He Waited She Wilted (Ottilie and Yorath) novel Chapter 27

Ottilie sat outside the breakfast shop, staring at her bank balance on her phone. One hundred and twenty-eight dollars and thirty cents.

Payday was still half a month away.

Finding a place to live was an immediate problem.

She sat there from noon until the sun went down.

A sudden summer downpour caught her by surprise, and even huddled under the awning, she was thoroughly soaked.

Ottilie dialed her boss's number.

"Boss, is there any chance I could get an advance on my paycheck? I don't have anywhere to stay right now, and I really need the money."

The owners were a middle-aged couple who owned the shop space outright. They had run the breakfast place their entire lives and were genuinely kind people.

Hearing that Ottilie was in a tight spot, he agreed without a second thought. "I'll wire you a full month's advance right now."

A few seconds later, twenty-eight hundred dollars hit her account.

Ottilie found the cheapest motel available and stayed for the night.

The next day, she woke up with a high fever but dragged herself to work anyway.

That afternoon, she went to a real estate agent and secured a cheap room for three hundred a month.

By the third day, her fever spiked so dangerously high she couldn't get out of bed, forcing her to call in sick.

She slept until evening. When she finally felt a bit more lucid, the hunger was unbearable, so she dragged herself downstairs to buy food.

It was still raining, and she hadn't bought an umbrella.

She grabbed a bowl of pumpkin soup from Harvest Stop, which was open 24/7, and hurried back through the rain.

After just a few steps, her chest started heaving violently, and a brutal coughing fit ripped through her.

The pain radiated from her throat deep into her chest.

She coughed until she was lightheaded and dizzy, forced to lean heavily against a brick wall to keep from collapsing.

When the fit finally subsided, she realized the rain had stopped hitting her.

The heavy droplets were smacking rhythmically against a black umbrella above her.

Ottilie looked up to see Yorath Fordham holding the handle, staring down at her.

"Yorath," she rasped, before another violent coughing fit seized her.

Her shoulders shook uncontrollably as she swayed on her feet.

Yorath reached out, grabbing her arm and pulling her firmly into his chest. "You're sick."

Ottilie pushed his hand away with a weak smile. "It's just a cold. I just need to rest."

But the hallway was packed with doors stacked side-by-side. If someone coughed, the neighbors could hear it clearly.

There was absolutely zero privacy.

And Ottilie wasn't even living in one of those standard apartments; she was renting a tiny, partitioned room carved out from the space under the stairwell.

She fumbled in her pocket for the key, her fingers numb from the cold, bumping against loose change and tissues.

Her grip slipped, and the key clattered onto the concrete floor.

Yorath picked it up, slid it into the lock, and pushed the door open.

The room was no more than a few square feet. A single twin bed was crammed against the far wall.

The head and foot of the bed touched the walls on both sides.

There were no sheets or blankets on the mattress—just a few thin pieces of clothing scattered across it, clearly showing where someone had slept.

The narrow space beside the bed was barely wide enough for one person to stand.

Across from the bed was a single window with no screen. If you opened it for air, bugs would fly right in.

There was zero furniture.

Once the door closed, the two of them instantly took up the entire usable space in the room.