Page 46 of The Last Good Man

MELODY

My legs shake a little as I climb the stairs, yet the car doesn’t move away.

The struggle not to turn around and look isreal, as I’m convinced he’s watching me enter the house.

My place is a rental in a multi-family historical house.The interior is impeccably upgraded and well-maintained. It has high ceilings, French doors, and a patio in the back.

The building is occupied by the owner and comes with many restrictions, which have never bothered me.

No smoking––I’ve quit smoking, anyway. No pets––I’ve never had a pet. I had no time for that. No bicycles or gym equipment inside the apartments.

I’ve joined a gym. I also jog around the neighborhood and take Pilates classes with a private instructor.

And then there’s this rule.

No parties––or any kind of loud noise––are allowed.

Despite the disgustingly high rent, I’ve followed their rules and never had a problem.

I hope things stay that way. That’s why I want that car to move away.

No sound comes from the street as I walk across the hallway and unlock the door to my apartment.

I enter my place and barely set my purse on the kitchen table when someone knocks at the door.

My heart beats faster as I remove my coat, check the time on the clock on the kitchen wall, and pivot back to the main door.

Is that the landlord? Is someone knocking on the wrong door? How did they get into the building?

Someone had to let them in.

I peer through the peephole, yet I see nothing.

The corridor is too dark––although it’s not supposed to be that way––and it’s hard to see anything.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me. You forgot your food.”

Oh. My food. How could I forget it?

And I thought I had made such a grand exit, saying all the right things and not looking back.

I swallow my embarrassment and briefly check my hair and dress in the mirror before opening the door.

With an arm propped on the doorframe, he hands me the food and quietly studies me.

I take the bag and thank him, my fingers latched onto the door, having no intention of inviting him in.

The more he looks at me, the harder it isnotto invite him in.

“Anything else?” I murmur, struggling to hold his gaze.

“I won’t walk away from you,” he says. “We’ll do this. One way or another.”

I smile.

“Hmm… Good luck with that,” I say, sliding the door to close it inhisface.

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