Chapter Text
“No mom- I-yeah I can’t believe it either, but-” her mother interrupted over the phone… once again. She was barely listening at that point. Her mom had called as she was leaving the grocery store and didn’t let her get a single word in on the entire walk home.
“Can I call you later? I have all my groceries and I just got to my door. I need to get them inside-” but of course she kept talking. There was new family drama that she just HAD to know about. Some distant cousin that she had met maybe once in her life was getting a divorce. Gasp. It was the scandal of the century, according to her busybody mother. She loved her mom, truly, but no information is ever safe with that woman.
Her mother kept talking while she struggled to reach into her purse and grab the keys. How do they always manage to sink to the very bottom of the bag every time? Just when she found them, a true feat with four full grocery bags on each arm, her left arm suddenly felt alarmingly lighter.
“Shit. Mom, I have to go,” she cursed and hit the end call button while her mom was still mid-tangent. One of the bags had ripped open, and the hallway was now a Jackson Pollock painting of fruits and vegetables.
“Great,” she sighed and put all the other bags down next to her door. The bottom had fallen out of the ruined bag completely, it was a lost cause. Plan B, then. She shrugged off her sweatshirt and tied the arms around her waist, keeping the larger part in front of her body. It was time to go veggie picking.
Starting at her door, she worked her way down the hallway, grabbing apples and cucumbers and shoving them into the newly designed sweatshirt basket around her waist. She was almost done when the door at the end of the hall opened. She called a quick warning, since the tomatoes had chosen to stop their escape directly in front of his doorstep, but it was too late.
“What the f-” he mumbled gruffly. She winced at her now crushed fruit, smeared against his black boots and all over the carpet. He had one shoe in the air, looking angrily down at the mess. What a great way to meet her new neighbor.
“I am so sorry!” She called from her spot two doors down. She was squatting on the floor, still sporting the awkward fruit basket. Boy, was this an awful time to find out her neighbor was hot. Like really hot. “My bag ripped, and I was just coming over to grab those. I’ll clean up the mess once I'm done getting everything else.”
He looked over at her sharply, placing his foot back on the ground but avoiding the mess this time. He gave her a slow look, taking in the bird's nest that she called a bun on top of her head, as well as the ripped jeans and the unfortunate Powerpuff Girls crop top she had found at the top of her suitcase. He seemed less than impressed. Awesome first impression, Bailey. Self high five.
“I can see that.” He nodded. He was almost as tall as his door frame and just as wide. The brown leather jacket he wore hugged his frame perfectly, and the white wisp of hair in front of his black locks was beautiful. If she were Jackson Pollock, then he was Michelangelo.
“Here, let me just-” she tried to stand, but all of the fruit in her hands decided to choose that moment to escape back onto the floor. She sighed and sat back down in defeat. “I'm Bailey by the way, just moved into 4B. I promise I'm not usually this much of a hot mess.”
“For some reason, I doubt that.” He laughed, taking in the scene in front of him one more time before turning back into his apartment and shutting the door.
Well, that was rude. She hadn’t made the best first impression, sure, but just leaving without even introducing himself is just not-oh.
His door opened again, but this time he was wearing different, equally nice, black combat boots. He also had a bag in his hand. Did he get her a bag?
“Here, I think you might need this.” He smirked, grabbing a few oranges from near his feet and sticking them in the reusable tote bag. “I’m Jason.”
Jason. She repeated it in her head a few times. She tried her best, but she had a bad habit of forgetting someone's name immediately if she didn’t practice it a few times. It suited him, though. It was a tough name, strong and handsome, like him.
“Oh, thanks,” she smiled, quickly schooling her features, and started to gather the fruit back into her makeshift basket. Quickly walking over, she dumped the haul into his bag and took it out of his hands. It seemed like it would hold much better than those cheap brown paper bags they made her pay $.10 for at the store. “You're a lifesaver.”
He smiled and grabbed the last couple of carrots from the floor, tossing them in the bag from where he stood a few feet away. He was surprisingly accurate, nothing but net.. Or, well, bag. She made a mental note to buy some of the bags the next time she went to the grocery store. They were much easier to carry than the ones she already had.
“Sorry again about your shoes, I can clean them if you want. It's not your fault you were wrongfully attacked by a tomato while leaving your apartment.” He laughed but shook his head, no.
“Trust me, those shoes have seen worse. It’ll be fine.” He stood next to her, hands in his pockets. He seemed relaxed, but his eyes were alert. He seemed like he was always on guard, even if he wanted her to think he was relaxed. She was sure he clocked the rest of her groceries sitting outside her door, as well as the phone and purse that she abandoned halfway through her produce scavenger hunt. Interesting.
“Still,” she started, tuning back into the conversation. “I'd be happy to help. I’ll make sure to get whatever's left on the floor too. I really appreciate you taking the time to help me pick everything up.”
“Were you headed somewhere?” she continued. Was she rambling? Maybe. Did that happen when she got nervous? Also maybe. “Let me make you a coffee for your troubles, I made you do physical labor within two minutes of knowing you.”
She gestured toward her apartment, knowing full well that she hadn’t had time to even set up her coffee maker, let alone know where her mugs were packed. They were all still sitting inside a box somewhere, but she was nothing if not polite. Mrs. Bea taught her to always mind her manners with new people, and years of customer service had her acting on instinct.
“I’ll have to take a rain check,” he replied smoothly, shutting the idea down almost instantly. Oof, that stung. “I’m headed to a family meeting, and as much as I’d like to skip it, it would be a bigger headache if I wasn't there.”
“Oh, ok,” she backtracked, the sting of a quick rejection making her cheeks heat. “No worries. Another time for sure. I still need to unpack anyway.”
He gave her a small smile, nodding in understanding.
“I’ll see you around, Bubbles,” he called, already turning and walking towards the staircase. Wait, what did he call her?
“My name is Bailey!” she called, huffing a bit that he forgot already. First, he rejects her, now he can't remember her name? Ouch.
He laughed, turning to face her again. His smile was mischievous, different than any she had seen in her short time knowing him, but it looked natural. Like it was a look he wore often.
“I know,” he called, sparing a glance down at her shirt before turning again, the smirk still plastered across his face. She looked down in confusion. Did he just check her out?
Oh. Her cheeks flamed again. Her Powerpuff Girls shirt. Well, its guess it's a better nickname than veggie girl. Hallway disaster? Hot mess express?
Whatever, she’ll take it.