Page 30 of Pretense & Sensibility

seven

TRINITY

I’m not used to having help with … well, much of anything.

I’ve lived alone, here in this exact garage apartment since I started grad school four years ago. When my sister, Savannah, lived nearby, she would swing by and help with things occasionally, but she worked such grueling hours that it happened rarely. When Trent and I were together, my chickens were something he made fun of, not something he helped with.

All of which is to say, with Martin’s help, I’m shocked by how quickly we get everything I need to wait out the storm at his place. He gets the chickens loaded into their pet carriers, while I pack up their pen, bedding, and food for the night.

We’re back in his car before I have a chance to even think twice.

Maybe I would have hesitated longer if I wasn’t so frickin’ scared of tornadoes. But I am. So it didn’t take much to convince me.

My little apartment is a true gem. They’ve never raised my rent, it’s within biking distance of everything I need, and it’s the only place I’ve ever found in my price range that had a yard for my flock. I’m sure I could have found something in one of the suburbs, but then I’d have needed a car, and it would have been a whole thing. The only downside to my apartment is its vulnerability to tornadoes.

Not that there ever has been one that’s ripped through downtown Austin. It’s just the thing I worry about when the weather is bad. So what if once or twice a year I spend the night huddled under my desk with my chickens? Every location has a downside.

Not Martin’s condo, apparently.

It’s on the fifteenth floor of one of the buildings that’s sprouted along the lake in the past five years. I should have known that a rich lawyer with an office in a downtown high-rise would also have a condo in a downtown high-rise. And if I felt outclassed in Le Petite Bistro, it’s nothing to how I feel riding the elevator up from the underground garage to his floor. The woman in the elevator with us eyes all the pet carriers with overt suspicion, but Martin glares her into silence.

When we finally reach his floor and he ushers me in, I’m ready to collapse from the stress. And that’s before I see his actual condo.

It’s a corner unit with a hundred and eighty degrees of floor to ceiling windows. It’s pristine, modern and full of sharp edges and hard lines. The only things keeping the space from being too harsh are an over-sized black leather sofa and an array of lush house plants. Either Martin has a green thumb, or he’s hired one of those services that maintains his plants for him. Either way, I’m jealous. My chickens might thrive, but I can kill a plant just by looking at it.

The only signs anyone actually lives here are the dusting of coffee grounds by the coffee maker and bowl on the counter with some iffy looking bananas. Between the square footage and the view, I think my back account just had an orgasm.

Lucky her.

I slant a look at Martin. “What kind of law did you say you practice?”

“Intellectual property. Why?”

“I just … I didn’t know people lived like this.”

“Like what?” He sets down both of the pet carriers he was holding.

“Um … dude, do you not know how clucking rich you are?”

He chuckles. “Yeah. I’m aware. My mom brags about it every year in the family Christmas card.”

It’s the first time he’s mentioned family, other than our brief conversation about Margaret in the elevator. I have to stop myself from asking more about his mom. A) it’s not my business, and B) I don’t dare drift into Velveteen Rabbit territory again.

I gesture towards the windows. “How is this better than my place?” Then my hysteria breaks free in the form of a giggle. I set down the pet carrier and bag I’m holding to bury my face in my hands. “I mean, this is obviously better than my dumpy apartment in every way. Except if there’s a tornado.”

“What do you mean?”

I peek over the tips of my fingers to see Martin looking at me blankly as he slings my messenger bag off his shoulder.

“All this glass! If there’s a tornado, won’t it just blow out the windows and then we’ll be toast? Or filleted, or whatever happens to people when twenty thousand shards of glass pierce their bodies.”

Martin looks like he’s trying to hold back laughter. “Well, for starters, if there is a tornado, we should head to the master closet. It’s on the interior and has no windows. The building was designed to withstand a tornado, but there are areas of shelter on each floor. And the building staff will alert us if we need to evacuate to a lower level.”

“Oh.”

Before I can scrounge up any more objections, he’s dragged out the popup pet pen I brought and is opening it in the middle of his living room. Right on top of a rug that looks like it would cover my fall tuition.

“Aren’t you worried about all your fancy stuff?”

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