Page 3 of Mary had a Little Harem

Chapter 2: Stuff My Mailslot

Angry, Mary stormed through the hallway to her flat. What did that hot nerd think, rejecting her? She wasn't exactly used to guys not hitting on her, let alone not reciprocating. Was something off today? She glared in the mirror, wondering if she had a massive pimple in the middle of her face and blew in her hand, sniffing the air. Assured she hadn’t turned into a hog, she glared at herself again. Why hadn't he reacted to her flirting?

"Stupid guy," she muttered, throwing her dark hair over her shoulder. She admired her reflection once more, deciding that she definitely looked okay.

Maybe he was just gay. Or happily married. She scoffed. Yeah, like such a thing existed.

Deciding not to care, she went through the stack of mail she’d brought up from her postbox.

"Damn it!" she cursed, noticing that more than half of the stack of mail was for one of the older residents in the building. Again. The stupid mailman kept messing up, confusing the two mailslots.

She could only blame him and her idiotic mother, who’d decided to name her Mary Smithfield, as if she was a grandma already.

With a bunch of postcards in her hand, she stormed out of her flat. The display indicated that the elevator was already on its way back down. Annoyed, she kicked some stray pine needles out of the way, and impatiently clicked the arrow button multiple times. She didn't have time for all this nonsense. Why couldn't Christmas be over yet?

To her dismay,the elevator was filled with a layer of pine needles, and as she arrived on Mrs. Smithfield’s floor, the whole hallway was scattered as well. Stupid guy with his tree. Already bitter about the holidays, she couldn't help but be extra annoyed at him for not even blinking at her advances.

Harder than necessary, she knocked loudly on Mrs. Smithfield's door. No reaction. For a brief moment, she considered just shoving the postcards under her door or dropping them in front of her flat, but Mary actually liked Mrs. Smithfield. She was always nice and it wasn't her fault that the postman was too lazy and kept dropping the mail in the wrong slot.

"Yes?"

Mary groaned and slapped the stack of mail against her forehead. "Not you again."

The blonde guy from in the elevator, Louis, squinted his eyes and glared at Mary. "I could say the same thing."

"What are you doing here?" she snapped, cursing at herself for not realising there was a good reason that there were a lot more pine needles in front of Mrs. Smithfield's door than anywhere else.

"I'm visiting my nan. What are you doing here?"

Mary waved the colourful postcards in front of his face, not believing he was Mrs. Smithfield's grandson. She must've been quite a beautiful woman in her time to have such nice-looking offspring. Shame he was gay. And a jerk. He was a gay jerk.

"I'm here to drop off her mail."

Louis narrowed his eyes. "Why do you have her mail? Did you steal it?"

"Of course not!" Mary exclaimed offended, resisting the urge to strangle him. "Is she in?"

"I'll give it to her," he protested, reaching out to snatch the cards out of her hand.

"Oi! How do I know you didn't break in and are holding her hostage? I'm not giving you her mail."

"That's ridiculous! Why would I break in with a Christmas tree?"

Mary had to admit that was a good point, but she wasn't in the mood to back down. "Maybe it's the perfect crime. Mrs. Smithfield? Mrs. Smithfield? Are you alright?" she shouted, trying to peek inside the flat.

"For fuck's sake, stop yelling," Louis groaned, opening the door wider so Mary could peek inside the flat. "Nan’s enjoying her cup of tea, can she drink it in peace?"

From inside, Mrs. Smithfield waved happily at Mary, not exactly understanding what all the hassle was outside her flat. But she didn't care. Her grandson was here to visit and the nice girl from upstairs was back for another visit.

"Fine. Not a burglar then," Mary snapped, not particularly enjoying that she had to admit defeat.

Louis shook his head, running his hand through his blonde hair. This girl was a pain. "No, not a burglar. Can I get the mail now?"

Mary squinted her eyes, studying his extended hand. That was a big hand. And he seemed to have big feet. And you know what they say about guys with big feet... "I'll give it to her myself," she said stubbornly, making Louis sigh in frustration. For some unknown reason, this Mary girl managed to get right under his skin.

"Suit yourself," he muttered, swinging the door open and stepping aside to let her in. A whiff of roses and vanilla passed him by as she entered the flat. Again, not that he cared. Roses were not his favourite flower. Not at all.

"Mrs. Smithfield, so nice to see you," Mary smiled, placing the stack of postcards next to the old-fashioned tea cup. "I brought your mail."

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