Page 26 of Accidentally Amy

“Not that far?” It was unfathomable that she’d been strolling alongside the interstate, where anyone could’ve run her down. “It would’ve taken you forty-five more minutes to get home, if you didn’t get hit or struck by lightning first.”

“Hey. You’re not allowed to scold me unless you know my middle name.” There was a teasing in her voice. “Since you don’t, Mr. Chest from Scooter’s, you should—”

“Clarence.”

I heard her gasp, and she was smiling with her mouth wide open when I glanced over. “I forgot that you know that.”

“This it?” I asked, pulling to a stop in front of an apartmentbuilding. It looked old but well maintained, surrounded by a lot of tall trees, and for some reason, I could picture her living there.

“Yes.” She reached for the car door with shaking hands. “Thank you so much for coming to get me.”

“No problem.”

“Do you want to come in for a slice of the hot pizza I will be ordering the minute my fingers thaw?”

No.NO. Of course no, the only answer was no. I put the car in first and yanked up the parking brake. “I’ll order while you drown in the hot shower. Deal?”

“Deal so hard,” she replied, sounding pleased with my idiotic answer.

What am I doing, what am I doing, what am I doing?

We ran for the door, which was probably a moot point since she was already drenched, but it didn’t seem to matter to us. And when we got to her stoop, I took the keys from her shaking fingers and unlocked the building door for her.

“Okay,” she said, the dim light of the entryway seeming ridiculously bright after so much darkness. She looked up at me, her wet face streaked with mascara, and said, “Don’t judge me for my furnishings.”

“I would never.”

“You say that now,” she said, opening the door to her unit, which was clearly unlocked, “but wait until you see it.”

When she pushed in the door, it was like walking into someone’s grandmother’s apartment. She had a pink sofa, two matching pink-and-gold-velvet side chairs, and a huge painting of a garden scene hung on the wall behind the couch. Crochet doilies sat on both end tables, and I was surprised to see a normalTV on the other side of the room, as opposed to some huge console with old-school rabbit ears.

“You’re into retro,” I said, looking around at theinterestingturn-of-the-century decor.

“You’re kidding, right?” She dropped the towel on one of the chairs and turned on a floor lamp. “When I moved in here, my grandma surprised me by furnishing the entire place for me; it was her gift.”

“Oh, God.”

“Right?” She crossed her arms, looking tiny in my XL Bears hoodie, and said, “I’ll tell you the whole story after I shower. Remote’s on the coffee table, beer is in the fridge, and my credit card is in my purse if you want to order the pizza.”

“I’ve got it.” Did she usually make a habit of keeping her front door unlocked and letting strangers rifle through her purse? “Go shower.”

“God bless you,” she said, and then she disappeared down the hallway and into the back of the apartment.

“What toppings?” I yelled.

“Anything but pineapple.”

“Combo?”

“Yes, please, but no mushrooms.”

What am I doing?

I placed the pizza order while I turned on a football game, and I heard the shower start as I walked into her kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge.

How can someone function with only condiments, chocolate milk, diet soda, and beer in their refrigerator?

I was about to sit back down on the sofa, when a guy walked through the front door. A guy with a bushy beard, Adidas joggers, no shirt, and no shoes.

---