Hello Stranger(51)

I was giving myself that pep talk when a fat plop of rain hit my nose.

Followed by another on my arm.

And then I lost count completely as some dam broke in the sky and Peanut and I had to race-walk the half mile home through what felt like a waterfall of rain.

By the time we made it back to the building lobby, I looked like I’d just climbed out of a swimming pool in all my clothes. My hair was plastered down on my face, and my shoes were squishing like they were full of Jell-O.

Peanut and I slid through the elevator doors just as they were closing—only to look up and see two people already there. Joe in his jacket. And a faceless woman.

Standing next to each other.

“Whoa,” Joe said at the sight of me.

“Yeah,” I agreed.

Peanut shook himself out and sprayed them both with rainwater, which made Joe laugh and the woman beside him recoil.

And that’s when I smelled Poison.

Ugh. Just my luck.

Joe took a step closer to me. “Can I help you out somehow?”

He started to unzip his jacket, like he was going to give it to me, but the zipper got stuck.

“It’s fine,” I said as he yanked at it. “I’m already drenched.”

But Joe was determined, and when he couldn’t get the zipper to give, he pulled the jacket off over his head.

It really was too little, too late—but I didn’t stop him. Mostly because the sight of him wriggling was so entrancing—as his T-shirt came up, too, revealing the stripes at the waistband of his boxer briefs—that Parker and I both just stood there, enjoying ourselves.

A rare moment of unity.

When he was finally out of it, he brought the jacket over to me.

I took it—but then I wrapped it around Peanut.

“Hey,” Joe said. “That was for you.”

“He’s wetter,” I said as my clothing audibly dripped on the elevator floor.

Joe settled into place beside me. The move had had a definitive feel to it, as if we were choosing teams in gym … and he’d just chosen mine.

That felt good. Not gonna lie.

But not to Parker.

Acting fast, before we reached the top floor, she put her hand to her forehead and moaned a little, falling back against the elevator wall.

That got Joe’s attention. “Hey—are you okay?” he asked, stepping closer.

“I just suddenly felt dizzy,” Parker said.

And then, with a technique that was neither subtle nor convincing, she angled herself at Joe and then “fainted” into his arms.

He caught her, of course. Joe wasn’t the kind of guy who would just let a random stranger hit the deck without helping.

Once she was caught, she lolled her head back dramatically and exposed her whole neck to him—which he might have found tempting if he were a vampire.

But Joe just looked up at me then, my unconscious evil stepsister in his arms, totally befuddled by what was going on.

Granted, he didn’t know she was my evil stepsister.

The elevator door dinged and slid open.

Top floor.

I walked out and held the door for Joe as he carried Parker toward her apartment. At the door, he stopped. “Hey,” he said, shaking her a little. “Wake up.”

I had paused in the hallway, still dripping, to rubberneck the situation and see how it played out.

Joe turned my way. “What should we do?”

But I just shrugged, like No idea.

That’s when Parker roused dramatically and said, “I’m so dizzy. Could you help me into my apartment?” And then she gave him the passcode.

With that, they were gone—Parker’s metal door slamming so hard it left a tinny echo behind.

I looked down at Peanut, swaddled in Joe’s jacket. “That was weird.”

Peanut licked his wet mustache in agreement.

I was tempted to bang on Parker’s door until Joe came back and then haul him out by the collar to explain that Parker Montgomery was a life-ruiner with a total of zero redeemable qualities—and the next time she fainted in front of him, he should just let her fall.

But I was too cold and too wet for that conversation. So Peanut and I made our way down the hallway toward home.



* * *



BUT THAT’S WHEN we ran into a problem.

Remember how the dead bolt had been broken the other day—stuck in the out position so the door couldn’t lock?

Today, the dead bolt was stuck again, but inside the latch. So it couldn’t unlock.

I put my passcode in over and over.

I mean yes, my fingers were cold and trembling—but not that badly.

Peanut, also cold and trembling, waited patiently while I tried again and again.

I found Mr. Kim’s number and texted him.

Mr. and Mrs. Kim had done very well in Houston, developing all kinds of properties, thanks to his business sense and her eye for design. They probably could have lived anywhere, but they lived here in the building. Mostly because Mr. Kim was super hands-on.

When things went wrong, we texted Mr. Kim.

Which worked fine—unless he was busy.

I might have experienced a moment of frustration while wet, cold, worried about my dog, and desperate to go home. It’s possible I tried to shake the dead-bolted door open. I might or might not have hit the handle several times with my shoe.