The Men Next Door

Ch 1 - Campbell

A plume of steam twisted above the simmer pot on my stovetop like some sort of contortionist. The smell—citrus and cinnamon—simultaneously beckoned in autumn and made me feel like an imposter.

It had been years since I'd experienced the dreary season in a place with crisp leaves and brisk mornings, and although it was still sixty-something and green that September, the relief of the old, coiled heater kicking on in my new apartment was potent. My childhood in Santa Barbara hadn't prepared me for any sort of wet cold. Neither had my time in Florida, even if that adventure had gotten me used to far worse storms than the drizzle coming down along the Manhattan skyline.

I was desperate for a change, though—one even bigger than my bi-coastal move at twenty-two. Desperate for a chance to start over again. And covered in cold rain or not, the tremendous buildings outside were evidence that I was moving in the right direction.

Or maybe it was the wrong direction.

But at least it was movement.

The change of scenery was inspired by a new job, among other things that were better off staying buried in the hot sand off the shore of the Atlantic. And the perks? They made selling what I couldn't carry totally worth it. I was able to work from home, I got a ton of vacation time, and the pay was pretty damn good. The requirement to live within fifty miles of a company headquarters was less thrilling, but relocating to New York City on the business' dime still seemed like a no-brainer.

Until I arrived, that is.

With the sounds of a million other people seeping in through my apartment's thin window panes, the city suddenly seemed as daunting as the buildings were tall. I didn't know a single person in Manhattan. I was just a drop in the bucket—the ocean, even. And making friends was hard enough as an adult, let alone when I wasn't forced to hole up with my new coworkers for eight hours a day.

What if I just wasn't cut out for life in the northeast?

I shook my head and walked over to turn off the burner, giving myself a small pep talk along the way. I'd thrived under worse circumstances, I was as independent as could be, and I was going to be just fine alone. I'd already spent the bulk of the past two years that way, after all.

And if I did decide that I needed some company, maybe Manhattan was where I'd finally meet my match. The odds had to be better than in Florida. More residents and less retirees had to count for something, right?

Right.

Once I had regained my confidence and triple checked that the stove's flame was out, I traded my cozy loungewear for the least wrinkled outfit I could find and made my way to the front door, where the remainder of my tightly packed belongings were threatening to become a cardboard avalanche. I paused to restabilize the tallest stack before I went any farther, carefully backing away as the tower swayed despite my best efforts.

Could I have unstacked everything right then? Sure. But that was a problem for future Campbell. Current Campbell had a moving truck rental to return.

The boxy excuse for a vehicle wasn't going to drive itself, no matter how much I wanted it to, so I took a deep breath, stepped into the fifth floor hallway, and reached for the dimly lit arrow between the high-rise's dual elevators.

My hand didn't make it that far before both sets of doors slid open and two men came clambering out in front of me.

"Shit, hi!" the one on my left said, narrowly avoiding a collision with my arm as he reached for the opposite wall.

At the same time, the one on my right apologized, quickly recollecting himself from what may as well have been a photo finish. "Sorry, I"—he turned to me, meeting my eyes for the first time—"don't think we've met yet."