Chapter 1
Willa
I HOPPED OFF the plane at JFK with a dream and my MacBook.
New York City. The place where dreams were made, and home to my literary idol: Kurt Remington.
I grabbed my bag from the carousel. This was it. I'd fit all my belongings into one suitcase and took my first ever plane ride from Missouri to New York.
I still couldn't believe I did it, even as the heat from passing cars passed me by while I stepped onto the sidewalk. I'd graduated from University of Missouri with a degree in journalism just days ago. When my classmates were all talking about their job offers and internships, I had nothing. Literally nothing. No job. No money. No clue what I was going to do.
So, on a whim, and a few too many gin and tonics, I opened my MacBook and searched Craigslist for apartment ads. Within minutes I was selling my car and wiring six month's rent, and a deposit, to a professor who was going on sabbatical in Africa.
There were cabs lined up all along the sidewalk. The only times I'd ever been in a cab were when I was coming home from the bars in my college town. It was nothing like the mass exodus of people pushing, shoving, and making their way into every open door, no matter who they knocked down in their way.
I pulled out the piece of paper that I tucked safely in the pocket of my pants. The place looked exactly like something out of a romantic comedy. As soon as I saw the brick brownstone in the ad, I knew it was the place for me. A two bedroom on 37th Street in Brooklyn for under two-grand seemed like a steal. At least from what the internet told me. I'd never actually been to New York and only knew what I Googled or read in books.
I finally made my way to a cab and climbed in the back, taking my suitcase with me.
The older man with a newsboy cap glanced at me in the rearview mirror "Where to, sweetheart?"
"3901 37th Street in Brooklyn, please."
He smiled and nodded, turning on the meter before pulling into traffic. "First time in the city?"
"Is it that obvious? Maybe I should try an accent out."
He laughed, glancing at me in the mirror. "No. The Midwestern accent is cute. It suits you."
"Midwesterners don't have accents."
"Whatever you say, sweetheart."
I stared out the window, looking up at all the large sky scrapers. I'd been to bigger cities like Chicago and St. Louis, but there was nothing like New York. There was a smell. It wasn't necessarily a bad smell, but different. The blend of cultures, smog, and maybe a little bit of urine. That I could have done without.
The cab pulled up to a large, industrial area. There was a furniture store, some Apple ads, and the driver stopped right outside of a gentleman's club. No. This couldn't be it. This wasn't the brownstone from the picture. Where was the park? The trees?
"This is the stop, sweetheart. That'll be $105.28."
I blinked, staring at the maroon awning with the drawing of a dancing woman on it. And did he just say it was going to be over one-hundred dollars? Seriously, I was going to need a job.
"Okay. Do you know where there would be an apartment around here? Maybe a brownstone? One that kind of looks urban chic?" I pressed, looking at the strip joint, then back down at my picture. There wasn't a single building around that looked like the one in the ad.
"Lady, I wish I could help you, but I got another call across town," the cab driver said.
Okay, I had to be wrong. Maybe it was just at the other end of all of these buildings. I pulled a few bills out of my wallet and handed them to the cab driver before slinging my bag over my shoulder and wheeling my suitcase behind me.
I pushed past the guys in skinny jeans and the girls with reusable grocery bags stuffed with flowers and fresh baked bread. I guessed there was a Farmer's Market somewhere. This could be a cool place to go and have right outside of my window. Maybe it would inspire the next big thriller. I could see it now, "Murder at the Market", a New York Times Bestseller. Then maybe I'd get a call from Kurt Remington, he'd call me a colleague and say he'd want to work with me as a future co-writer.
But before any of those dreams became a reality, I actually had to finish a book.
And find a place to write.
Like the place I was going to be living.
I'd walked around the perimeter of building and onto 37th Street. There was nothing around that looked like the picture.
I called the number on the Craigslist ad again, thinking it would change.
"The number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service. Please check the number and dial again."
No. This couldn't be happening. This wasn't real.
I stared at the picture and looked at the space. There was a furniture store across the street from the gentleman's club. No beautiful brownstone.
Okay, maybe he just flubbed the picture because it was a really bad apartment, or maybe I did make a mistake.
Maybe.
I walked inside of the furniture store where two men in gray polyester suits were chatting it up. They stopped once I approached. The shorter of the men spoke in a thick, eastern European accent. "Yes, how can I help you?"
"Excuse me, sorry to interrupt, but I'm looking for 3901 37th street?"
He nodded. "Yes. That's across the street. Are you a new hire?"
His eyes roamed my body and a sick feeling pitted in my stomach.
Okay, at least I didn't get the numbers wrong. "Um, is there an apartment for rent? Maybe above there? Or a brownstone that looks like this nearby?" I handed him the piece of paper.
He showed it to the other man, before they both shared a laugh and shook their heads. The guy handed the paper back to me between his giggles. "That looks like one of those prop houses from a movie set. There are a dozen of them on Google images. Did some man Catfish you and now instead of nookie you're stuck slumming it in our store?"
I tried to keep the tears at bay and bit my bottom lip. "Something like that."
I ran out of the store and down the street as fast as I could for at least a block before I stopped.
"Oh. My. God. I've been scammed."
I stared at the piece of paper then crumpled it. How could I have been so stupid? How did I let myself fall for this?
I was out thousands of dollars. I was in a city where I didn't know anyone and chasing some fictional dream that was never going to happen.
I tear slipped down my cheek as I dropped the crumpled paper to my feet. I couldn't cry. I had to figure out something.
"Hey, no littering, can't you read the signs?" An older man with a bow tie yelled as he walked past me, picking up the piece of paper and throwing it in a nearby recycling bin.
I wiped my tearstained cheek. "Sorry, just having a bad day."
He didn't even pause to say anything back. No one even looked at me. I turned toward the building and read a sign that was draped across an open door. "Brooklyn Winter Flea".
Slowly, I stepped inside and was assaulted by the smells of old wood and different baked goods. There were dozens, maybe hundreds, of vendors set up.
I scanned the crowd for something, anything. My eyes stopped on a booth a few feet from me. A jam stand. Luscious Leanna's Sweet Treats, ey? I guessed if I was in a jam, it couldn't hurt to eat some. It wasn't like I had anywhere else to be.
The lady standing behind the booth couldn't have been even thirty yet, with her brown hair pulled into a messy bun on her head. When she smiled it lit up her whole face and even though I didn't want to, I found myself smiling back at her.
"Hi, can I help you pick out the perfect jam?"
"Maybe you can help me find something. I literally have nothing." I sniffled, picking up the jar labeled 'Strawberry Apricot'.
She raised an eyebrow and glanced at my suitcase I was wheeling behind me. "Nothing?"
I didn't even know the tears were falling until I felt them run into my mouth. I wasn't a crier, but this day was supposed to be perfect. It was supposed to be the beginning of my new life and now it was the worst day of my entire life. "Well, first off, I just graduated from college a few days ago. All my friends have jobs in the real world and I have nothing? So what did I do? Drank too much gin, got on the computer, and was scammed into thinking I got a brownstone down the street, which was really just a strip club. I was supposed to come here to follow my dreams and be the next great suspense author like Kurt Remington, now I'm just another homeless twenty-one year old who is buying jam."
I handed her a five dollar bill and opened the jar, scooping out a big heap with my fingers. Okay, even though it was the worst day of my life, the jam was really freaking good. I hadn't eaten anything all day, and now I was realizing how hungry I was while I scooped bite after luscious bite into my mouth.
"How about some sunflower bread to go with that jam? On the house," the woman said, handing me a loaf.
I shook my head, but she ended up shoving the bread in my hand before I could object. It smelled too wonderful to say 'no' anyway and I had no idea where my next meal was coming from. Or if I had a place to sleep.
"So...you just got here? Is there anyone you know that you could stay with? Someone to help you out?"
I broke off a hunk of bread and stuffed it in my mouth, trying not to let another sob escape. "No one."
"And you're a writer?"
I snorted. "More like wannabe. You have to finish something to be considered a writer." I sighed and swallowed my bread. "I'm sorry. I'm a hot mess and just crying all over your baked goods that no one is going to want. I should probably let you go and find a cafe with free internet, so I can find a place to stay that isn't a scam."
I turned to grab my suitcase, but the woman was quicker and grabbed my wrist. "Why don't you stay here a bit longer? The market is almost over and I could use some company. You can sit and keep Pepper company as well."
"Pepper?"
She nodded below the table to a small, white dog that was whimpering and looking up at me, wagging his whole body.
I bent down, petting the little dog who happily rolled onto his stomach and wagged his tail.
"He likes you and Pepper's a good judge of character."
I smiled for what seemed like the first time in forever. "I like dogs. If a dog doesn't like someone, I immediately don't' trust that person."
The woman bent down next to me and stuck her hand out. "I'm Leanna, by the way, and this is my jam stand."
I shook her hand and chided myself for being so rude. "Oh, wow. Leanna, your jam is amazing. Sorry for becoming a blubbering mess all over it. I'm Willa. Willa Stowe."
She smiled warmly. "Well, Willa Stowe, I'm actually going to be packing up my van for the summer. Pepper and I usually spend our summers at the Cape, but this market has been really good to me. So, if you'd be willing, I'd love to have you run this stand for me while I'm gone and maybe make a few deliveries in the area.
I blinked rapidly. "You're hiring me just like that? Ma'am you don't even know me from Eve."
She scratched behind Pepper's ears. "I know that you're a writer, that you love dogs, and my jam. That's all I need to know."
Leanna stopped scratching Pepper's ears and stood up. "Oh, I also know that you need a place to live! Hold on!"
She turned to her left and cupped her hands around her mouth like a megaphone. "Hey, Natacha!"
A woman with caramel colored skin and a large afro, wearing a shirt with a dog eating cheesecake, turned away from the stand next to Leanna's. "Yeah, boo?"
"Do you still have that studio available for rent above your bakery in Williamsburg?" Leanna yelled.
There were a few people in front of the woman's tent looking at various mason jars filled with delicious-looking concoctions, but she ignored them to walk over to Leanna. "Who is asking? You and the man having troubles, and you need a place to stay?"
Leanna smiled, shaking her head as she dropped her hands. "No, not for me, but for my new employee, Willa."
Natacha gave me the once over, putting her hands on her hips. "Does this girl think she can hack it in Brooklyn? She looks a little too prim and proper for the hipsters."
I bit my lip, twirling my hair. I didn't think I looked that proper. I may have been wearing my best button-down blouse and dress pants that I got on sale at The Limited, but that was because I thought that's how people dressed in the city. Apparently I was wrong, since Leanna was in short shorts and a tank top and Natacha was in a tutu.
"Oh, come on, Natacha, you know she could always help you in the bakery too if you need extra help. This woman knows good jam! Come on, help her out. She just got here and has already been scammed out of an apartment," Leanna said with a wink in my direction.
"Is that all true?" Natacha asked, raising her eyebrows.
I nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
Natacha sighed. "Fine, but you will work off your rent in the bakery and if you complain about the smell of my husband's cooking, you're out!"
I smiled, trying to keep the now happy tears at bay. I didn't know when I'd be able to write between two jobs, but at least this was something. I had a place to live, though it wasn't a brownstone, and two jobs. Now my new life really could begin.
***
Leanna had her stand taken down and her van loaded within about fifteen minutes. I doubted I'd ever be as fast as her, especially with Pepper bouncing at my feet, begging for me to pet him every two seconds. And, of course, I couldn't resist petting him every time.
I walked over to the passenger side of the van. It was an old VW bus decorated with colorful art work that looked to be hand painted. "This is a pretty awesome paint job."
"Thanks. I'd let you use it for deliveries, but I need it at the Cape. I should have asked, do you have transportation?" She chewed her lip, looking at my suitcase. "I guess I should know the answer to that."
I waved my hand. "Don't worry, I'll figure something out. If I need to, I'll carry it by hand."
Leanna shook her head. "Nonsense. I think I have an extra bike with a basket and carrier on the back. You can use that."
"A bike? I don't think I've rode a bike since I had training wheels."
She smiled. "Well, isn't there a saying about that? Something about never forgetting how to ride a bike?"
I shrugged. "I guess."
She put her hand on mine after she closed the back of the van. "Don't worry so much, okay? Things will turn out. Sometimes you have to just take life as it comes and roll with it. Let the tide carry you."
I didn't know what any of that meant. I'd never been to the ocean and only had seen it outside of the window on the airplane. But I just nodded. There was something I really liked about her free spirit, and I wished I could be more like her. She was so trusting. So friendly. Everything I wasn't. The most spontaneous thing I'd ever done was this trip to New York and I was really hoping it would be worth all the trouble.
I couldn't help but stare out the window at my surroundings as we crossed the different boroughs. Williamsburg was full of younger kids on bikes, older gentlemen on street corners with vendor carts, and people of all different races and religions standing beside one another at bus stops. I swore I saw a woman in a hjab next to an indie rock kid with an acoustic guitar slung on his back.
Leanna pulled the van in front of a three story brick building that had a simple pink sign outside with a picture of lips on it. She parked right in front of the open door and as soon as I stepped out of the van, the smell of fresh cream and berries wafted out onto the street.
Natacha came out of the bakery with her hands on her hips, tossing her bouncy hair over her shoulder. "You two took forever. I was starting to think Blondie chickened out."
Leanna shook her head, bouncing out of the car. "Sorry, traffic."
"A likely story," Natacha said, her face stern, but a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. "Are you ready to become a New Yorker, Willa?"
I shrugged. "Ready as I'll ever be."
I helped Leanna unload a few crates of jam into the bakery, for Natacha to use in her famous cheesecakes in a jar. She shipped them all over the country and I was dying for a taste. But first, we had to walk up a few flights of stairs to my apartment.
Natacha pulled a big key ring out of her pocket that looked like something a janitor would carry. She shook them awhile before she pulled out a skeleton key and used it on the old wooden door, pushing it hard before it opened.
I was almost blinded.
Not just by the large windows that faced onto the street, without curtains, but the fact that the walls were painted a bright, sunshine yellow.
"Sorry, the previous owner was a bit of an eccentric. She liked things bright, but wasn't too bright herself. Probably why she constantly forgot to pay her rent and I booted her a few weeks ago," Natacha said, pushing her way through the door.
I glanced around the small apartment. There was one big yellow room, and by big I mean probably twelve feet in each direction, with a small kitchen to the right and a door alongside it. The only bit of furniture was a cock-eyed lamp in one corner and a beige couch that looked like it could have been white at one time, but was bleached by the sun.
It wasn't the grand brownstone that I put the money down toward. It didn't have the fancy fireplace or wood floors. I wasn't sure what material the shiny floors were. But it was something. A place to stay.
"I, um, don't have much money to pay for this right now. The whole being-scammed-out-of-money thing screwed my bank account royally. I promise I'll work it off with jam delivery and cheesecake baking. I promise!" I begged, hoping she wouldn't kick me out.
Natacha stared out the window then looked at me, putting her hands on her hips. "I think we can work with that. Now where is the rest of your stuff? Do you have a moving van coming that I should know about?"
I bit down on my bottom lip. "Um...no...I thought I was getting a furnished place so I got rid of my old college furniture. But this is okay. I can sleep on this couch. It'll be fine."
I plopped down on the couch for good measure and a cloud of dust wafted in the air, followed by a smell that was a mixture of mildew and cat piss.
Natacha stared at me with her eyes wide and opened her mouth to say something, but Leanna pushed in front of her with Pepper in her arms. "Oh, sorry, I wish I could let you sit a moment, but I just got a call and completely forgot that I have a delivery at FO winery on 8th Street. Do you think you'd be able to make it for me? I have to get Pepper home. I promise I'll be back later and we can talk jam details."
"Um...okay...but I don't have a car or anything."
Leanna waved her hand. "I'll get my bike out of the back of the van for you and help you load the jam. It's only a few crates, but I guess there is some kind of event there tonight and he needs it now. You don't mind do you?"
I thought on it. I wanted nothing more than to crash and sleep away this day. But if I was going to make it in New York, I had to work. Maybe a winery would also give me some inspiration for writing.
"Sure, do you mind if I change first? I'm kind of a sweaty mess."
Leanna smiled. "No problem. I'll meet you downstairs."