I look up to the second floor of the main building and see a young man, about my age, wearing—well, from my vantage point, he’s not wearing much at all, actually. I can’t see if he has pants on—I’m going to assume he does—because the brick balcony is in the way. But he definitely has no shirt on. Because I can see every freaking muscle in his upper body.
I dip my sunglasses down so I can see him better. “Well. Hello back.”
He stares down at me for a few moments, smiling.
And wow. That’s a nice smile. Please, please, please, God. You owe me. Please make this man my boss. I cross my fingers behind my back to give that prayer a little extra.
“Are you here for the job?”
“Um.” I look down at my clothes and just say, Fuck it. I’m inappropriate at all times. If these people are going to hire me, might as well get that out of the way up front. So I look back up at him and nod. “Yep. I’m here for the caretaker job.”
He clasps his hands in front of his chest like he’s praying, awkwardly pauses, then finally says, “That’s. Amazing.”
Just like that. Two sentences. Like it truly is a miracle.
And I agree. He’s amazing. So I let out a breath, smile at him, and say, “Yes. And…” I look over at the massive front door to the… not church, but sanctuary. “Should I meet you inside?”
“Indeed! I will meet you inside, young lady.”
Young lady. I kinda swoon at that. He’s not that much older than me. Definitely not thirty yet. But I like his manners. Oh, my God. What if all the boys out here in the woodsy part of PA are like this? All hot and cut, but with manners. “Perfect,” I call out just as he disappears from view.
I pull my pocket open and throw Pia a thumbs up. “We’re in.”
“We should go back.”
“Fuck that, Pia. We’re here. There’s a hot dude with no shirt acting all polite and shit. I like this place already.” I bite my lip. “I hope he’s not the caretaker who’s leaving. Because that would suck. But…” I brighten. “Generally speaking, hot men hang out together. There’s bound to be more of them, right?”
Pia doesn’t answer me. But it’s better that way so I let her silence go. I’m just talking to myself anyway. Pia is, and always will be, just a hallucination.
I walk up the long, red cobblestone walkway and then up a set of seven wide brick steps until I’m standing inside an elaborate portico and in front of the biggest set of wooden double doors I’ve ever seen.
Everything about this place feels massive and, standing there, waiting for the hot guy to let me in, I feel suddenly small.
Several minutes go by and no one comes to the door.
I look up. And again, there is that poem. A horn, a hoof… blah, blah, blah. There is also a very large, round, iron doorknocker with a Green Man face on it, but it’s like seven feet from the ground and there is no way in hell I can reach it. So I knock with my knuckles, and call, “Helloooo? I’m the girl outside. Here for the caretaker job.” And then pause, wait, and listen for footsteps with my ear pressed against the door.
Nothing.
Just silence.
Did they come to their senses and decide that a girl like me doesn’t deserve this amazing fresh start? Doesn’t even deserve to interview for it?
I let out a long breath, suddenly depressed again. Then I look over my shoulder at the Jeep, thinking maybe I should just be on my way to Toledo after all. But I can’t even see it. The fog has rolled in thick.
“Don’t lose your nerve now, Pie,” I chastise myself quietly. “You’re here. You showed up. That’s half the battle. And people who quit when they’re halfway there are just… dumb.”
So I square my shoulders, tip my head up, ignore my stale costume and the fact that I can still taste Jell-O shots in my mouth, and try the door handles—which are a pair of brass plates with intricate carvings of vines and creatures, and are not a proper doorknob that locks or turns. Just the kind you pull and the door opens.
So I pull and the door opens.
It creaks like no one has opened this door for a thousand years and I suddenly feel like I’m in some dark fairy tale and this is the moment when it all goes wrong.
“Nope. Nope, nope, nope. This is the moment when it all goes right, Pie.” I suck in a breath, mutter, “Get a hold of yourself now. Your future is waiting.” And then I step through.
It’s dark inside. But there’s a bit of sun shining through a large stained-glass window on the far side of the gigantic entrance hall.
For a moment I just stand there thinking, This is kinda creepy, when the sunlight flashes against the stained glass and illuminates a little bird in the design. A little tree sparrow with a red-topped head that looks so much like my Pia, I take another step forward. Then another. Trying to understand what I’m seeing.
Because what are the chances that this place has a bird like my bird in their glass window?
It’s weird. I take a few more steps, and then the heavy wooden door slams closed behind me.
Immediately, the entire interior goes dark. Like the sun just… disappeared. And I’m about to turn around and leave when I hear footsteps echoing through some distant hallway.
“I’m coming! I’m coming!”
It’s a young man’s voice. Not the same voice from outside, but deeper and out of breath.
“OK!” I call back, then feel dumb for doing that.
His footsteps get closer and his breathing is labored when he bursts into the room. In fact, he’s breathing so hard he needs to hold up a finger—the universal sign for ‘give me a moment’—as he doubles over, huffing and puffing, trying to recover from his apparent sprint.
“I’m sorry,” he finally manages. “I was all the way across the campus.” He has to stop there and just breathe again. “When the”—he breathes—“bell”—breathe—“rang.”
He seems pretty out of shape. Though he’s not overweight. Very tall, very skinny, and very young. Maybe even younger than me. I’d peg him at maybe twenty-one? Twenty-two?
I’m not sure what to do or say, so I fall back on manners. “If this is a bad time, I can just… come back tomorrow?”
At this he stops breathing. Literally holds his breath as he straightens up and stares into my eyes like he’s… what? I don’t know. A deer in headlights?
“Noooooo.” It comes out as one long, low tone. Almost a moan. “No,” he says again.
Then he smiles. Super big. And I’ve been around enough people who didn’t like me, or want me around, to recognize a fake smile. Which is like weird thing number seventy-five since I pulled that flyer off the gas-station bulletin board, but I continue to pretend it’s all good because I might want this job. It’s got perks.
“Don’t be silly.” He has recovered now, his breathing under control and the fake smile just a tiny bit more authentic than it was a few seconds ago. “Don’t be sil-ly,” he repeats. “You’re here. I’m here. We’re here. So…” His smile falters. “Why are you here?”
“Uh.” Yeah. I don’t know. This guy is acting bizarre. And he’s definitely not as hot as the hot dude. He’s skinny and he’s got a nerd vibe to him. “The job?” I finally say.