Bella

I feel like Hurricane Logan blew all the bad things away. I have a truck, a prepaid cell phone, and now I have an apartment. A few days after my birthday, I found something. It isn’t much better than living in the trailer with my mom, status wise—it’s still in the low rent district and comes complete with blue and flashing lights as someone gets hauled off to jail for a domestic dispute—but it didn’t cost much to move into and they don’t run background checks, hence the flashing lights. It’s three hundred a month and no deposit. I keep it clean and can at least put food in my fridge without fear of it being gone before I get home from work.

With a little of the five hundred I had left in my panty account, I bought a few items from the discount store: a futon that doubles as my bed, cute breakfast table, and a tv. I buy bananas and leave them on the counter just because I haven’t ever lived in a house that does stuff like that and it feels like I’m a little more grown up if there’s something other than microwave dinners in my place. And I have real glasses that match my plates. It really is the little things.

The biggest problem in my place is that it’s too quiet after I go to bed. There’s no more feet stomping or people talking loud behind the walls. There’s just the ramblings of my mind and Evan. Lots of Evan. He seemed slightly concerned about my location when he helped me move in. ‘That says I can’t be here,’ he said, pointing to a metal sign screwed into the wall outside the building that read Gun Free Zone. ‘I’m pretty sure that’s the least accurate sign in all of Lake County.’ I’ve been here a week, and he’s been by every night. Not that I’m complaining.

Someone knocks, and I peek through the blinds to see a large delivery truck out front. A burly man with disheveled blonde hair shoves a clipboard in my face when I open the door. “Sign here, please.” He wipes sweat from his tall forehead with a limp rag in his hand. “What’s this?” I ask, causing him to sigh with irritation.

“I’m clearly the President of the United States here to award you a medal of honor,” he huffs. “Why don’t people ever remember ordering things?”

I shove it back at him. “I didn’t order anything, so maybe you could be a little nicer and just tell me what it is, hmm?”

“You’re Bella Hattie?” I nod, confused, and continues, “Evan Lacuna is the purchaser.”

Two large men resembling linebackers lug some type of furniture toward the door. I sign and let them in. They ask where the bedroom is, and I lead them down the short hallway. When they unwrap beautiful cream-colored wood from the heavy plastic, revealing a bed and frame so high and plush, beyond anything I’ve ever slept in or thought I ever would, I’m overwhelmed by the sweetness of what he did.

It’s a bed made for a queen, complete with pillowy, down-filled comforter and sheets so soft that I can’t help but roll across giggling like a child after they leave. Everything is so luxurious, much too luxurious for this drab room. And I really shouldn’t be enjoying something I can’t afford to repay.

I slide off the bed and grab my phone.

Can you come over? I text. This isn’t something I feel I can show my appreciation in a simple eight letter thank you message or a phone call. I want to thank him in person.

Everything ok? he answers back.

Yes, I reply.

He says he’ll be by in ten minutes and I quickly straighten the bed before stepping outside, because I can’t even wait for him to come in my apartment before I thank him. That’s how much it means to me. When he pulls into a spot, I hustle over to his truck and get inside.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

I hold up a finger. “You shouldn’t have. But thank you. I love it. It’s probably one of the most thoughtful gifts I’ve ever received.” My earnest reflection stares back at me from his mirrored shades. I reach out and take them off, because I need to see his eyes. “I won’t say I can’t accept it, because that would spit on the thought you put into it.” I blink back the tears.

“Bella,” he says softly, “it’s just a bed.”

“No,” I answer, “it’s really not. It’s a cloud... where I can live by the sun and love by the moon.”

He closes his eyes briefly, then opens them to grace my cheek with his fingers as he swipes away a rogue tear. “Please don’t start crying.” Shep swoops his head through the opening in between our seats and licks my face. I pull back, but it makes me laugh. “He doesn’t want you to cry either.” Evan smiles, pushing Shep’s fluffy face back a little while he scratches him under the chin. “He’s a very sensitive boy.”

I laugh. “I pray you’re not one of those people who baby talks to your animals.”

“I have to. It’s part of his training. He reacts to two things, primarily: energy and commands. If I’m pissed off, he’s pissed off. If I’m happy, he’s happy. If I’m talking to you in a very loud and unappealing way, he’s going to be alert. But if I talk to you soft and kind he knows that we’re friendly. And if you start crying, he’s just all kinds of confused, because he doesn’t hang around with too many girls that cry.”

“Not too many, huh?” I tease.

He grins and then softens up a bit. “And if I like you, he likes you. Because that’s how packs are.”

“I’m part of your pack now?”

“Mhm. So, you better toughen up a bit. We don’t let just anyone in.”

“Me neither,” I whisper. And I don’t know how this guy has managed to infiltrate through every pore in my skin in just a few months. “I can’t repay you for the bed. But I can give you something that means the world to me.” I reach in my pocket and pull out the lover’s card from his reading. “I want you to have this, because…” I laugh a little, “well, it’s the best card you drew.”

“Not the white knight?”

“I may have fibbed that night. That was actually the…” I don’t even want to say it. It’s not that I believe in the cards, but I don’t want to spread bad karma around either.

“What?” he asks.

“It was the death card.”

He doesn’t look a bit phased by my words. In fact, he looks amused. “Well, thank you for this.” He slides it into the pocket of his uniform. The pocket right over his heart. And I can’t help but wish that one might come true.