Into The Flames (Firehouse Fourteen Book 4) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Lisa B. Kamps
were.
Melanie flipped through the key ring, frowning as she counted each key. Two keys to her car, a key to the small storage space she rented, a key to her parents' house. That was it, just four of them.
Where were the keys to her apartment? Two were missing: one for the main entrance door, and one to the actual apartment door. She kept them on their own tiny ring, which attached to the main ring. They should be there. Think. She needed to think.
She just had them yesterday, when she took them to have copies made so she could give a spare set to her mom to replace the ones she lost. She'd come home from the mega hardware store, used them to unlock both doors and placed them—
Oh sweets.
Melanie's shoulders slumped in defeat. How could she have been so forgetful? So spacey? She knew exactly where they were: on the small table right by her front door, probably on top of the tiny envelope holding the spare keys she just had made.
How could she not have put them back on her keyring? Yes, she had been distracted. She was always distracted right before she took her work to Anna's. But so distracted she actually forgot her keys?
This was his fault. It had to be. She wasn't sure why, only knew she had been completely out of sorts ever since she met her neighbor. So of course it was his fault. She was never out of sorts. Never. At least, not like this, not like she had been.
First that odd, tortured painting that Anna absolutely loved, and now this.
Melanie wished she had never lost her temper and gone next door that day last week. If she had just ignored him, just ignored the barbaric pounding on her walls like she had for the last three months, none of this would be happening.
She wished she had never met him!
The breeze kicked up with a small gust of chilled air, causing her to shiver. She hadn't bothered with a coat this morning, thinking the bulky sweater she had on would be warm enough. It wasn't as cold as it had been last week, the weather finally easing toward Spring. Maybe. Not that it had mattered this morning, because she knew she wasn't going to be outside at all.
Except now she was, and a chill went through her in spite of the sweater. She was stuck. She couldn't even call her mom to bring the spare keys because her mom's spare keys were sitting on that same little table with her own. Melanie could probably hit the buzzer for sweet Mrs. Lillian's apartment. Mrs. Lillian would let her in, and that would at least get her inside.
But she'd still be stuck, with no way to get into her apartment. She'd have to call maintenance and there was no telling how long that would take. And Melanie didn't really feel like sitting on the chilly concrete steps, waiting. Of course, if Mrs. Lillian let her in, she'd probably insist on Melanie coming in for a visit. She'd ply her with weak tea and show her the newest pictures of her grandkids while relating their latest escapades. Melanie would listen and smile and comment, all while she fended off the unwelcome attention of Little Bits, Mrs. Lillian's ankle-biting Chihuahua.
The complex was supposed to be animal-free, but nobody complained about Little Bits. He was such a tiny thing, there really wasn't anything to complain about. And normally Melanie enjoyed spending time with Mrs. Lillian. She was so sweet and friendly. But she talked. A lot. Non-stop. And Melanie just wasn't in the mood, not today.
All she wanted was to curl up on her small loveseat and listen to the strains of La Bohèm e while she sipped a nice glass of Merlot. And pouted and pondered and brooded.
But first she had to get inside, and she didn't know how she was going to do that without her keys.
She stepped off the small front porch and looked up at her balcony. She only lived on the second floor, and the balcony actually had two doors leading into her apartment: the glass sliders, and the door leading from the kitchen. That was one of the reasons she chose this apartment in Cockeysville. Not that she
Melanie flipped through the key ring, frowning as she counted each key. Two keys to her car, a key to the small storage space she rented, a key to her parents' house. That was it, just four of them.
Where were the keys to her apartment? Two were missing: one for the main entrance door, and one to the actual apartment door. She kept them on their own tiny ring, which attached to the main ring. They should be there. Think. She needed to think.
She just had them yesterday, when she took them to have copies made so she could give a spare set to her mom to replace the ones she lost. She'd come home from the mega hardware store, used them to unlock both doors and placed them—
Oh sweets.
Melanie's shoulders slumped in defeat. How could she have been so forgetful? So spacey? She knew exactly where they were: on the small table right by her front door, probably on top of the tiny envelope holding the spare keys she just had made.
How could she not have put them back on her keyring? Yes, she had been distracted. She was always distracted right before she took her work to Anna's. But so distracted she actually forgot her keys?
This was his fault. It had to be. She wasn't sure why, only knew she had been completely out of sorts ever since she met her neighbor. So of course it was his fault. She was never out of sorts. Never. At least, not like this, not like she had been.
First that odd, tortured painting that Anna absolutely loved, and now this.
Melanie wished she had never lost her temper and gone next door that day last week. If she had just ignored him, just ignored the barbaric pounding on her walls like she had for the last three months, none of this would be happening.
She wished she had never met him!
The breeze kicked up with a small gust of chilled air, causing her to shiver. She hadn't bothered with a coat this morning, thinking the bulky sweater she had on would be warm enough. It wasn't as cold as it had been last week, the weather finally easing toward Spring. Maybe. Not that it had mattered this morning, because she knew she wasn't going to be outside at all.
Except now she was, and a chill went through her in spite of the sweater. She was stuck. She couldn't even call her mom to bring the spare keys because her mom's spare keys were sitting on that same little table with her own. Melanie could probably hit the buzzer for sweet Mrs. Lillian's apartment. Mrs. Lillian would let her in, and that would at least get her inside.
But she'd still be stuck, with no way to get into her apartment. She'd have to call maintenance and there was no telling how long that would take. And Melanie didn't really feel like sitting on the chilly concrete steps, waiting. Of course, if Mrs. Lillian let her in, she'd probably insist on Melanie coming in for a visit. She'd ply her with weak tea and show her the newest pictures of her grandkids while relating their latest escapades. Melanie would listen and smile and comment, all while she fended off the unwelcome attention of Little Bits, Mrs. Lillian's ankle-biting Chihuahua.
The complex was supposed to be animal-free, but nobody complained about Little Bits. He was such a tiny thing, there really wasn't anything to complain about. And normally Melanie enjoyed spending time with Mrs. Lillian. She was so sweet and friendly. But she talked. A lot. Non-stop. And Melanie just wasn't in the mood, not today.
All she wanted was to curl up on her small loveseat and listen to the strains of La Bohèm e while she sipped a nice glass of Merlot. And pouted and pondered and brooded.
But first she had to get inside, and she didn't know how she was going to do that without her keys.
She stepped off the small front porch and looked up at her balcony. She only lived on the second floor, and the balcony actually had two doors leading into her apartment: the glass sliders, and the door leading from the kitchen. That was one of the reasons she chose this apartment in Cockeysville. Not that she
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