?

“No! I mean, yes, but—” I lean in, lowering my voice. “I’m not home.”

Mrs. Finley’s eyebrows disappear into her hairline. “Clearly.”

“Please,” I beg. “If he asks, you haven’t seen me.”

She pats my arm, her eyes twinkling. “Your secret’s safe with me, dear. Though why you’re hiding from a man who looks likethatis beyond me. In my day...”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Finley,” I grimace apologetically, already backing toward the stairwell. “Any other time I’d love to hear about your day, but I really have to run.” The door closes behind me with a merciful click, and I slump against the wall, exhaling shakily.

I make it to the basement, slip into the laundry room, and text Zoe:

Had to hide in the flipping basement. Send provisions (and possibly a hazmat suit. His scent is everywhere).

Zoe’s response is immediate:

Seriously?

You’re going full survivalist mode over a cup of coffee?

You’re missing out. Just sayin’.

Also, no hazmat suit. But I’m bringing wine. And maybe some rope. Just in case.

Followed by a string of emojis that I can’t even begin to decipher.

I silence my phone, my heart still pounding. The laundry room smells of detergent and fabric softener, but even that can’t mask the phantom scent of Caleb that seems to have imprinted itself on my brain. I sit on the dusty dryer, trying to catch my breath.

Dark chocolate and…espresso? I groan. There’s something deeper, too. Something that makes my skin tingle despite my best efforts to ignore it.

This is ridiculous. I’m a grown woman hiding in a laundry room to avoid a man bringing me coffee. A man I’ve seen naked. A man who’s seen me naked. A man who made me come so hard I nearly blacked out.

Don’t think about that.

I wait, listening for his footsteps on the stairs even though there’s no way he’d know I’m hiding down here. Minutes stretch into an hour. Still nothing.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, I cautiously open the laundry room door. The basement is empty, silent. I creep up the stairs, my senses on high alert, half expecting Caleb to jump out at every landing.

As I reach my floor, I catch a faint whiff of his scent lingering in the air. My door is undisturbed, but there’s something on the floor beside it. A small coffee cup sits there, a silent testament to his persistence. And maybe... his disappointment?

I approach it cautiously, as if it might bite. The cup is still warm, wisps of steam escaping from beneath the lid. There’s writing on the side.

For when you’re ready to stop hiding in the laundry room. -C

My cheeks burn. How did he know?

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