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Zara
* * *
“Why do you have the morning off?” Holly asks me while we Facetime early Wednesday morning. “And why am I looking at your bra? Where’s your clothes? It’s fucking cold and rainy today.”
Ugh. Why did she have to remind me of how bloody cold I am? “I had to handwash my clothes last night because the machine is broken, remember? And I don’t have a dryer yet, so they’re all still bloody wet. I’ve been blow-drying my dress this morning, praying it’ll dry in time for work. And as for having the morning off, I rang Justine and begged her to let me come in late because of this clothes issue. God, Hols, I really need to get my stuff out of storage and get my life back on track.”
I moved into the apartment last night, but apart from the suitcase of clothes and toiletries I had with me, my stuff is all still in storage. At the moment, I pretty much only have the new furniture I ordered after moving out of Angus’s apartment. And I also have Mum’s old washing machine she sent over yesterday. The only thing is, it isn’t bloody working.
“You want me to hire a ute to help you get the stuff out of storage? We could do it tonight.”
Someone buzzes the intercom, but since I don’t know anyone who would be buzzing me, I ignore it. “Yes! Thank you!”
“Okay, consider it done. I’ll swing by and pick you up at around six.”
The intercom buzzes again. “Jesus, someone is buzzing me. Don’t they realise it’s only just after seven?”
“Ugh, people. Good luck. I’ll see you tonight.”
“Love you,” I say before ending the call. Stalking to my intercom, which buzzes again, I snap, “Who is it?”
“Zara, it’s Fury.”
What?
“Huh?”
“It’s Fury. Let me up. We need to use your toilet.”
I feel like I’m living in an alternative universe. Fury doesn’t even know where I live, and why would he just casually drop by and want to use my toilet?
However, I let him in.
Bloody hell.
This will be my worst decision of the day, for sure.
Opening my door, I wait for him to ride the lift. That’s after I quickly grab the one and only towel I have and wrap it around myself.
My ovaries are not prepared for the sight of him walking the corridor to my apartment, holding his son’s hand as they talk excitedly about something.
Where is God when you need her and why didn’t she wake up this morning? She should have intervened on my behalf here. I’m putting a tick in her “fucked shit up” column for this.
“Hey,” I say when Fury reaches me. By the way Noah is wiggling around, I suspect he’s the one who needs the toilet. Stepping aside, I usher them in and point Fury in the direction of the toilet.
He eyes my towel for a moment, but due to Noah’s need for the toilet, he doesn’t mention it. He simply says, “Thank you.”
While they’re in there, I mentally psyche myself up for this visit. I’m still confused as to how he knows where I live, but mostly I’m just hoping he won’t stay long.
The toilet flushes and I hear the two of them discussing the fact Noah has to wash his hands, which he does, and then they meet me in the living room. Where I’m standing awkwardly with this damn towel wrapped around me.
“Hey,” Fury says, glancing briefly at the towel. “Do you wanna finish getting dressed?”
“I can’t.”
He frowns. “Why not?”
“Daddy!” Noah grabs his father’s hand. “I watch TV.”
