Tommy “So, this is your place,” Ella says as she walks around the small living room that is connected to the extra small kitchen. “Yep,” I say with my hands behind my back, and for some reason I’m nervous about her seeing my apartment. The messed-up thing about it is that I’m not nervous about her finding the files on her family in the portable safe under the floor in my living room or the five guns hiding throughout the apartment, but the apartment period: It’s small and located in a not-so-great neighborhood, but I do my best to keep it clean. I’m actually kind of a neat freak. “You’re a neat freak.” I look at her in shock. “What makes you say that?” “The bleach smell coming from the kitchen, and I can literally taste the Pine Sol you used to scrub down the coffee table.”
