Page 6 of Moonlit Kisses

Mrs. Dunsley strolls into the office, taking up her position beside her husband, her head held up high as though she’s better than everyone else. The gleam in her eyes tells me how happy she is that they’ve fired me.

I stand on shaky legs. He doesn’t care that he’s hammered the final nail in my coffin. “When will I get my paycheck?”

“You’ll get paid as usual at the end of the month. I’m not in the business of changing procedures to suit individuals.”

I don’t remember leaving his office or packing my desk. I don’t even remember the walk to my car and the drive home, but I find myself sitting on my small couch in the dark in my tiny one-bedroom apartment that I’m about to lose.

Numb.

Nothing. I feel nothing.

* * *

I wake to gray skies and snow flurries, still wearing the clothes from yesterday. Wiping the sleep and dried up tears from my eyes, I jump up from my couch in alarm. Shit, have I slept in? I grab my phone to check the time, my heart beating double time. Seven-thirty!

Shit, shit, shit!

Running into my bedroom, I quickly grab a change of clothes and head to the bathroom to shower. My feet freeze as yesterday afternoon flashes like a movie clip. My shoulders slump in defeat. I can’t believe how my life has turned to shit. I press my lips together to stifle the sob that wants to escape. The backs of my eyes burn from the tears I’m trying to hold at bay. Spinning around, I head back to my bedroom, drop my clothes on the floor and climb into bed, sliding down deep under the covers. Maybe if I can shut out the world for a while, I can start over again when I come out. Curled up in a ball beneath my covers, I close my eyes tight and try to get my heartbeat and breathing under control. An anxiety attack is the last thing I need right now. I need to clear my head, get my thoughts in order so I can make a plan.

Maybe this is a sign.

Maybe I should use this opportunity to my advantage.

Maybe I could do something I’ve always wanted to do.

Maybe I could start over somewhere new.

Memories flood one after the other. When it was only Mom and me, she used to tell me all about her life on the west coast. It’s where she grew up. I would ask her why she left if she loved it so much. She would always gently slide my bangs out of my eyes and tell me she moved because she loved me so much. Her boyfriend abandoned her when she told him she was pregnant, and her parents weren’t happy with her teenage pregnancy. Her dad wanted her to have an abortion, so she ran as far as she could, ending up in Portland, Maine, where I was born. It’s the only place I’ve ever lived. Her stories of life in the west always sounded magical to me as a young girl.

Leaving the safety of my cocoon, I grab my cheap laptop and make myself comfortable on my couch. A hiss leaves my lips as I check my bank account. If I’m super careful and sleep in my car, I may just make it. I’ll need to get a job immediately, but I would have to do that here, anyway. I could pawn my television and laptop and possibly get a little more money. But I may need my laptop to apply for jobs and stuff like that—I guess I could always use the computers at the local library. I look around my small apartment, searching out more items I could sell—I’ve got a couple of things.

Collecting them together, I place them near my front door, ready to take to the pawn shop first thing in the morning. I load up one of my plastic tubs with Ethan’s scrapbook, Mom’s recipe books, and our family photo albums, plus all of my important papers. Next, I pack my clothes, toiletries, and linens. I debate what to do with the few kitchen items I have. If I don’t take them with me, I’ll have to buy new ones, anyway. I may as well take them and save myself some money. I have nothing else I can use to pack them into, so I’ll have to get a box while I’m out tomorrow. Putting everything I’m taking with me into a neat pile in the middle of my living room, I wander around it a few times. It looks like a lot. I hope it’s all gonna fit in my car.

I lay out my clothes for the morning, take a long look around my apartment, and head to bed to get a good night’s sleep. I’ve got a big few days ahead of me.

I doze off to images of west coast sunsets and a fresh start.

CHAPTER4

–max–

Pullingin behind my workshop first thing, the sun barely peeking over the horizon, my eyes narrow as a low‘what the fuck’escapes my mouth. Parked in my fucking spot is a navy two thousand and one Jetta sedan. Nobody ever parks behind here, because the bays are solely for the use of the business owners within this precinct. Each of the businesses here has an apartment above the workspace, so most of the other bays are already in use.

I used to live in mine until I started earning enough from the business to buy my home ten minutes down the road. As much as I love working with cars, I hated the smell of oil and other chemicals invading my home; I needed to have a separate space to live. Parking off to the side, I climb out of my car to inspect the unwelcome car parked in my space.

Looking around the backlot of my workshop, I notice nothing else out of place. I bend down enough to peer through the windows, which are slightly cracked open. My eyes widen as they land on a young woman asleep in the semi-reclined driver’s seat. I glance in the back—there’s too much stuff packed in the backseat to allow it to recline fully. As I scan the interior, it looks as though everything she owns is packed into the compact car. My eyes drop back to the woman, and I study her closely.

She’s fucking beautiful.

She’s young, really young, with clear pale skin and even paler hair. She’s what I’d imagine an angel looks like. I watch her sleep for a few moments, her almost white hair fanned around her face, her thick lashes resting on the apples of her cheeks—fucking stunning. I wonder what color her eyes are? Not that I should care what color her eyes are. If she’sthatbeautiful, she’s probably a self-absorbed bitch, like my ex. I don’t need another one like her in my life. She must be fucking uncomfortable because she looks tall, too tall for the space she’s using as a bed.

It doesn’t appear the interloper will wake up anytime soon.

“What the fuck?” I whisper.

I’m incredulous that my car pulling into the lot didn’t wake her up. I have a mind to move my car, so it blocks this woman in. I don’t want her sneaking off before I can have a word with her about her sleeping arrangements and parking where she’s not welcome.

In fact, that’s what I think I’ll do.

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