Imogen put her hand on the reception desk before I could get past it.
“Nora, before you go. We need to settle who’s allowed to receive parcels at your flat.”
My work bag slid down my shoulder. I caught it with my elbow and looked toward the glass doors. I had left myself just enough time to get to my Tuesday evening shift, not enough for a conversation about something I hadn’t ordered.
“Just me,” I said. “Why?”
She opened a thick ledger beside her keyboard. The bottom corners of the pages had gone soft from being turned. There was a pen attached to the spine with a piece of string.
“Other names have been coming through. Your boyfriend has collected some of them. There have been visitors, too. Before we accept any further parcels for people who aren’t on your authorization, I need your agreement.”
“Visitors to my flat?”
Imogen paused with her finger against the page.
“Has he not mentioned it?”
I took my phone out instead of answering. That was my first choice: give Caleb the chance to make it ordinary before I asked anything else.
He had a spare key. I’d given it to him so he could let himself in when we’d arranged to meet and I was running late. He lived elsewhere. There was only one tenant on my lease, and I was standing in the lobby trying not to look as though I needed that explained to me.
“I’ll ask him,” I said.
Imogen closed the ledger halfway. “I’m not asking you to decide in a hurry.”
That made me feel worse. She had noticed I was hurrying to defend something I didn’t understand.
Caleb answered on the fourth ring.
“Everything okay?”
“I’m downstairs with Imogen. She says you’ve been collecting deliveries for people at my address.”
There was a little scraping sound, as if he’d moved his phone across a table.
“Oh. That. Nothing serious.”
“What is it?”
“A few work meetings. Somewhere quiet. You’re out on Tuesdays, so it seemed easier.”
I moved toward the window. Imogen turned back to her screen, giving me what privacy the small lobby allowed.
“You’ve been bringing people into my home while I’m at work?”
“It’s not like that. We sit down, talk through a few things, leave. Nobody’s staying over.”
I hadn’t asked whether anyone stayed over. Until he said it, I hadn’t even pictured that possibility.
My mouth felt dry. I looked up at the row of letterboxes, at my own name on the small white label. He’d watched me slide that label into place when I moved in. I remembered being pleased he was there.
“Why didn’t you ask?”
“It was occasional, Nora. A favor for work. I didn’t think you’d want a whole discussion about a couple of people sitting at your table.”
I almost apologized for sounding sharp. That reflex embarrassed me even while it was happening. I wanted the conversation to end with an explanation I could repeat to Imogen, something that would make us both smile about the misunderstanding.
Instead, Caleb said, “Can you just tell her to accept everything? Anything addressed there. It’ll save this happening again.”
“Everything?”
“Yes. I’ll deal with it.”
The bus I usually caught went past the lobby window. I watched it stop across the street and pull away.
He had said occasional meetings. Now he wanted standing permission for deliveries whose recipients I couldn’t name.
“Who’s been coming?” I asked.
“People from work.”
“Which people?”
“What difference does that make?”
I pressed my thumb hard against the seam of my phone case. “It’s my apartment. That’s the difference.”
He let out a breath directly into the microphone.
“Only coworkers. Nobody else.”
“Then give me their names.”
“Are you seriously doing this while I’m working?”
