CHAPTER THREE
Alice
Alice walks up the driveway to Clara's house. Walking past the well-maintained garden, she rings the doorbell and steps foot to foot in an antsy manner.
Later today, the housekeeper is coming. They said her name was Luka. Alice is both excited and nervous to meet her. She tried to stay home and write, but the nerves wouldn't let her. Instead of that, she went to Clara's house.
Clara opens the door and wheels back a few feet. She's a short woman even standing, though she's obviously even shorter in the wheelchair. Shoulder-length hazel hair hangs around her shoulders. She smiles warmly, eyes brightening. "Hey! To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Feeling awkward hovering in the doorway, Alice steps inside. "I just turned in a piece for a deadline," she explains, tucking a flyaway strand of blond hair behind one ear. "I was craving a bit of company after all that typing."
Clara claps her hands together, eyes brightening dramatically. "Oh, that's fantastic! What was this one about?"
Alice shifts once again, rubbing one sweater-clad arm nervously. "This one was an intense western romance. A cowboy on the run from the law visits his childhood sweetheart." She speaks up, brain dropping into the story world she's so used to. "She’s hesitant at first, but the two grow together—the cops are still chasing him, though, and she gets all roped up in it."
As per usual, Clara is supportive. "That sounds fantastic. You have to let me read it when it’s published. I want a copy."
"You always want a copy," Alice smiles a little, eyes softening.
"Why are you really here?" Clara asks, a sly and knowing look on her face that lets Alice know she's reading her mind. "Do you want to get coffee in town?"
Reading me like a book. Alice breathes out a nervous sigh of relief. "Yes. I d-didn’t want to go on my own, so—"
Clara waves her away. "I know you well enough to know that. You drive, though. I’m not in good shape to stand today and get myself into the front seat."
The coffee shop doesn't have many people in it, which is both unusual and a relief beyond measure. Alice tries not to pay attention to the couple and their toddler child in the corner, focusing on choosing what she wants to drink. There's some program on the TV up above about a murder in Charlottetown on Prince Edward Island committed by a shifter of some kind, but the cashier turns off the TV quickly.
Alice is grateful, but she can't help but bite her lip and worry. Don't get stressed about this. It's an entirely different island, Alice. If Clara notices her friend's sudden stress spike, she doesn't show it. Alice quietly tells the cashier her order, stuttering it out and then paying for the both of them.
Talking to Clara is nice because she's one of the only people Alice feels comfortable talking a lot to, and she listens when Alice wants to talk about her writing for work. There's something embarrassing and ironic about being a writer for romance novels when you're a homebody who's too anxious to talk to most cashiers, much less men. At least Clara doesn't judge her for that.
Driving home, Alice parks her car and walks up the steps to her house. She futzes with her keys for a moment before walking inside and leaving the door unlocked for when the maid arrives. Sweeping a look around the kitchen, she runs to quickly put away some stray wrappers and soda cans. She's hiring a maid, sure, but Alice doesn't want to look like a complete slob when this woman comes over.
She runs to the bathroom quickly, tucking stray hairs into her braid and cleaning up mascara flecks under her eyes. Worry streaks through her, and Alice dots concealer on a couple zits. Other than that, her skin is mostly clear. There are some scars from acne in her teens, but that's not terribly uncommon.
The doorbell rings, and Alice feels her heart thumping incessantly in her chest. Taking one last glance in the mirror and straightening her scarf, she dashes to the door and opens it up. As soon as she does, her heart drops to her knees, and she has to fight, really fight, the urge to slam the door.
The man standing in front of her is over six feet tall. Alice herself is tall, but she's still shorter than him. His hair is bronze-colored and thick, falling in waves around his head. His skin is a soft tan, almost glowing. More than that, though, more than any of this, Alice can't help but fixate on the sour, grumpy expression on his face. It wrinkles his features, making him look older than she assumes he is, which is around her age.
"I—I'm sorry, who are you?" Her voice comes out choked and foreign sounding.
The man frowns a little and furrows his eyebrows. "This is the residence of Alice Lenore, correct?"
"Yes, it is," Alice responds, nodding nervously.
"Well," he says, forcing a tiny, strained smile. "My name is Luka Oxendine. I was sent here by the housekeeping agency you found online. You should have received an email . . . ?" He looks confused.
It takes a moment to process. Luka is a male. My housekeeper is a man. And a stunning one at that, though that’s a thought Alice absolutely has to avoid.
Dragging herself from her shock and the ugly anxiety broiling in her stomach, Alice forces herself to speak. "Y-yes. Yes, I did." She steps to the side, allowing Luka to walk inside. "Sorry, I wasn't expecting . . ."
"What weren't you expecting?" Luka looks amused, tilting his head. Realization dawns in his eyes. "Oh. I think I'm understanding. You were expecting a woman?"
"Admittedly, yes," Alice manages to choke out.
He shrugs and smiles vaguely apologetically, though it seems mostly to be social nicety. Alice always thinks people are judging her, but sometimes it's not her anxiety. In this case it's just obvious the man finds this whole encounter inconveniencing.
"I'm sorry about the surprise," he says. "If it's really a problem, I'm sure the agency would be OK with switching, but as far as I know, I'm the only housekeeper in the area at present, so you would likely have to find someone to transfer cities."
The thought of inconveniencing someone else that much makes Alice want to just rot right there. She swallows back her fear, trying desperately to think rationally. There's a man in her house, yes; and yes, he is her housekeeper. Is that a problem? Well, sort of. Is it one she wants to deal with? Absolutely not. But to send him back now seems so rude and unnecessary, and she knows nothing about him. Maybe he'll be fine.
She nods shakily. "Of course. It was my assumption. It will be fine if you stay here, I'm sure. I don't need someone else.”
Luka extends a hand, which Alice hesitantly shakes. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance. Once again, my apologies for the surprise."
"Oh no, it was my fault for a-assuming," Alice admits, hoping he can't hear her heart thumping in her chest a million miles an hour. She can feel the tingling effect of his handshake even now. She rubs her hand off on her pants to try to make the sensation go away. "I suppose it's an ancient viewpoint t-to assume that a housekeeper would be female."
"We're in the modern age, yes," Luka agrees, "but I won't fault you for it. I can only assure you that I'm absolutely as skilled as any female housekeeper."
Luka blinks, but Alice isn't entirely sure if it was a blink or a wink. What? She wishes she could replay it. She could have sworn the man winked at her. He smiles, looking around while Alice just stands there awkwardly like a badly carved statue.
She forces a laugh. "I-I believe you. Here, let me show you the rooms you can pick from." Desperate to be done with this introduction sequence as soon as possible so that she can retreat to her study, she walks him across the bottom floor of her house to a room at the back, near the deck doors.
Holding open the door, she points inside. "There's a small bathroom, as well as a bed and dressers. If you find yourself in need of a desk or anything else, let me know. I c-can pay for that."
Her grammar falls to the wayside. Alice feels like an alien in a foreign land. She wishes she'd had warning so that she could ask Clara about what to do. Clara would know what she should do. There's a man in my house, and he's beautiful, and he's going to live here with me, and he maybe just winked at me, or did I just want him to have winked? Or—
"Ms. Lenore?"
Snapping back to attention, she looks at Luka. He seems confused, and it occurs to her that he's been calling her name for several seconds. She opens her mouth and nervously chokes out an answer. "S-sorry about that. Alice is fine."
Luka shakes his head. "Thank you, but no thank you, Ms. Lenore. It may be old fashioned, but I like to stick to professionalism when possible."
Shell-shocked and feeling like an idiot, Alice nods. "Of course. Of course . . . " She trails off, voice going quiet. "There's another bedroom upstairs on the right side of the walkway. If you like that one better, feel free to take it." She gulps and forces a tiny smile. "I've got just, wow, I've got quite a bit of work to do, so I've actually g-got to get back to it. If you get me a blank check in the next week or so, I'll set up an instant deposit and we can discuss your rates in a few days."
Luka doesn't ask any questions or ask her to stay, which is a relief. Immediately fleeing, Alice retreats to her study. For once, she finds the fact that her study and her bedroom aren't connected from the inside a ridiculous inconvenience. She could just lock herself up in here forever.
He's just a maid, Alice, she reminds herself. It's his job.
The man has no desire to hit on you. Still, as much as she might deny it, her heart still leaps at the thought of him. Heavens, how desperate is she? But didn’t she see him wink at her earlier, or was that her jumping to hopeful conclusions?
She pictures him in her head. Beautiful, bronze-blond hair. Tanned skin. His height. His muscles, toned enough to know that he keeps in shape and works out but it's not an annoying obsession. More than anything, though, she thinks about his eyes: stunning golden-brown, with a piercing darkness in them that makes Alice want to faint into his arms like in one of her unrealistic, cheesy romance novels.
After many hours of working without pause or break, she peeks out the door of her office. Outside, downstairs, she can see Luka cleaning up the kitchen. She gulps, feeling like some stupid, nervous high schooler with a crush. Not allowing herself to dwell any longer, she returns to her office chair and sits back down with her writing.
Oh, God, what am I going to do?