Suddenly, Lyman heard footsteps echoing nearby.
A hopeful smile broke out on his face. He tossed his cigarette aside, crushed it underfoot, and turned eagerly toward the sound.
He knew Effie hated his smoking. Ever since they’d been together, he’d barely touched a cigarette—only today, with his mood in shambles, did he give in.
If Effie showed up and got upset, he’d just apologize, sincerely this time.
The footsteps grew louder, closer.
Lyman waited, anticipation lighting up his features. But as the figure came into view, his smile froze.
It wasn’t Effie.
A young woman, maybe in her early twenties, spotted Lyman and stopped in her tracks. Something like awe flickered in her eyes; then, blushing furiously, she bolted past him.
He caught the faintest whisper as she hurried by: “Wow… what a hottie.”
She clearly wanted to sneak another look, but Lyman’s quiet intensity made her think better of it, and she scampered away.
Before he could shake off the awkwardness, another set of footsteps approached.
This time, Lyman didn’t let himself hope. He kept his gaze steady, bracing for another disappointment.
But then, a familiar silhouette appeared at the end of the corridor.
He blinked in surprise, then a slow, lopsided grin tugged at his lips. He started toward Effie.
But she was limping, every step careful and slow.
“Come help me, will you? I twisted my ankle,” Effie called out, her voice weak.
Alarmed, Lyman closed the distance in a heartbeat and scooped her into his arms. “Too eager to see me?” he teased. “Is that what happened?”
Nita’s budget was tight, so she’d rented a walk-up apartment—no elevator, just endless stairs.
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