She entered the apartment and made her way to the sofa. Moments after she sat, there was a knock at the door.

“Shit,” Taylor hissed underneath her breath. “One minute.”

She used a single crutch to make her way to the door. She opened it to find her downstairs neighbor, Rob, holding a foil cake pan wrapped in cellophane.

“I figured it was time I returned the favor,” he said. “It’s store-bought, but still pretty good.”

“Aw, Rob, thank you,” Taylor said. A store-bought cake wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of baking from scratch, but she appreciated the gesture.

“Did you hear about the mold?” Rob asked.

“Yeah, there was a note waiting for me when I got here. I guess I’ll see you in three weeks,” she said.

Rob brought the cake into the kitchen for her before leaving. Taylor was tempted to serve up a huge chunk but eating her feelings would do her no good right now. She had to figure out what to do about her sudden homeless state.

When she returned to the sofa, her phone chimed with a FaceTime call from Jamar.

“Hey,” she answered with a heavy sigh.

“Damn. Did you get a dog and have it die on you while I wasn’t looking?”

“I would laugh at that, but it wasn’t funny,” she said. She held up the paper. “I have to leave my apartment.”

“What? Why?”

She read the note to him.

“At least they’re paying for a hotel,” Taylor said. “Unfortunately, it’s not a very nice one. I’ve passed it a couple of times when I had to take an alternate route through the not so nice part of town to get home.”

Jamar was silent, his face unreadable.

“What?” Taylor asked.

“Huh?”

“You’re thinking,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, I do that from time to time.”

“Smart-ass.” She snorted. “Care to share?”

He paused for a moment, then asked, “Why don’t you stay here?”

She was sure she’d heard him wrong. “Excuse me?”

“I have the room. In fact, I have seven rooms, along with a pool house that’s basically a private apartment. You can stay there if that makes you more comfortable.”

Oh, he was not playing fair. That pool house was ten times nicer than her little studio.

“Jamar, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Do you want me to list the reasons why this idea is straight up banana pants? How much time do you have?”

“What does banana pants even mean? I swear, it’s like you speak another language.” He chuckled. “Look, I already know what you’re going to say.”

“Really? Why don’t you tell me?”

He held up a hand, ticking items off with his fingers. “You’re going to say that we haven’t known each other long enough for you to move into my house. You’re probably also going to point out that it would be unprofessional.”