Avery didn't give a shit about any of it when she finally found out about me three years ago. She pushed herself right into my life and has made it clear she’s not going anywhere. She said she always wanted a sister, and even though the circumstances of how it came to be weren’t great, we needed to make the best of it.

Avery: I’m bringing dinner over tonight.

Me: I have plans.

Avery: Liar. I’ll be there at seven.

I groan. I’d push to meet at her place, but I know she’s trying to sneak a peek at the hottie next door. As much as I love my sister, I always feel awkward when she comes over to my place. She doesn’t turn her nose down at me, but our lives are so different.

She goes to an Ivy League college and has her own place right off campus. It’s shiny and new, along with everything inside of it. I don’t think she had ever been to the part of the city that I live in until I moved here. I could see the shock on her face the first time she came to visit.

When I hear the train speed by shaking the building, I know it’s time to go. I’ll need to be on the next one if I want to make it to work on time. I send Avery a quick text back telling her that she better be bringing my favorite dish from the little Italian place by her house or not to even bother to come. Then I put my phone in my bag, grab my keys, and head for the door.

When I open the door, I pause to see my new neighbor standing there. He has a gallon of milk in his hand. His short hair is a little messy, and he doesn't look like he’s shaved yet this morning. The thought of how it would feel against my skin hits me out of nowhere. I shake it off. Great, he went and got more handsome. I didn't know that was possible.

What catches me off guard is the smile on his face. I was sure he was going to avoid me after yesterday when I turned down his offer for dinner. Yet here he is again at my door.

“Thought you might need this for your morning coffee since I used all yours.”

“You didn't have to do that.”

“You wouldn't let me take you to dinner, so I had to do something.” My cheeks warm, feeling a little bad about turning him down, even though I know it was the right thing to do. I don't have room in my life to date.

I’m barely keeping my head above water and thinking of taking on a second job at this point. Not to mention if it went terribly, he would still be my neighbor. This place might not be much, but it’s my home. The rent is affordable, and I can’t risk losing it because the guy across the way charmed me.

I take the milk from him. “Let me put this away.” I turn back around, going back into my apartment to put the milk away. When I come back, he’s still standing there waiting for me. I maneuver my way into the hallway, but he doesn’t give me much room as I lock my door.

“You look pretty today,” he says, making my face warm. I’m in a pair of wide-leg slacks and a pink silk blouse that is a little too snug. I’m wearing flats because of the amount of walking I do each day. I need to drop a few pounds because I am not shelling out money for new clothes. Money that I don’t have right now. I might have finally gotten all of my mom’s medical bills paid off, but I am still paying off her funeral.

“Thanks, Jay.” I tuck a piece of my hair behind my ear, enjoying the compliment from him. He looked sincere when he said it.

It was nothing like when one of the partners at the firm says it to me. They always make me feel uncomfortable. They think they can buy their way into your pants with a few nice words and a piece of jewelry. I hate men. Okay, not all men, but the rich ones are bad. At least from my experience. My father is number one on that list.

We both stand there looking at each other. When the train flies by, rocking the building, it breaks me from the spell that his bright blue eyes had me under.

“Oh no. My train.” I know I’ll never make it now. I’ll have to take the next and be late. Crap.

“Shit, I’m sorry, honey.” The way the word honey rolls off his tongue you’d think he’s been calling me it for years. My stomach flutters. Does he call everyone honey? “Let me drive you.”

“You don’t have to do that. I can get the next one.”

“I insist. I held you up. Let me do this or I’ll feel guilty.” I look at my phone, checking the time. “It's not a big deal. I was going out to run some errands anyway.”

“Okay,” I agree. He gives me a warm smile as he guides me down to a very nice SUV. I don’t know much about cars, but it doesn't fit with where he lives. I push the thought away. That’s his business, not mine. Even though I do want to know a touch more about him.

It isn't until I’m getting out of his car twenty minutes later that I realize I hadn't given him directions. He’d kept me talking with all of his questions. I didn't get to ask him anything about himself. I must have told him the name of the law firm. It’s one of the most well-known firms in the city. The building it’s located in is a landmark. I’m sure that’s how he knew where it was.

That has to be it. How else would he know?

Three

Jay

My girl doesn’t have a lot of money. I suspected that was the case the first time I saw her walk into our apartment building because who lives in this dump if you have any amount of cash, which was Davis’s confusion. I do have cash and yet, here I am, driving my Land Rover over potholes and cracked asphalt. I throw the SUV into park and climb out.

First thing is to get my place in decent enough condition that when Dove comes over, she doesn’t think I’m making skin suits in the bedroom. I’ve got to have some kind of functioning heat, too.

I text Abel.

Me: When’s the crew coming?

Abel: ?

Me: ?

Abel: This isn’t April 1 is it?

Me: ?

Abel: I looked that place up on Google and it should be condemned not renovated. Are you shooting a documentary about low income housing?

Me: No. I live here now, and it’s cold as a witch’s tit at night because the radiator is broken so I need someone here stat

Abel: I’m calling you

The phone rings seconds later.

“My man, when did you even get back to the US? I thought you were shooting big cats in Siberia for Nat Geo?”

“I finished that up a few months ago and decided to work on my photo essay on lost spaces. I took all my photos and now I’m back to put the thing together.” The folding chair creaks as I drop into it. I swing my legs up on the windowsill and settle into my favorite people-watching position. From here I can see the front walk, the entrance to the parking lot, and the corner of the street. Across the way, the green and white 7-11 sign flickers unevenly.

“And you chose to do it at—” he pulls the phone from his ear to look at his screen—“Caring Acres? Is this an old folk’s home?”

I sniff. Is that what that odd odor is? Decayed flesh? It explains so much. “Could’ve been.”

“I didn’t realize you were desperate for a place to stay. You should have called me. I’ve got some sweet properties to rent. I just finished up this place in Bell Heights and—”

“No. This is where I need to be. Just send me a crew because I think the floor might cave in near the refrigerator.”