Prince Charmings (BOOK ONE)

38

Mr. Barkers no longer lived in a kick-ass house. He was renting a twin unit in the western suburbs, complete with a double-wide pool out back. His front porch was covered in fake vine leaves, a 'dogs may bite, but cats have claws' welcome mat rested outside his door. It took a frantic search through the online yellow book and a call to the school filled with mild identity fraud on my end to find his place. But by the time my feet came to a stop, dress shoes scuffed and coated in dust, it was on that damn mat with my fist outstretched.

But to do what?

To knock. To leave the note I'd scribbled on a napkin from the diner whose payphone I used, having forgotten my phone at home in my haste to get out. I didn't know. Nothing in my mind was making sense other than I had to be here, had to be anywhere but there. Standing on his front porch, my heart erratic and pacing down the moments until it could all but quit on me, not a single coherent thought raced through me. All I knew was his car wasn't in the drive and his cat was asleep on the bottom step, the stout cat door flickering lightly in the wind at the bottom of his front door. Taunting me with an invitation to my past mistakes.

"Shit."

I dropped my hand to my side, then dragged it through my hair, all but tearing it out at the roots. Sweat slicked my palms as I ran over how stupid everything I'd just done was. Of course Barkers had left. He had probably driven to school hours ago. I shook my head, ignoring the few pieces of hair that floated limply onto the porch and jogged back down the steps. The fabric under my armpits pinched, bunching together in tight folds against the on growing sweat patches I was producing. I tugged at my collar, rolling my shoulders as I strode to Barkers' mailbox.

In the short time since he'd started renting the space, his mailbox had begun to fill with supermarket coupon packages and mail from previous tenants. I shuffled my gaze past a community speed-dating pamphlet draped over the slotted opening, searching my pocket. The napkin had rumpled on the way over, letters smudged from my greasy palms after an attempt to smooth the more salvageable ends. I placed it between a lost dog poster and a neighbourhood watch flyer, dragging my eyes over the final two words one last time before snapping the box shut again. The weight on my shoulders came back for a moment as I stepped back then it was gone and I was roaming the street again.

The third doorbell I rang managed to get me an answer. A low humming, elevator music-esque rendition of Staying Alive played from a tinny speaker above the door, barely more than three bars and I chuckled, moving to press the button again before I could stop myself. I doubt even a second passed before the door swung open, letting out the smell of burnt pasta and rosemary. Dressed head to toe in floral, an old woman with black hair stepped forward and all but slapped my hand off her buzzer.

"Stop that," she sniped. I jolted back, startled by the middle violence from someone living in the suburbs, though her angered gaze was more fixated on the actual bell than my appearance. "Never cared for the Bee Gees."

"Bit of a bad choice in ringtone then," I said, my back stiffening straight when her eyes finally did land on me. Something about my appearance made her soften, however, as she did little more than roll her eyes at my comment.

"My grandson thinks it's funny to taunt the elderly," she said, going as far as to shake her head at the sky fondly. "Is there a reason you're going around ringing doorbells? I highly doubt a boy like you enjoys spending his time ding-dong-ditching."

I curled my bottom lip under my teeth to avoid snorting, thumbing the back of my head in a display of bashfulness. "Just hoping to use your phone. I've misplaced mine."

"I somehow find that hard to believe."

I frowned, brow arched as the woman made to step back inside. "It's not a prank, I swear. I'm late for my graduation and I just need to call a friend to come pick me up."