rooklyn Brewed is so close to my new home that I can stop there after work whenever I like, and now that I’m not worrying about rent or being able to afford groceries, I allow myself to splurge more often than I used to. The place never fails to put a smile on my face.
Today it’s overcast when I step into Brooklyn Brewed, like the sky is just about to open up. I’m glad I’m only a couple of minutes away from home. With a coffee to help me unwind after a long day spent on my feet and a bubble bath in my new, huge en-suite bathroom, I’m looking forward to an evening of selfish, indulgent me time.
I’m starting to think that maybe Sonya was right after all. I don’t like how Jagger is away so often and for so long, but while I miss him hard, living in the Brooklyn house has been good so far. I was on edge and not thinking clearly. Now that I have a stable home and I feel secure there, it’s like a weight has lifted off my shoulders.
And the fact that it’s such a gorgeous place doesn’t hurt, either. I’m flying, and it’s all thanks to Jagger.
Over the door the bell jingles as I step into the cafe. The barista is familiar — I’ve seen him before.
The line is short, and it isn’t long before I’m next. Unless I’m here with Sonya, I always get my drink to-go. I wait while the barista finishes the last transaction. It isn’t long until he’s standing in front of me, all charming smiles. His name tag reminds me that his name is Jared.
“Welcome to Brooklyn Brewed. What can I get for you today?”
“A small latte to go, please.”
“You’ve got it. It’s only going to be a second.”
I watch as he works the espresso machine and prepares the steamed milk. I can already taste the sweet, strong coffee and cream. When Jagger comes back, I wonder if he’ll take me here sometimes. I imagine quiet Sunday mornings at one of the round tables by the window, my shoulders bathed in light, as we engage in simple conversation brought to life by all of the ways that he has to flirt with me.
Quiet Sunday mornings that bleed into blissful Sunday afternoons. Afternoons in bed. Together.
My cheeks heat up and arousal spikes inside me. I bite the inside of my lip.
I miss him. It’s hard to be alone.
“Miss?” Jared asks. I snap out of my thoughts, embarrassed. “Your latte.”
“Th-thank you,” I stutter. I slip him a five dollar bill and he gives me change. I leave a tip.
“And please take this,” he says, producing one of Brooklyn Brewed’s branded paper bags. There’s something inside. “On the house.”
The universe is smiling down at me. I accept the gift, smile at him, then take my leave of Brooklyn Brewed. It’s only when I’m outside that I peek inside the bag. There’s a Danish inside. Blueberry cheese. My smile broadens. A little something sweet to go with my coffee and my bubble bath. I could get used to this.
It’s a short walk home. I make it there before the sky opens up, but as I’m walking up the driveway, I come to an abrupt stop. The house is different. How in the hell did that happen?
My eyes widen as I observe the change, and it’s not long before I pinpoint it. The porch has been redone. It’s no longer crooked. The railings have been updated. The stairs look more sturdy.
I gape, unable to process what I’m seeing. When I left for work this morning, the porch hadn’t been like this. I know it. Does that mean Jagger’s home?
My heart jumps into my throat and I take the stairs two at a time as I spring toward the front door. I unlock it and let myself inside.
“Jagger?” I call out. I find it odd that he wouldn’t call to let me know he’s on his way home, but I brush the thought aside. Why would he ruin the surprise by calling me in advance?
There’s no reply.
“Jagger?” I ask again, hesitant this time. “Hello?”
Still no response.
I shut and lock the door behind me. Jagger’s lack of response leaves me with a creepy feeling, like seeing something move in the dark when you’re sure you’re alone. I set my coffee and my Danish by the door and make my way down the hall to discover one of the downstairs hall doors has been left open. I part my lips and silently move toward it.
The door swings open with the slightest push. Behind it is a sitting room that’s as big as my old studio apartment in Jersey. I stand in the doorway, befuddled. I know all of the downstairs doors were locked. I tried each one. Am I going crazy? Did I not test the handle hard enough?
Who else is in this house besides me?
It’s disturbing. I glance over my shoulder, half expecting someone to be standing there. When I see no one, I shudder and shake my head. It’s not worth it to get worked up, is it? There’s bound to be a logical explanation for this. Houses don’t open doors of their own accord.
I step into the room to get a better look around. Love seats and arm chairs face each other around an ornate rug. There’s a fireplace, unlit, with a glass covering blocking it from the rest of the room. To the far side of the room are bookshelves filled with old books with worn spines. I move across the room to examine them. All of them are fiction. When I pull one down to check the inside, the edition date is from the 1800s. I put the book back delicately. Antiques like these may be precious, and I don’t want to damage them.
The house seems to be opening itself up to me, room by room like it’s one of Jagger’s stories. I don’t know what to make of it. Half of me believes that Jagger is going to appear behind me and sweep me into his arms, whisper a hot, “surprise” into my ear and kiss my neck behind my ear to welcome me into his home. But the other half says that something else is going on, something a lot more magical.
As I try to take it in, I’m charmed and I’m spooked at the same time. A well opens up in the pit of my stomach and my nerves all zing.
I shake my head. Whatever’s going on here, I’ll figure it out in time. The mysteries of this place will unravel to lay themselves out me eventually. Rationally, I know that it’s not worth me stressing myself out over what I can’t hope to explain. Inside something isn’t resolved and I’m nervous.
With a shiver, I leave the sitting room and close the door behind me. It latches. I try the handle again, just to see if it’s locked itself back up, but the door opens for me. It looks like the house has decided I’m worthy of one more room.
How bizarre.
I snag my coffee and Danish from the table by the door, then head upstairs and retreat into my suite. There are fresh fruits on the kitchen counter, artfully positioned in a ceramic bowl. They definitely weren’t there when I left for work this morning.
This place keeps getting stranger and stranger. I set my coffee and Danish on the counter, then go to check the fridge. It’s stocked with fresh vegetables and gorgeous cuts of meat. I’m in awe. It’s like I’ve checked out from New York to enter some other dimension. A dimension where simple girls from humble backgrounds are treated like princesses.
I’m not sure if it’s going to last, but the tingling in my chest makes me hope it does. And I don’t stop for a moment to think about all the questions that are multiplying in my head.
After a soak in bubble bath, I lie back on the canopy bed and call a number I’ve been dreading to dial. The phone rings and rings. Right as I’m about to give up on it, the call connects.
“Hello?” my stepfather sounds out of breath.
“Hi dad. It’s me. Alexa.” I’m already bracing myself for bad news. I don’t expect the money back, but even fools can dream. “Where are you right now?”
“Didn’t I tell you?” He didn’t. “I’m in Florida right now. It’s terrific. You should come down to stay with me.”
“In Florida?” I frown. “What are you doing there?”
“Real estate investment,” he explains. There’s such passion and urgency in his voice that I’m startled. “There are deals here that are just so fantastic. There’s so much to be done.”
“So does that mean you’ve made me a big profit on the money I let you borrow?”
There’s silence on the line, then my stepfather laughs. It’s the kind of laugh that lets me know he’s not planning on sending my money back in any hurry.
“It’s all pretty involved, sweetie,” he tells me as though I’m clueless about the simplest things in life. “Money like that gets tied up for a while. You’ll get it back. In fact, I’ll make sure you get it back plus a whole lot of interest.”
What he doesn’t tell me, but what I know is in the fine print, is when I’ll see my money. Five, ten years from now? He has no plan to make any immediate repayment. I’m on my own to make sure that my debt is taken care of and that I meet my monthly repayment minimums.
At least I don’t have to worry about rent. Repaying it will be easier now that I know I have a place to stay.
“You should come down here,” my stepfather continues. “The weather’s great, the people are beautiful, the houses are huge. There’s so much potential for you here. I can see you fitting in right away.”
“That’s nice of you, but I’m happy here.” I sit up slowly and look across the suite. Happy, but lonely. All that’s missing from my perfect life is my perfect man. “I’ve just moved in somewhere new and it’s gorgeous.”
“That’s great, sweetie.” He brushes off the news. I know that what I have to say doesn’t matter to him unless he can use it to his advantage, but I keep hoping he’ll change his ways. “Thank you for calling. Sounds like you might be busy unpacking if you just moved in, and I’ve got more than enough trouble down here to sort my way through. I’m going to let you go, okay?”
“Alright. Take care of yourself, dad. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Talk to you soon,” he says.
The call ends, leaving me unsatisfied. I toss my phone to the bed and sigh. It’s not like I was expecting anything more, but it still stings to know I’m only as important to him as the money I have to my name.
What would he think if he knew where I was living? If he knew who I was living with?
I don’t know how much money Jagger has, but if he can afford a Manhattan condo and a house in Brooklyn, there’s no way it isn’t a life changing sum. I would go in one step from being the ignored stepdaughter to his favorite child. But if that’s how I have to win his love, Helen can keep that title. I’m not interested.
I get up and get dressed. My hair is still damp, so I wrap it up in a towel turban and balance it atop my head as I make my way to the door. Before my hand touches the handle, I hesitate.
I’ve left my phone on the bed, and I don’t want to be away from it in case Jagger calls.
With a skip in my step, I return to the bedside, pocket my phone, and head downstairs.
What more surprises does this house have waiting for me?
Back downstairs, I turn the handle to the door across from the sitting room and feel the mechanism give, and my heart leaps into my throat. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be here or not. Jagger has already warned me about going through doors I’m not welcome to enter, but my curiosity gets the best of me.
I push the door and it swings open.
There’s a short hall behind it, windowless. The lights are on, and I can see three doors before the hallway turns to the left. The layout of this house is so peculiar. I’ve got serious Alice in Wonderland syndrome, except my Wonderland is based in wealth instead of built on the bizarre.
With a glance back over my shoulder, I enter through the doorway and follow the hall. The doors along the way are all locked. The hallway turns to the left and I follow it as far as it will take me. At the very end of the hallway is a door flanked by stained glass windows. I come to a stop a short distance from them and take in the artwork. It looks original.
Brightly colored blues, greens, and reds bring alive a simple pattern, but it takes me a minute to realize what I’m looking at. Roses sit at the junction where triangular sections of blue and green glass meet. Both windows are the same. They’re beautiful, and I’m sure when the sun hits them right it lights up the hallway in stunning pastel hues, but I wonder about the choice.
The door between the stained glass windows is unlocked.
My hand hesitates on the knob. Just like before, a sense of apprehension stops me. If I open this door, what will I find?
There’s only one way to find out.
The door opens inward, and I step back. Beyond the door is a deck and the overgrown backyard… except the backyard isn’t so overgrown anymore. I take a step forward in awe. I’ve seen the mess of brambles from above, and I know that they were so overgrown that the entire backyard was choked by them. What I see now doesn’t match what I remember.
The brambles are still there, but they’ve been pruned back several feet from the deck. I can see the deck stairs leading onto the yard and there’s a garden beyond where roses are in bloom. The sight is stunning in ways I can’t being to put into words, and I clasp my hands over my mouth as though I’m afraid I’ll make a noise.
I don’t know who or what is doing it, but the house is being tamed. What was once old and decrepit is now brought back to life. The food in my fridge, the restoration of the porch, and now the regression of the vines. I can’t believe my eyes.
How is Jagger managing all of this? Is Jagger managing all of this? I don’t know what to think, but I know what to feel. I haven’t felt this sense of wonder since I was a girl. I never want this feeling to go away.
I’m terrified and elated to think of what I might discover next.