Page 75 of Cupcake of the Month
He took a step away from the curb but didn’t walk toward his house. She made a U-turn, not bothering to wait. Time to go home and pretend the ache in her heart didn’t exist.
Movement on the floor next to her caught her eye when she turned the corner. Josh’s beat-up grey backpack had shifted away from the seat.
Crap.
She made another U-turn and headed back to the brownstone in time to see Josh disappear around the corner of the next street. The hell?
She crept to the intersection and waited to see if he turned again. Time to employ Stealth Jordan.
Thankful there wasn’t much traffic, she tailed him down the street. Finally he reached dilapidated apartments, crossing the dried lawn to follow a cracked sidewalk to the entrance.
He’d had money when they were in college. Enough that seeing this ramshackle building was a surprise. Plus he’d been holding down two jobs. Why was he living so cheaply?
A couple of stray bikes lay on the dead grass next to a half-deflated basketball. He took something out of his pocket – probably a key – and pushed open the door.
She rolled to a stop in front of the building and gripped the steering wheel, staring while he disappeared inside. She should go. Just go and pretend she never saw his backpack.
No. She shook her head and let out a breath. Honesty was important, especially if she insisted he was honest with her.
She grabbed his pack and exited the car before she could convince herself to drive away. She marched up the pavement to the front door. It opened without a problem, letting her intoa small space with mailboxes and buzzers for each apartment. Another door loomed in front of her.
She tried the handle, but it didn’t open, so she cupped her hands on the glass and peered in. One apartment sat at the base of a staircase, but there were no people around to let her in.
A few of the buzzers had names, but Lukasik wasn’t on any of them. She flattened her palms against them all and pressed. Why not, right? It worked in the movies.
But there was only silence from the speaker, no flat ring indicating the door had been unlocked.
That left calling him as her only option. Or texting. She took out her phone.
A red-haired man ambled out of the lone first-floor apartment and locked his door, then tested it to make sure it stayed closed. He set eyes on her through the glass when he turned around.
He didn’t let her in. “Help you?”
“Hi.” She held up the grey backpack, relieved when her savior seemed to recognize it. “I’m looking for Josh Lukasik. I work with him at Fountenoy Hall.”
The man scrutinized her, studying her face and person with nothing more than straightforward observation. She resisted the urge to fix her posture and reposition her glasses. Finally he opened the door between them. “Come on in. Sometimes the buzzers don’t work. Like after it rains. Or when it’s been dry a long time.”
Jordan eyed the rickety bannister and followed him up the stairs, hoping he’d lead her to Josh’s apartment so she wouldn’t have to admit she didn’t know which one it was.
“We all sure were happy when he got a job as an actual chef, not that Friday cooking demonstration they had him doing at Essie’s. Boy’s got a natural talent in the kitchen. The catering’s a good job but it don’t pay enough for him and Zach.”
Jordan tripped on the step at the third floor. Who the hell was Zach?
The red-haired man hadn’t noticed her stumble. “It’s nice having young ones around. Here we are.”
The door to Josh’s apartment loomed like the curtain wall of a castle. Too bad she hadn’t brought her Trojan horse. “Thank you, Mr...”
“Everyone calls me Berry.”
“I appreciate the help.”
He had stopped at one of the four doors lining the hallway. Jordan took a deep breath and knocked. There was no sounds or voices, no movement coming from inside. She tried again. “Josh?”
“He might have already gone up to the Sumners’.”
“Oh.” Maybe this was fate. She should leave the pack with Mr. Berry, leave the building, leave well enough alone. Josh had kept so much from her, and the gaping feeling in her heart ached like an open wound.
Mr. Berry started up one more flight, then stopped halfway. “Well? Aren’t you coming?”
