Whittier Hearts

He wore a navy jacket and carried a tool belt, though nothing on the platform seemed to require repair. He took the suitcase from the first man with a bright, competitive smile.

The man in the green cap frowned. “You’re not on arrival duty.”

“I am today.”

“You said you had engine trouble.”

“I fixed it.”

“You were fixing a toaster.”

“It was an important toaster.”

Ann-Marie looked between them. “I’m sorry. Is the toaster all right?”

The navy-jacketed man’s smile faltered. “It’s recovering.”

A third man leaned over the railing above the platform. He had dark hair, a red scarf, and a paper bag tucked beneath one arm.

“Ann-Marie,” he called. “I brought you something.”

The man in the green cap looked up. “You don’t even know what she likes.”

“I know she likes arriving with dignity.”

Ann-Marie glanced at the suitcase, which now leaned against the tool-belt man’s knee. “That ship has sailed through the tunnel.”

The man with the red scarf came down the stairs two at a time. He held out the paper bag. “Cinnamon roll. From the bakery.”

“That’s very sweet.”

“It’s glazed.”

“I meant the gesture.”

“It can be both.”

The green-cap man made a noise that might have been a cough or a small objection. The tool-belt man took Ann-Marie’s second tote before she could lift it.

“I’m Daniel,” he said.

“Daniel,” said the green-cap man, as if testing the name for structural weakness. “You’re carrying one bag.”

“I’m carrying the heavy one.”

“It has socks.”

“They’re emotionally heavy.”

Ann-Marie pressed her lips together. She had been in Whittier for less than four minutes, and three men were already arguing over the weight of her laundry.

This was promising.

The train conductor leaned from the open door. “Last call if anyone’s headed back through the tunnel!”

Ann-Marie turned. The train’s windows glowed yellow in the dimness, warm and familiar. For one brief second, she considered climbing back aboard and pretending she had meant to move somewhere with roads, sidewalks, and fewer witnesses.

Then the train gave another metallic sigh.

No. She had wanted a new beginning. She had wanted a place where people knew one another, where the harbor was close, where romance might accidentally happen while buying milk.

She had not specifically requested a romance that arrived holding a cinnamon roll and arguing about socks.

“Where do I check in?” she asked.

All three men answered at once.

“Begich Towers.”

“The building.”

“Upstairs.”

Ann-Marie looked past them.

The building rose at the far end of the platform, five stories of weathered concrete and lit windows. It stood against the mountain with the stubbornness of something that had survived every opinion ever formed about it. Nearly everyone in Whittier lived there. Four hundred people, one enormous building, and apparently no private business whatsoever.

Daniel pointed. “That’s where you’ll be staying.”

“Everyone lives there?”

“Almost everyone,” said Green Cap.

“Who doesn’t?”

“People who enjoy shoveling their own snow,” said Red Scarf.

“And people who distrust elevators,” Daniel added.

Ann-Marie glanced at the building. “Why would anyone distrust an elevator?”

The three men exchanged a look.

The elevator doors opened at the entrance with a loud, cheerful ding.

Ann-Marie’s first thought was that it looked very small.

Her second was that all three men were attempting to enter with her.

“I can take the bags,” Daniel said.

“I can show her the way,” Green Cap said.

“There are only five floors,” Red Scarf said. “I can explain them.”

“I understand floors,” Ann-Marie said.

Red Scarf shifted the paper bag beneath his arm. “Most people do. But these are unusual floors.”

“Are they tilted?”

“No.”

“Haunted?”

“No.”

“Then I believe I’ll manage.”

The elevator doors began to close. Daniel wedged in his boot. Green Cap caught the other side with his elbow. Red Scarf, unwilling to be left behind, pressed his shoulder between them.

The doors shuddered open again.

Ann-Marie stood in the center, surrounded by three damp men and the unmistakable smell of rain, wool, and cinnamon sugar.

A woman at the mailboxes watched them with open interest.

“New tenant?” she asked.

“Yes,” Ann-Marie said.

“Which one?”

Daniel’s ears turned pink. Green Cap looked at the ceiling. Red Scarf offered her the cinnamon roll.

Ann-Marie accepted it because refusing seemed unkind and because it was still warm.

“Ann-Marie,” she said.

The woman nodded as if adding a new ingredient to a familiar recipe. “You’ll want to remember everybody’s floor.”

“I’m hoping to remember everybody’s name first.”

“That’ll take longer.”

The elevator lurched upward.

Ann-Marie grabbed the rail. Daniel’s hand closed around her elbow at the same moment Green Cap caught her tote, which swung into Red Scarf’s face.

“Ow,” Red Scarf said.

“I’m sorry!”

“I’m fine.” He rubbed his nose. “The tote was heavier than it looked.”

“It has socks,” Daniel muttered.

“Emotionally heavy socks,” Red Scarf said.

Ann-Marie laughed before she could stop herself. The sound bounced around the elevator, and all three men looked at her.

Not at the bag. Not at the rain. At her.

The attention warmed her more than it should have.

She had spent months imagining this move. In her imagination, she arrived sleek and mysterious, with excellent hair and one of those coats that made people wonder whether she owned a horse. In reality, her hair had escaped its clip, her suitcase was missing one wheel, and she had cinnamon sugar on her thumb.

Still, these men were looking.

The elevator dinged at the second floor.

A man waiting in the hall stepped forward, saw the crowded car, and stepped backward again.

“Is this an emergency?” he asked.

“Romantic,” said the woman by the mailboxes.

“It’s a luggage emergency,” Ann-Marie said.

The doors closed.

Green Cap cleared his throat. “I’m Owen.”

Ann-Marie turned to him. “You’re the one who was fixing the toaster.”

“It was not my toaster.”

“Whose was it?”

“Long story.”

“I like long stories.”

Owen’s expression changed, just a little. The playful edge disappeared, leaving something more careful beneath it.

Daniel looked at him. “You don’t tell long stories.”

“I tell some stories.”

“You tell weather reports.”

“Weather is important.”

Red Scarf leaned toward Ann-Marie. “He once described a sunny day for eleven minutes.”

“It was an unusually dramatic sunny day,” Owen said.

The elevator stopped on the fifth floor with a jolt that sent Ann-Marie forward. Daniel caught her around the waist.

His palm was warm through her raincoat. For one startled second, she was pressed against him, her shoulder near his chest, the harbor wind still cold on her cheeks.

“Sorry,” he said quietly. “You all right?”

Ann-Marie looked up. Daniel’s face was close enough that she could see a tiny nick beside his mouth.

“Yes,” she said. “Unless you’re planning to drop me.”

“Not planning to.”

The words were ordinary. His voice was not.

Then Owen cleared his throat loudly.

Daniel let go.

Red Scarf stepped out first, holding the elevator door with one hand. “Apartment 512 is this way.”

“How do you know her apartment number?” Owen asked.

“I helped carry the welcome basket upstairs.”

“You made the welcome basket,” Daniel said.

“I bought the welcome basket.”

“You bought one muffin.”

“It was a large muffin.”

Ann-Marie followed them down the hallway. The building smelled of wet coats, floor polish, and someone’s dinner simmering behind a door. Voices traveled easily through the walls. A dog barked. Someone laughed. Somewhere above them, a child - or possibly a very opinionated adult - shouted, “That is my spoon!”

Ann-Marie’s suitcase bumped along behind her, one good wheel wobbling bravely.

Apartment 512 waited at the end of the hall. A paper sign had been taped to the door.

WELCOME, ANN-MARIE!

Underneath, in different handwriting, someone had added:

PLEASE CHOOSE CAREFULLY.

Ann-Marie touched the note. “Is that advice?”

“Probably,” Owen said.

Daniel reached for the door handle, then stopped. “You have the key.”

She did. The property manager had mailed it to her weeks ago, along with a map that made the building look like a complicated sandwich.

Ann-Marie slid the key into the lock.

The men stood behind her in a neat, hopeful row.

She glanced over her shoulder. “Are you all coming in?”

“No,” Owen said immediately.

“Yes,” said Red Scarf.

Daniel said nothing.

Ann-Marie opened the door. The apartment was small but bright, with a window facing the harbor. Rain blurred the boats into watercolor smudges. The kitchen held one crooked shelf. The living room held one stubborn radiator and enough space for her suitcase, provided the suitcase did not have ambitions.

She stepped inside.

The silence that followed was not empty. It was expectant.

Ann-Marie set the cinnamon roll on the counter. “Thank you. All of you.”

“You’re welcome,” Daniel said.

“Of course,” Owen said.

“Any time,” Red Scarf said.

They spoke over one another again, but this time Ann-Marie heard the difference between them. Daniel’s voice was low and steady. Owen’s was cautious, as if every word had to pass inspection. Red Scarf’s carried a grin even when his mouth was closed.

She wanted to know which voice would sound best at her door after dark.

The thought arrived so quickly she nearly dropped her keys.

Owen noticed. “You all right?”

“Yes.” She looked at the three of them, then at the harbor beyond her window. “I’m just realizing I may have moved somewhere with no escape.”

Daniel leaned one shoulder against the doorframe. “There’s a tunnel.”

“Ah. So I can flee by train.”

“Not whenever you want,” Owen said. “The schedule is limited.”

Red Scarf lifted the paper bag. “You could also flee by boat.”

“Do you have a boat?”

“No.”

“Then that seems less useful.”

He smiled. “I’m working on it.”

Daniel reached for her suitcase. “Where do you want this?”

“Bedroom, please.”

Owen immediately picked up the second tote. “I’ll take that.”

Red Scarf grabbed the cinnamon roll from the counter, then seemed to realize what he was doing and put it back.

Ann-Marie watched them move into her apartment as if they had been waiting all day for permission. Daniel carried the suitcase. Owen carried the tote. Red Scarf carried nothing, but he walked beside her as though offering moral support to the furniture.

The suitcase caught on the bedroom threshold.

Daniel tugged.

Owen pushed.

Red Scarf announced, “Lift on three.”

They lifted on two.

The suitcase tipped, popped open, and sent socks flying across the room.

One landed on Daniel’s shoulder.

Another landed in Owen’s coffee-colored hair.

A third floated through the open doorway into the hall.

Someone outside cheered.

Ann-Marie covered her face. “I’m going to need a better first impression.”

Daniel removed the sock from his shoulder. “I think it’s memorable.”

Owen, with a sock hanging from his hair, gave her a small, crooked smile. “You said you wanted people to remember your name.”

“I was hoping they’d remember my personality.”

“They’re currently learning both,” Red Scarf said.

The hallway erupted with footsteps. A moment later, three more socks appeared at the doorway, returned by unknown hands.

Ann-Marie looked at the men. Daniel was laughing now. Owen tried not to. Red Scarf had somehow tucked one sock into his jacket pocket like a trophy.

Her embarrassment loosened.

Maybe this was what she had wanted - not a perfect arrival, but a place where a mistake could travel down a hallway and come back wearing somebody else’s grin.

“Fine,” she said. “I’m here. I’m staying. But no one is allowed to make a romantic speech until I’ve unpacked.”

Red Scarf raised his hand. “What about a short one?”

“No.”

“A tasteful one?”

“Especially no.”

Daniel set the suitcase upright. “We should let her settle.”

Owen nodded, though he did not move.

Red Scarf looked from Daniel to Owen, then to Ann-Marie. “Tomorrow, I can show you the harbor.”

“I can show her the building,” Owen said.

“I can show her where the good coffee is,” Daniel added.

Ann-Marie folded her arms. “And if I want to see all three?”

The hallway went still.

Not silent. The radiator clanked. Rain tapped the window. Somewhere, the elevator dinged.

But the three men stopped smiling at one another.

Ann-Marie felt the shift, small but real. She had not even unpacked her socks, and already she had become a prize in a competition nobody had admitted entering.

She should have been annoyed.

Instead, she wondered which of them would be brave enough to lose.

“Tomorrow,” she said, picking up the cinnamon roll, “you can all show me something. Separately.”

Daniel’s eyes brightened.

Owen’s mouth tightened.

Red Scarf looked delighted.

Ann-Marie closed the door halfway, leaving them in the hall with their three different kinds of hope.

“Good night,” she said.

“Good night,” they answered together.

She shut the door.

A second later, three voices rose outside.

“I’m first.”

“You are not first.”

“I brought the muffin.”

Ann-Marie leaned against the door, cinnamon sugar melting on her tongue, and listened to them argue over the order of tomorrow.

Her apartment was tiny. The building was crowded. The tunnel had made escape inconvenient.

For the first time since stepping off the train, she felt exactly where she was supposed to be.

Then someone knocked.

“Ann-Marie,” Daniel called. “I forgot my sock.”

A pause.

Owen said, “That’s my sock.”

Red Scarf added, “Neither of you should be wearing it.”

Ann-Marie opened the door just wide enough to look at them.

Three men stood beneath the bright hallway light, each holding a different sock.

She had wanted romance.

Whittier, apparently, had brought a committee.

End of chapter one. 32 more chapters in the full book.