Page 10 of Because I Liked A Boy
The twist in my chest sharpens. I run my thumb along the spine. “I saw your sign. You’re hiring. I’d like to discuss the job.”
“You’re hired.”
I blink. “Just like that? No résumé?”
“I don’t need one.” His voice is steady, final. “I’m a good judge of character.”
Before I can argue, he nudges the book toward me. “Enjoy it. On the house. And I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Nine sharp.”
The words wedge themselves deep inside me, solid and certain. For the first time since the crash, something feels like it belongs.
When I step back into the rain, the book is clutched tight to my chest, warm from his hand. A car. A job. Maybe even a home, if Maple Street doesn’t fall through. It’s not much, but it’s enough to start breathing again.
I square my shoulders and head toward the viewing.
The rain hasn’t let up by the time I find Maple Street. My wipers drag across the glass, squeaking with each pass, the sedan rumbling like it’s already tired of me. Rows of houses stretch along the narrow road, some with paint peeling from their siding, others with neat porches dressed in flower boxes.
Number 14 waits at the corner, a squat brick building with ivy curling up one side. The front steps are chipped, the white railing flaking under the weight of too many storms, but there’s something steady about it. Lived-in. Not perfect, but standing.
A woman stands under the porch light, umbrella hooked over one arm, folder tucked against her chest. Her raincoat is buttoned to her chin, hair tied backin a no-nonsense bun. When I climb out of the car, suitcase bumping at my heels, she gives me a brisk nod.
“Isabella?”
“Yes.”
“Mrs. Cooper. Owner.” She gestures me up the steps, her voice clipped but not unfriendly. “It’s a small unit, but solid. Six-month lease minimum, as I said on the phone. First month and deposit due on signing.”
I nod, clutching the strap of my bag tighter. “That won’t be a problem.”
She studies me for a beat longer than necessary, like she’s measuring whether I’ll bolt. Then she turns the key and pushes the door open.
The apartment smells faintly of lemon polish and old wood. The entryway opens straight into a living room with a threadbare sofa, a coffee table scarred with rings, and a narrow bookshelf tucked against one wall. A single lamp glows in the corner, warm but a little lonely.
Through an archway, the kitchen waits—linoleum tiles faded, cabinets painted an uneven cream, but clean. A window over the sink looks out into a postage-stamp yard slick with rain. Upstairs, the bedroom is small but bright, a slanted ceiling cutting across it, the window framing nothing but gray sky.
“It’s… quiet,” I say softly, trailing a hand across the window frame.
“That’s Maplewood,” Mrs Cooper replies. She flips open her folder. “Six months, no subletting, no pets without permission. Rent due on the first. Do you want it?”
The word leaves before I can think. “Yes.”
She hands me the lease. Her pen scratches across the paper with the sharp efficiency of someone who’s done this a hundred times. “Welcome to Maplewood.”
Her footsteps fade down the steps, the door clicking shut behind her.
Silence floods the apartment.
I set my suitcase by the couch and stand in the middle of the room, listening to the rain drum against the windows, steady and relentless. The walls are bare, the furniture mismatched, the air faintly scented with lemon polish and something older—dust, maybe, or memories. It’s not London. It’s not home.
But it’s mine.
I sink onto the worn sofa, The Maltese Falcon still clutched in my hand, and stare at the keys glinting on the table. Six months. I just signed six months of my life away to a town I’d never heard of until this morning.
Six months without Nathan.
Six months without Penelope.
Six months without the life I thought I’d have.
