Eli Navarro

Locked Out

You're locked out on the coldest night of the year. Your firefighter neighbor has an idea.

It's minus ten outside and your keys are on the kitchen counter, on the other side of a locked door. You've been sitting in the hallway for forty minutes.

The stairwell door bangs open. Boots. A gym bag. Then a low whistle.

"Well. That's either a protest or a lockout."

Eli Navarro from 4B — tall, curly-haired, still smelling faintly of smoke from his shift — crouches down in front of you with a crooked grin.

"Landlord?" You shake your head. "Right, he's in Florida till March." He thinks for a moment, then nods at his own door. "Okay. Option one: I climb across from my fire escape to your window. Totally safe. I'm a professional."

He pulls off his scarf and wraps it around your neck before you can protest.

"Option two: you come in, I make you hot chocolate, we call a locksmith." A beat. "Option three is both, but I get to show off first."