I lied and told my delivery driver I wasn’t home. Then I watched him stop across the street, open my order, and do something I never expected.
I had already lied to him once.
So when I ran out of my house barefoot, in pajama pants, in the middle of a thunderstorm, I knew I was going to have some explaining to do.
But at that point, I didn’t care.
“Wait!”
The delivery driver turned around.
Rain was coming down so hard it bounced off the sidewalk.
He was standing at the bottom of my neighbor’s porch steps with my Chinese food in one hand and his insulated delivery bag in the other.
He stared at me. Then at my house. Then back at me.
I realized what I must have looked like.
Wet hair. No shoes. Old college sweatshirt.
And very obviously home.
The same woman who had told him ten minutes earlier, “I’m not home yet. Could you just leave the food by the door?”
He blinked. “You’re the customer?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
His eyebrows went up.
“I thought you weren’t home.”
“I know.”
“You said you were driving back.”
“I also know.”
There was a pause.
Then he looked at my bare feet. “You’re going to step on something.”
That was his first concern.
Not that I’d lied to him.
Not that I’d been secretly watching him through the window.
That I might cut my foot.
I started laughing.
It came out half laugh, half embarrassed noise.
“Can you just come under my porch for a second?”
He hesitated. Then followed me across the street.
My name is Megan. That evening had already been one of those days where everything small felt personal.
I’d woken up with a giant breakout across my chin.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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