Page 51 of The Alien Reindeer's Bounty
Odessa couldn’t bring herself to finish the thought. Bonnie’s job was hers until Odessa learned otherwise.
In the meantime, she had to cover the gaps in the schedule. Fortunately, Bonnie worked Monday-Friday, which wasn’t as busy as the weekends. Patricia came over from the other store to cover the registers in the mornings and Odessa tapped a few people from the evening shift to come in mid-afternoon to handle the after-work rush. Even with that coverage, Odessa was on her feet all day, running between the registers, handling deliveries, and stocking the shelves for the weekend rush.
For now, with the holidays, staff were eager for the extra hours, but it wasn’t sustainable. She’d have to start interviews next week. Maybe if she lucked out, she could hire someone before Christmas, but probably not.
Odessa finger-combed her hair and tied it back loosely. It was just long enough to be tied but kept slipping free. With a sigh, she willed herself to leave work at work. Ruby was with her grandparents and she had plans with her boyfriend.
It felt so strange to think of Mads as her boyfriend, even though she could picture a romantic relationship with ease, but the term boyfriend felt weird. Too immature. They were adults. She was a parent. What grown woman had a boyfriend? Romantic partner felt too formal and not her style. Lover? Well, he wasn’t—yet—and the term grossed her out. In the bedroom, yes. Anywhere else, it sounded too try-hard and pretentious.
Sweetheart? Too innocent. Paramour? Better. Beau? Good luck not snickering and affecting a bad Scarlett O’Hara accent.
Dating was hard. No wonder she hadn’t bothered. The question remained about where their relationship was headed. She couldn’t do casual. She wasn’t wired that way.
In the last week, after the break-in Sunday, Mads had been over for dinner twice. He had a meal with her kid. A man only looking for a casual hook-up wouldn’t take the time to get to know her daughter, right?
The house was freezing when she got home. Setting the bag of groceries on the counter, she checked the thermostat. The stupid heater liked to turn itself off. She reported the problem to the landlord, but his response was, “Just turn it back on.”
She adjusted the temperature, but the central heat didn’t kick on. Maybe the pilot light went out?
The back door opened. “Did you find my phone?”
“Not yet.” His phone vanished the other night. It hadn’t fallen behind the sofa, which meant that Ruby probably smuggled it to her bedroom to play games on it.
“No worries.” He rubbed his hands together. “Is it this cold on purpose?”
“Yes, Mads. Arctic temperatures are all the rage,” she said dryly. “The stupid heater is on the blink.”
“Flashlight? I’ll go check it out.”
She rummaged in a drawer and handed the flashlight to him. If he wanted to go into the freezing basement, more power to him. While she waited, she preheated the oven and unloaded the dishwasher.
Mads tromped up the stairs. “How old is the furnace?”
“I dunno. The house was built in the 60s.”
“I don’t think it’s the original but it’s old. And dead. You need a professional.”
Fantastic. Temperatures in the twenties and a busted heater. She phoned the landlord, who tried to convince her she was imagining the heater not working because being a woman, somehow, made it impossible to correctly operate a thermostat.
“It’s not the pilot light,” she repeated for the third time, trying to keep her voice sweet and gentle. She knew from experience that the landlord responded better to sweetness, but it was exhausting playing into the man’s archaic notions of gender roles. In his world, women were soft and nurturing and just didn’t have the capacity to understand mechanical things.
Are you sure the pilot light is on?
Oh, geez. That’s the blue flame, isn’t it? I see it burning, so it must be working, right?
Well, sweetheart, it is very cold, so the house isn’t going to feel like the Bahamas, you know.
What baloney.
They had this exact conversation so many times, she knew nothing would happen. She’d have to withhold the rent or get one of those tenants’ rights places involved. It’d be easier to just move when her lease came up for renewal in the spring.
Enough of this nonsense.
Odessa cleared her throat. “Look, if you want all the pipes to burst from the cold, that’s on you. I’m not paying rent for someplace I can’t live,” she said in her I’m-the-boss voice.
Mads grabbed the phone. Normally she’d fume to have a man step in and fix her problem without even asking, like she was a helpless damsel, but her landlord was the type of person who’d only listen to another man.
“Hello? Yes. I checked it out and it’s totally dead.” Mads paused. “Well, when it’s working, it’s loud as fuck.” Another pause. “Look, that furnace is ancient. How old is it? Thirty years? They only have a lifespan of twenty, if that.” He paused again. Odessa was itching to hear the other half of the conversation. “All right. I appreciate that. She can stay with me tonight but if this drags on, I’ll send you a bill for lodging.”
