Page 1 of Marry Me, Right Now

M I A

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PATIO DESPERATION

My hands were shaking as hard as the windy leaves in the slim tree beside me while I flipped through the rental listings, taking notes in my ladybug notebook. To anyone passing by the cafe patio, I hoped that I looked like someone doing research, or checking the local music news. The fear rolling off me in waves was invisible, so I hoped I wasn’t disturbing the others enjoying the sunshine. My fancy cup of coffee was a tiny attempt to cheer myself up, but it wasn’t working very well so far.

There was a very real chance that I’d be homeless within the week.

It was such a lovely day. The heat of August was beginning to wane, the breeze picking up occasionally to ruffle someone’s hair, or partially turn the page of the newspaper in front of me, where there were absolutely no decent apartments listed.

The housing crisis in Toronto had reached epic proportions, and my resources were completely drained. I had spent every waking moment scouring listings, looking at the worst moldy little basements, and still being refused.

Apparently I wasn’t a desirable candidate, since I was a single woman without a professional job, and I wasn’t a student anymore. I had been working at the same cafe for a year and had excellent references. But my budget was so low I couldn’t find anything that didn’t smell like rats.

I had poured through every website where people search for roommates, coming up with all manner of creepy men but no relatively sane women. There was no way in hell I wanted to room with a strange man, obviously, and even shacking up with a strange woman freaked me out. But I was completely out of options.

I was ahead of the minimalist trend, having sold or given away all but fifteen boxes of my belongings, and putting them in storage. I lived out of two huge rolling suitcases, and had been parked on my friend Stacy’s couch for the past month. But her boyfriend was moving in next Friday, and I had to leave.

With no family at all, no money, and no other friends who could put me up any more than they already had, I was on the verge of looking up the woman’s homeless shelters. It had even crossed my mind to check in my ex-boyfriend and see if there was any chance of rekindling something for a few weeks, but that was a level I wasn’t prepared to stoop to. Also, he really didn’t treat me well last year, and I couldn’t bear to shovel that on top of everything else right now.

It was horrific to realize my life had hit this point so easily. I’d always worked, I’d always saved. I was extremely frugal. But it only took a handful of things to go sideways, and with no other resources, I’d actually be homeless in a week.

My mother would have been worried sick. My father would be demanding to know why I didn’t move back out to a smaller town. But they died in an accident while on vacation when I was just eighteen, and I’ve been on my own ever since.

But I had to have hope. Letting the desperation take me over was not productive. Positivity was crucial. I had to be the sort of person who would say yes to every single opportunity.

There was no apartment I couldn’t clean, and brighten with a little yellow fabric. I was a hard worker, a creative person, and could always find resources. There was no place that would truly be worse than a homeless shelter. And the horrible roommate stories were likely exaggerated for dramatic effect.

Taking a deep breath, I realized that I had run out of listings. Before I started calling the few that were within walking distance to my work, I sipped my coffee and turned back to the crossword. Puzzles almost always cheered me up.

“May I share your table?”

I looked up to see a man smiling at me. He was startlingly attractive, as if ripped from the pages of a men’s fashion magazine where the models were buff with sculpted cheekbones, rugged jawlines, but sweet eyes. His irises were the color of the sea an hour before sunset. So beautiful it made me think of poetry instead of why the hell this guy was smiling at me.

I glanced around, realizing that the patio was packed, and I was taking up a large table. “Sorry, of course,” I said, pulling my things out of the way.

“I only need space for this, thank you,” he said, setting down his steaming coffee and settling into the chair across from me. His eyes were remarkable, but his entire face was oddly beautiful. He had that upper class, almost regal look about him.

He glanced down at my newspaper. “Wow,” he said. “I haven’t seen anyone do the crossword on paper in ages. People are always on their phones these days.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “But I find it calming when I’m stressed out of my mind.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, then instantly shook his head. “Sorry, instinct. That may or may no

t be my business.”

He was so easy going, so casually charming, that I found it refreshing. Holding out my hand, I said, “Mia. Desperate apartment hunter.”

“Ah,” he nodded, shaking my hand firmly. “Lovely to meet you, Mia. Jacob, number-crunching financial guy.”

I felt myself grinning – the sunshine, great coffee, and random company brightening my grim mood. “Is there a magical number-crunching configuration for making Toronto’s rent more reasonable?”

He shook his head. “Sorry, Mia. I’ve read that it’s rough out there. It must be stressful.”

I nodded, trying to seem hopeful. “There has to be something. I can make do with a tiny basement if need be. I’m sure that the rats and cockroaches will make room for my books. I just have to make sure it’s close enough to walk to work.”

“Where do you work?” The fact that he seemed genuinely interested was surprising. The way he was looking into my eyes so precisely was also strange.

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