A hand outstretched to her. "Please, do you care for a dance?" She followed the line of a crisp white sleeve and looked up into the sparkling eyes of her maze man.
He had to be a model to have a face and body like that.
"Shirley? What on earth do you think you're doing?" His dad called out.
And just like that, Shirley Ericson's daydream vanished.
"Dad, I am tired. I have to rest." She answered.
Shirley fell on the worn leather sofa sitting in the middle of the sidewalk in front of a lovely souvenir townhouse. She pulled an inhaler from her yanky jacket, shook it vigorously, and sprayed the mist into her mouth.
Inhaling a deep breath, her constricted lungs alleviated. With a relief. "We are almost done. But, while you are resting, let me say this again; if you ever want or need to relocate back to New Hampshire, you can."
She turned her eyes. "Fine. But, right now, I am still packing into my new apartment. How about allowing me to settle before you make me feel culpable for leaving you?"
She slumped on the sofa so she could expand her diaphragm and rest. "Come on, Shirley," her father said as he loomed over her. One last push."
"No. I am locked in place. I don't want to die now." She answered.
"I know you're tired. We have been moving your stuff into your new apartment all afternoon." His father added.
"Well, I happen to love it. Wow!! Did you look around? Did you notice that thick, solid mahogany banister? I do not know how you could miss it. It basically blinds you, glowing in the light of the crystal chandelier," she said.
"Everything is in good shape. Apparently, the landlord lives in the building and made sure it was all renovated, but kept the period details like the wide crown moldings. And while you are glimpsing, check out the marble stairs. The elevator is all made of mahogany and brass inside." The father responded.
"Why do you care about the elevator? You live on the first floor—thank God. I cannot imagine carrying all this crap up to the second or third floor." Shirley said with so much exhaustion in her breath.
"And moving in is only part of the fun! I will be up half the night unpacking. Who knew I had so much stuff" She said.
"That is the way it is when you move. You always have more than you thought you had and it always takes longer than you think it will." His dad said.
"I have never moved house before, so how could I know?" Shirley replied.
Mr. Ericson frowned. "Shirley, Mike, and I have to get going soon. It's getting dark. Are you okay?"
"Just one minute more, Dad." Shirley stared around at the stretching shadows, gaping where west might be and if she had had a sunset view.
She looked up at tree limbs faced against the twilight sky with dry leaves rattled in the autumn breeze, and for a minute she thought she saw… Great.
My first night alone and I'm seeing ghosts, already.
Then she scouted a man with long, dark hair, leaning against the iron fence. Dressed all in black, he almost vanished into the shadows, and she might not have seen him at all except for his pale skin and fierce eyes.
Something about the way he cocked his head and glared at her grabbed her attention. A shiver went up her spine.
"You can take a rest when you are inside. It is getting darker every added minute and you understand that my eyesight isn't good for night driving."
"Have Mike drive home. Where is he, anyway?" Her father asked.
"I do not know. The Last I saw, he halted to talk to someone. Must have been the landlady."
A second later, her younger brother raced down the stairs, babbling, "Dad, did you know Charlie Baker owns this building? Do you believe that? Jeez, I'm going to have to visit Shirley by every chance I get!"
She groaned. "You had better not, pickle-head. And who's Charlie Baker, anyway?"
"You are kidding!" he shouted.
"You don't know who Charlie Baker is?" Mr. Ericson folded his arms.
"Calm down, Mike. It is a fairly common name. It could be anybody. Come on, Shirley. Get up."
"Can't. I'm too tired." She responded.
Some kind of secret signal passed between father and son. The next thing Shirley knew, the couch tipped and they unceremoniously tossed her onto the sidewalk. Oomph. "Hey!" She scrambled to her feet while her brother continued squealing as if nothing had happened.
"He's the lefty pitcher for the Chicago cubs! I swear. I was just talking to his aunt. Oh! she wants the door closed, by the way. It's getting cold in there."
As if to clarify the point, a chilly October breeze blew crisp, brown leaves around their feet. "Why didn't you say so in the first place?"
Shirley scolded. "Do you want my neighbours to immediately hate me? Get on the other side of the couch with dad; I cannot lift another thing."
Shirley marched into her new apartment building, hoping to find the landlord's aunt so that she could apologize. No one seemed to be about, but she heard noises from the second floor.
As her father and brother strumbled and snorted through the front door under the weight of the leather sofa, a young man appeared at the prime of the wide, curving staircase.
Long muscular legs in jeans and sneakers had come into view first. Then Shirley saw his flat abdomen and broad shoulders under a navy blue knit jersey, and finally, his face. "Wow!! let me help you with that."
He jogged down the steps and gripped the side of the couch her brother had left lurching. Oh, my God! What a handsome face it was. Dark, thick brows stood out against his light skin and clear blue eyes.
She could not recognize his hair colour easily, since it barely showed under a blue baseball cap. Maybe, milk chocolate brown. Shirley thought the style was called a buzz-cut.
The length nearly matched the black whiskers of the 5 o'clock shadow on his strong jaw. "Thanks, man."
Mike did a double-take and grinned. "I cannot wait to set this couch down so I can shake your hand. Believe it or not, my sister is moving into your building and didn't even know who you were."
The stunning hunk just laughed. Shirley put together and decided this must be the famous Charlie Baker. Not bad. Not bad at all.
On the other hand, if her brother maintained on embarrassing her in front of her hottie landlord by pointing out what a baseball fan she wasn't, she'd have to have a little "discussion" with him before he left. A slap upside the head ought to do the trick.