Husband Material

Chapter Three

Lina

Tell me now if that was for me, Lord. I don't need a burning bush, but maybe candle, or a little car backfiring to show that you sent him for me, or am I pining too hard for a sign of something that wasn't truly intended to happen?

My eyes scan the parking lot, unable to discern anything other than the fact I haven't turned my car on yet, and it's freezing in here. Reaching to put the keys in the ignition, my teeth begin to chatter.

That tall, dark-haired, chiseled man couldn't possibly be for me and if he is, there's probably something wrong with him anyway. There always is when I have hope. That hope is always crushed by some type of baggage or mess a man has that I want no part of.

Excitement fades quickly. The ride home is a lot bleaker than the ride to Lowes. I keep mulling over the connection between me and Lennox, and I don't know if I'll be able to stop.

What I thought was an inconsiderate jerk, is actually a man who's quite charming. A man I might be interested, no, I am interested in getting to know more.

Ugh! I wish Kyrie was here. She'd come over and we would have a quick friend therapy sesh where I would gush about a man, and she'd be blatant about whether he was a blessing or a lesson. There have been too many lessons, if you know what I mean.

I snap out of my contemplation when I arrive at my apartment. It's an old white building with a few damaged side panels. The roof probably needs a little bit of repair, and the inside is outdated and drafty, but I find that my upstairs apartment has character.\

Stashing my phone in my pocket, I scoop up the showerhead, turn off the ignition and make my way toward the first door that lets me into the stairway.

The front door is vast, thick with a small pane of stained glass at the top. The stairs are steep, groaning as I climb up them with my new showerhead in hand. At the top of the steps, I twist the knob, holding my breath momentarily when I hear the downstairs neighbor slurring a Christmas song after having too much to drink, I'm sure.

I guess it's better than the inappropriate, flirtatious remarks he makes toward me on any other given day. I'll take a drunken Christmas Carol over that any day.

A shiver rolls down my spine as I push open my front door. I have to get the landlord to change the doorknob since this one does not lock, only the downstairs door does, and I prefer two barriers between me and an opportunistic home invader.

It's almost four pm, I note on the oven clock as I move through the kitchen toward the living room. The apartment is quaint and open concept. I don't mind not having a lot of space, because it's just me.

Setting down the showerhead on the counter, I slide off my leather jacket, sighing at the comforting warmth that surrounds me now that I'm in a place with some consistent heat. I don't plan on leaving.

What to make for dinner...

I rub my hands together, moving to the fridge with furrowed brows. Contemplation doesn't last long. Not when text notifications start firing off like rounds at a shooting range.

"What now," I grumble and pull my phone out of my pocket.

There are a string of texts from my coworker, Tatum. By the looks of it, my evening may not be as relaxing as I had hoped. Not with the amount of insistence that are in her words.

Tatum: Lina!

Tatum: What are you doing for dinner?

Tatum: You should come over! I made a delicious new recipe, Lasagna soup, and I have too much and I'm lonely and I could def use the company!