320. This is right. So why are there twenty packages lying in front of the door? Is Lyndi some kind of online shopaholic? Maybe I should have asked some deeper questions before jumping into our fake relationship.
I knock hesitantly, not quite sure what I’ll be welcomed into.
Lyndi opens the door, her red hair spilling haphazardly out of the bun on top of her head and one strap of her tank top falling halfway off her shoulder. I know she’s not trying to look so effortlessly beautiful, but dang it, she is.
I swallow, then bend over and pick up an armful of packages. “You got mail,” I say.
“There’s more?” Her shoulders sag, and she opens the door further to reveal an apartment cluttered with cardboard boxes and packaging.
“Whoa.” There’s barely room to walk in here. I step around one box, only to squish an inordinate amount of bubble wrap. The popping doesn’t stop until I’m halfway into the room.
“It’s not my fault.” She hurries to gather trash in her arms, not even making a dent in the mess. “They just keep coming, and they won’t stop.”
“You mean you didn’t order this?” That would be the only reason someone might not want mail. Even I get a little excited when the Amazon truck shows up. Not as excited as Caleb though. He practically chases the mailman down like a golden retriever.
She bites her fingernail. “Not really.”
I raise my eyebrows, dropping the packages on the only clean spot left in the room, which is approximately seven square inches on the table, then go back out for the rest.
“Mommy, what did you get me now?” Crew comes running in, wearing a full Spider-Man costume, and it’s legit.
“Honey, I didn’t—” But Crew doesn’t listen. He grabs a package and rips into it. It takes him an impressive three seconds to get through the wrapping and then the contents come spilling out.
I’m not sure which is redder: Lyndi’s face or the lingerie.
The very lacy and very provocative lingerie.
“You got me a bra!” Crew yells and holds it up to his chest happily.
I cover my laugh just in time. I love this kid.
Lyndi makes a strangled sound. “That is not your bra! It’s not my bra! It’s not anyone’s bra!” She snatches the piece of lingerie from Crew and disappears down the hall. She’s clearly overwhelmed, and I don’t want to be part of the problem.
“Crew, my man.” I crouch in front of him. “Do you want to help me fix the toilet?” I ask, hoping he’s still at the age where he thinks anything is cool.
“Yeah!” he agrees. I take him out to my truck and hand him a small bag, but he refuses to carry anything more than a single hammer. I only have to stop him five times from trying to smash bugs with it.
Lyndi is back in the living room when we return.
“Did you get the situation under control?” I ask.
She glares at me, but her glare carries as much bite as a kitten. “All of that stupid stuff just began showing up on the doorstep because of that video.”
My eyebrows scrunch together and I bite the inside of my cheek. “It seems to remind me of a little thing called… What was it? Karma?”
Her lips twitch and she loses the war with her smile. I’ve won because I get to see it.
“Yeah, yeah. The bathroom is in there.” She waves her hand in the only direction said bathroom could be and sets to work cleaning the mess. After five minutes, Crew tires of me not “smashing anything” with the hammer and goes to play in the living room.
Another ten minutes and two YouTube videos later, I think I’ve determined what the problem is, but I don’t have what I need.
I walk out of the bathroom to find Crew has built a fort with boxes that spans the entire living room, and Lyndi is looking aimlessly through the kitchen cupboards.
“I need to run to the store real quick,” I say.
“Okay.” She nods, barely returning my gaze. This is much different than the girl who came to the fire station yesterday.
“I’ll be right back.” With dinner, I add to myself. If anything can put her in a better mood, it’s food.
