Chapter 2

“My Prerogative is the perfect title to explore this intense tale of a naughty woman seeking love, but refusing to settle for the wrong man in her life…Ms. White grasped the concept of a woman’s needs and weaved a wonderful tale of realization. My Prerogative is an insightful and thought provoking page turner that I know you’ll enjoy. “~ Nightowl Romance

The flight home was smooth and easy. After I passed through customs and caught sight of the mob at baggage claim, I was doubly glad I’d packed light.
Heading through the automatic doors, I ignored the crowd of people eagerly waiting for arrivals to well … arrive. No one there was waiting for me.
It was late afternoon but the sun was shining down on Vancouver. The sky was clear and the air was so humid my hair began to wilt and go flat immediately. It didn’t bother me though; I just reached into my purse for a couple of elastics and made two pigtails. Not many women my age could get away with the style, but I didn’t look my age, and I certainly didn’t feel it, so why care?
I knew the airport’s parking lot layout well, so it took me no time to find my car. Dropping my bags on the passenger seat of the little red Camry, I climbed in, rolled down the window and cranked up the tunes. I bopped along mindlessly to the music for the forty-five minute drive home, weaving in and out of the busy Saturday afternoon traffic but not letting the heat or the cranky drivers on the road get to me.
An hour after my feet touched the ground I was strolling into my apartment and dropping my bag on the floor while my stomach growled angrily. A quick peek into the fridge showed only a bottle of wine and a tub of margarine.
Why the hell hadn’t I stopped at McDonalds or something on the way home? Smart Kelsey. Way to think ahead.
There’s nothing special about my apartment, other than the fact that it’s all mine. I’d spent some time and money making it the best it could be, and that was a nice semi-stylish place with an eclectic collection of comfortable furniture, and all the amenities.
The thought of coming home to a messy place always had me on a cleaning spree the week before I went on any trip and this last one had been no different. When I glanced around this time I noted that it looked as neat and clean as it had been when I left.
It was nice to come home to a clean place, but the hollowness of the empty apartment was a bit too much for me so I dug out my iPod and put it in its cradle. Soon Dave Matthews was chasing the silence away and I reached for the phone.
I’d just finished ordering pizza for delivery and was opening the bottle of wine when there was knock on the door. Yay! Someone came to welcome me home. Not.
Corkscrew still in hand, I opened it to one of the downstairs tenants.
“Hi Manny, what can I do for you?”
A twenty-dollar bill was waved in front of my face. “My wife, she need the laundry tokens.”
Manny was from Chile, and had lived on the first floor of the three-story building for the past twelve years. He and his wife were quiet and clean, and the first ones to welcome me to the complex when I’d moved in five years earlier, and I really liked them. Having neighbors who knew my name and were willing to water my plants while I was away made me feel a part of the place. “Sure. Wait right here.”
I went to the kitchen and pulled the little plastic case from the cupboard. I was counting out tokens when Manny stepped into the open doorway. “Our kitchen sink is still dripping, Ms. Kelsey. It’s very loud and keeps me awake at night. When will it get fixed?”
“I told you before. You have to phone Paul. He’s the head of the condo board and in charge of things until the new building manager is here next month. I’m just taking care of the tokens and the basic maintenance for this month. I have nothing to do with repairs.”
“Two weeks ago I call El Presidente. He said he’d call a repair man, but I’ve not heard nothing, so I ask you again.”
I shook my head and handed him the tokens with a soft smile. “I’m sorry, I haven’t heard anything. I know it’s annoying, but apparently the guy that the condo board hired is worth waiting for, and after the last manager, we need to make sure this new one know’s what he’s doing.”
“That’s true,” he said, nodding his head thoughtfully. “That last guy did nothing but drink. He tried to fix the leak, and it only get worse.”
“Less than a month to go, Manny.” I ushered him out of the doorway. “I’ll make sure when I meet the new building manager that your faucet is first on his “˜To Do’ list.”
I closed the door behind the grumbling old guy and went back to my bottle of wine. Sure I’d agreed to clean the building and hand out laundry tokens for the six weeks they were without a manager, but that was it. I was a bartender, not a handym- handy woman.
Two minutes later I was sitting down with wine glass in hand and the phone rang. I recognized Randy’s number on the caller ID and decided I wasn’t in the mood for a visit. Strange, normally a visit from my occasional and very adventurous lover was welcome, but right then, I just wanted to be alone with my wine.

Sunday was my day to get organized again before I returned to the regular programming of my uneventful life.
Still feeling pretty relaxed and genial after my holiday, I crawled out of bed around ten A.M. – which was actually early for me, the bartender who rarely went to bed before four in the morning. After a lazy shower I dressed in a casual pair of black walking shorts and a tight tank top that hugged my breasts and showed plenty of my C-cup cleavage. Hair wasn’t something I wanted to deal with so I slipped a ball cap over my plain midnight tresses, and smoothed on some bright red lipstick to finish the look before heading to the grocery store.
Vancouver is a big city, which makes housing in the decent areas pretty expensive. Commercial Drive, my neighborhood, was ethnically diverse and a bit seedy, but the city was working on cleaning it up. Cafés and restaurants were popping up all over and it had turned into a more eclectic, almost artsy area because of the recently restored lofts and buildings.
Grabbing a basket just inside the door, I filled it with pre-washed and cut bag salad, baby carrots, and celery before adding some peaches and heading for the frozen food aisle. Microwave dinners, pizza and a carton of ice cream joined the healthy stuff. A basket full of essentials for a single person.
Staring at the food I’d collected was slighlty depressing and I fought the temptation of the cookie aisle. Temptation won and I added a bag of chocolate chip to my basket. Not a coffee drinker, a pack of Red Bull energy drinks was the final item on my list.
The cashier smiled at me when I started to unload my items onto the conveyor belt and I smiled back. “Hi Kelsey, how are you doing today?” she said when the customer ahead of me was done and walking away.
“Doing good, Maureen. You?”
Living alone made it hard to keep lots of food in my fridge because if I didn’t eat at home every day, the food went bad. Which meant I didn’t buy a lot, but I went food shopping two or three times a week. Since I’d been living in the same apartment for almost five years, and the grocery store was only four blocks away, a couple of the cashiers knew me by name.
I was a regular.
A chuckle bubbled up and Maureen grinned and shook her head in puzzlement. “You’re always in such a good mood.”
I was amused because after bartending for fifteen years I’d always swore I’d never be a “˜regular’ anywhere. Regulars could keep a business going, but by the same token, they could be a real pain in the ass at times. But Maureen didn’t need to hear all that so I just shrugged. “The sun is shining and I have nothing to complain about.”
“Ahh.” The pretty cashier nodded. “Well here’s hoping the rest of the week remains the same for us both.”
She took my money, we said good day to each other and I left with a smile still on my face. I had a date with a pitcher of margaritas I didn’t want to be late for.