Whiskey and Wine

Chapter Eleven: The Grind

When my alarm blares, hitting the snooze button is wishful thinking. I have shit to do.

The grind is never ending.

Somehow, I have to get transport for the three of us and I have to do it fast. I have two and a half hours to work out the logistics.

It sounds easy but the execution is much harder.

It has to be cost affordable. Steph's old enough to catch the bus, awkward as the situation may be, but I can't send Maisie off in a vehicle all alone. Wherever she goes, I have to be there too. Then I have to make it across the city to my own classes.

So, there isn't a single way of this panning out in which I'll reach my own class on time, so I'll have to take one for the team.

In conclusion, I have a problem on the side of my breakfast. It sits with me like the sugar at the bottom of my coffee.

I can't call my Grampa. That old geezer has no business being on the road. I've been in the car with the guy before—never again. Yeah, maybe some old people drive appropriately, but my Grampa isn't one of them. With his eyesight giving up on him, moving at the speed of a turtle doesn't make much difference. A crash is a crash, speed be damned.

I can't call Josh. His work times don't agree with the school times, which leaves his fiancée- my best friend- as the only option. But the problem here is Riona's timings. She could very well be at work already. Her work times are unpredictable.

It's worth a chance. I'm running out of options.

I head over to grab my phone but a knocking at the door stops me.

It's irrational— but I've seen my fair few lots of movies. I don't have any friends and no one in their right mind would be knocking at this time. I grab a pan from overhead and arm myself, slowly heading over to the door.

I snatch the door open in a quick motion, ready to hit, only to groan.

"You've got to be shitting me."

"Morning to you too angel. Not a morning person, I see, though I'd have known that if you stayed the morning after."

"Someone's been drinking their shady juice. And clearly, you don't understand the rules of a one-night stand." Coughing, I drop the pan down onto a nearby coffee table. "Why are you here? You do realise what time it is, right?"

Another business proposition? He's not really in the attire.

He's dressed like he was the night I met him, with a nice tight pair of jeans and a dress shirt. He's got it all except the blazer.

His clothes alone probably come to more than my entire kitchen.

"Can I come in first?"

It's still dark out, and I can tell from the wafting of air against my toes that it's cold. Sighing, I take a step back. He squeezes through, making a beeline for my kettle.

"So... what are you doing here?"

"Your car's going to be in the garage until tonight. It needs some new parts. Tonight's the earliest they can have it done." I lift my hands to my eyes, rubbing them aggressively. Screwed. "But I told you I'd take care of this, so don't panic." He guides my hands back down to my sides. "I've got this sorted for you."

"Sorted how?"

"I'm going to drop you all off."

"You?" I can't help being sceptical, even if that means sounding rude. I'm allowed to be rude to him, all things considered. The man is trying to make me homeless.