1. Chapter One

Chapter One

“Oh Tris, you’re just the person I was looking for. You got a sec?” my boss Jeb says, walking past me in the hallway, just as I’m leaving the dining room.

“Yeah, course. What’s up?”

“Let’s go into the office.”

I follow him down the hallway until we reach the last door. I work for Halfway House, a literal house that acts as a shelter for the unhoused, five days a week. Jeb and his wife established the place after Jeb’s brother passed away while living as a homeless person. Since he couldn’t help his brother in conquering his addiction, he resolved to lend a hand to others experiencing homelessness and/or addiction in his brother’s name. After inheriting a lump sum from his grandmother, Jeb and his wife, Elise, sold their property and purchased an old, eight-bedroom house.

The house has become a sanctuary for homeless individuals, offering them not only hot meals, showers, and medical help but also a few hours of respite and safety. Jeb and Elise used to occupy the top floor, but as the house became more crowded with new people dropping in each day, they made the choice to move to a smaller house down the street with their newborn daughter, Dolly.

The office we walk into is situated at the back of the building on the bottom floor. It’s a small yet charming space with ample natural light streaming through the large windows, offering a view of the beautiful garden outside. “Have a seat, Tris.”

I plant myself on the green plastic garden chair across from him. Jeb and Elise are total hippies—dreads and all, and they dress like they just raided their grandma’s closet. They only buy second-hand clothes. It’s commendable. I have so much love for both of them; they have the biggest hearts and are such wonderful human beings. That’s why I find so much joy in working here.

“So,” Jeb says, sitting across from me with a file that clearly has my name on the front. “Holiday.”

“ Agh , you know I don’t want it,” I complain.

“It’s not a matter of wanting it or not, but you have to take it, or you’ll lose it.”

“But I don’t need a week off. Can’t you just put me down as taking the time off and I’ll just work the week, anyway?” I smile endearingly, hoping he agrees.

“No can do. You know that’s not how this works. It’s one week, Tris.”

“Except it’s not. It’s one week off for my annual holiday, then another week because I’m not scheduled back on till after Christmas,” I counter.

What the hell am I gonna do for two entire weeks? Fourteen days.

“Sorry Tris,” he laughs. “But you work just as hard as Elise and me. You seriously need a break. We love you and don’t want you to burn out. I don’t think you’ve had a single day off since you started here a year ago. You even came in when you were sick, remember?” He raises an eyebrow at me. Yeah, I’d tried to fake it, pretending I didn’t have a fever.

Well, he’s definitely won this argument. I can’t help that I love my job. I enjoy meeting new people and listening to their stories. I feel like I’m wanted here. Needed. You can always find something to do, whether it’s pitching in with cooking and serving food or offering new tents and clothes to individuals on their first visit. This place has such a great atmosphere, you never know what surprises the day will bring, and the staff here are the most down-to-earth people you’ll ever meet.

I slump in the chair, folding my arms across my chest, and let out a deep sigh. “Who’s gonna handle things here during Christmas? It’s just over a week away. I’m sure you could use some help.”

“We’ve got it all covered. The kitchen staff is on rotation. Maggie and Ross are in charge when Elise and I are off duty. We have two locum doctors on call. We’re all set, Tris. It’s Dolly’s first Christmas,” he says, a smile that can only be described as that of a proud dad on his face. “So even we’re taking some time off.”

“Fine,” I grumble under my breath. “When does it start?” Please say 2033.

“As soon as you finish work today. I don’t wanna see you until January third.” Jeb raises his eyebrows, waiting for me to acknowledge him in some way.

“Okay, jeez. I won’t come back.” Shit, maybe I can buy one of those disguises and pretend to be a new intern or some shit like that? Just sneak right in. ‘ Hi, I’m Don! I’m here for the intern position .’

“Good, now go finish your shift. I heard Trixy was looking for you.”

Ah, my lovely Trixy, a woman of sixty-eight who has spent nearly two decades on the streets. Her marriage crumbled, and with no children or family to turn to, she ultimately ended up homeless. She’s bloody amazing. Every week, she tells me stories that either have me laughing or crying. She loves to crochet, saying it helps her pass the time while she indulges in her favourite hobby of people-watching. Give her thirty seconds, and she’ll quickly determine if someone possesses a good character or not.

We supply her with wool, and she churns out these god-awful hats for the House. They’re part of the care packages we provide to new arrivals. I’ve got one too. It comprises a mishmash of colours that go with absolutely nothing in my wardrobe. Ugly as fuck, yet it’s one of my most prized possessions because Trixy made it for me. She said it’s bursting with colour, just like me. So, if you see folks in London strolling around with ugly hats, you can bet they came from her.

Once I’ve left Jeb’s office, I set out to find my girl and give her the wool I purchased from Hobbycraft . Yeah, I know, but it’s not exactly like I’ve got someone special at home to spend all my hard-earned money on and until I do—if that ever happens—I’ll splurge on top-notch wool for my girl Trixy.