Page 7 of The Holiday Grump
Dodging boxes, I headed to a closed door. I’d spent the past year in windowless cabins in coffin-like confinement, so I was ready for anything. Still, my heart thudded as I turned the knob and flicked on the ceiling light.
I gasped. This wasn’t an apartment. It was a room, and nearly as small as my cabin. The bed looked like it belonged to one of the Seven Dwarfs, and a small desk was wedged so close there was no room for a chair. Not that it mattered, since the desk was already buried under boxes.
“You can’t live here,” Fredrik said flatly.
I hadn’t noticed him behind me and jumped a little at his voice. “Of course I can!” I said brightly, pushing inside.
My back twinged, and I dropped my heavy backpack onto the bed. The springs groaned in protest. Then I spotted a silver lining: a window with a latch. I muscled it open, sucking in the cool night air. This wasn’t so bad.
“This isn’t legal,” Fredrik grumbled from the doorway, his face set in a deep frown. “They can’t rent out a place with no kitchen or bathroom.”
“Technically, they’re not renting it. They just said I could use it. And I can’t afford a hotel. Not for long. Do you know what it costs this time of year?”
He took off his hat and dragged a hand through his wild hair, making it even wilder. “Christmas is high season here. You probably wouldn’t find anything available, no matter what you pay.”
I nodded. “Well, there you go.”
“But you can’t live without a kitchen or a bathroom,” he insisted, squeezing the hat inside his fist.
Something about his stance made me think of his comment about lifting encyclopedias. Maybe there was more muscle under that mad-professor outfit than he let on. He didn’t stand like a sluggish man. Not like Spencer, who’d been the privileged kind of languid—used to such a level of convenience that muscle was only desired, and acquired, for cosmetic reasons.
Looking for a counterargument, I scanned the room. Under the desk, I spotted a microwave and a small Nescafé machine with a handful of pods. “Look!” I crouched down, triumphant. “I can buy bottled water and make coffee. And cook noodles in the microwave. That’s basically a kitchen.” I held up a coffee pod, forcing a smile.
He stared at me in disbelief. “And then you pee in a bottle and toss it out the window?”
I froze. “Are there any public bathrooms? A library, maybe?”
“Across the square.”
“I’ll just close the shop and walk over. Or maybe there’s a gym? I’ll get a membership. Then I can shower there too.”
“The gym’s two blocks away.”
I turned back to the window so he wouldn’t see the panic creeping in. I was used to discomfort and could make this work. But my dreams of crafting and enjoying life on dry land were slipping away. There was no room for hobbies in this tiny room. I’d be in survival mode, hunting bathrooms and planning microwave meals that didn’t give me scurvy.
I poked my head out the window. The back alley was dark and quiet, just garbage cans and a lone cat prowling a box. A few windows across the narrow drive glowed behind drawn curtains. Mine had no curtains. I’d have to change on the floor. A lump rose in my throat.
“I have a bathroom in my shop next door.” Fredrik’s voice cut through my thoughts. “You’re welcome to use it.”
My head whipped around. “Are you serious?”
“It’s nothing grand,” he clarified. “And it doesn’t mean I think you, or anyone, should live here. But if you have no other choice…”
“Can I use it now?” I asked in a small voice. “Before you go?”
I hated depending on him, but I’d just downed a soda and a mango mocktail. There was no way I’d last the night without peeing somewhere.
“Sure.” He pulled a set of keys from his pocket. “Let’s go.”
“What time do you open tomorrow?”
“Ten o’clock.”
“Damn. I’ll have to limit my fluid intake.” I grimaced.
He didn’t laugh. Instead, he gave me a look that was equal parts concern and judgment. I felt like I was in the principal’s office, explaining why the gym teacher’s pants were flying from the flagpole. Spencer had always said my sense of humor needed “fine-tuning.” I’d never learned to stop before crossing the line.
I swallowed. “I know I was an idiot to accept this job, but I have nowhere else to go.”
