She Keeps Getting His Packages And The Billionaire Knocks On Sunday And Stays For Lunch
The Sunday Invitation
The knock that changed Maya Abbott’s life came at precisely 11:30 on a Sunday morning. But the packages had been arriving for three weeks before that. Maya was wiping down the counters of her small apartment when the first misdelivered box appeared outside her door.
She lived in 4B of the Riverside Apartments, a modest building in downtown Portland where the rent was almost manageable and the neighbors mostly kept to themselves. The package was heavy, addressed to a Frederick Vaughn in 4D, two doors down.
She had knocked that evening, but no one answered. The next morning, before her shift at the botanical garden where she worked as a horticulturist, she left the package propped against his door with a cheerful sticky note.
Then came another package and another. By the end of week two, Maya had accumulated seven boxes of various sizes in her living room, all addressed to Frederick Vaughn, 4D. She had tried knocking multiple times at different hours.
She had left notes. She had even asked their building manager, Mrs. Chen, about the situation.
“Oh, Mr. Vaughn travels extensively for work,” Mrs. Chen had said with a knowing smile that Maya did not understand.
“Very successful businessman, rarely home. Just hold on to them, dear. He will appreciate it.”
Maya stared at the growing collection of packages taking over her small living room. They were from expensive retailers, designers she recognized from magazine covers. One box was from an Italian leather goods company, another from a tech manufacturer that made custom equipment.
She was careful with them, stacking them neatly by her bookshelf, though they made her already cramped apartment feel even smaller. On that Sunday morning when the knock came, Maya was in old jeans and an oversized sweater.
Her dark hair was pulled into a messy bun, flour dusting her hands from the bread she had been attempting to bake. She was not expecting anyone. Her younger sister Emma was supposed to visit next weekend, and her best friend Lily was out of town.
She opened the door and forgot how to breathe for a moment. The man standing in her doorway was tall, easily over six feet, with dark hair that was slightly disheveled as though he had been running his hands through it.
He had sharp features, a strong jaw with a hint of stubble, and eyes so intensely blue they reminded her of the delphinium she cultivated at work. He wore dark jeans and a simple gray sweater that probably cost more than her monthly rent.
He looked exhausted.
“I am so sorry to bother you,” he said, and his voice was deep, rough around the edges.
“I am Frederick Vaughn from 4D. I believe you have been receiving my packages.”
Maya blinked.
“Oh yes. God. Yes, come in. They are right here. I have been trying to reach you for weeks.”
She stepped aside and Frederick Vaughn walked into her small apartment, bringing with him the scent of expensive cologne and something like rain and cedar. He stopped when he saw the stack of boxes.
“I am incredibly sorry,” he said, turning to her with genuine remorse in his expression.
“I have been traveling. I am barely ever here and I keep forgetting to update my delivery instructions. This must have been such an inconvenience.”
“It is okay,” Maya said, suddenly aware of the flour on her hands, the mess of her apartment, the fact that she was wearing her rattiest jeans.
“I just was not sure what to do with them all.”
Frederick ran a hand through his hair and Maya noticed how tired he looked up close. There were shadows under his eyes and tension in his shoulders.
“I just got back this morning,” he said.
“I have been in Tokyo for two weeks, before that Singapore, and I saw all the delivery notifications piling up and I thought—”
He trailed off, looking at the packages then back at her.
“I am Frederick by the way, but everyone calls me Rick.”
“Maya,” she said, wiping her hands on her jeans before extending one. “Maya Abbott.”
His hand was warm, his grip firm, and the handshake lasted perhaps a second longer than necessary. Maya felt something flutter in her chest, which was ridiculous. This was just a neighbor.
He was a neighbor who was clearly wealthy, important, and way out of her league.
“Listen,” Frederick said, and he seemed almost hesitant.
“This is going to sound strange, but I can smell something amazing and I have not had a home-cooked meal in about a month.”
“I know I have already imposed on you tremendously, but would you possibly consider letting me buy you lunch? There is a great place two blocks over. It is the least I can do to apologize for turning your apartment into a storage facility.”
Maya should have said no. She was covered in flour. She had planned to spend the day gardening on her small balcony and she did not know this man at all.
But there was something about the way he looked at her, something almost vulnerable beneath the expensive clothes and obvious wealth that made her pause.
“I was actually making bread,” she heard herself say.
“And I have soup on the stove. If you want to stay for lunch here instead you are welcome to. It is nothing fancy.”
The smile that broke across Frederick’s face transformed him completely. The exhaustion seemed to lift and Maya saw warmth there. Genuine pleasure.
“Are you sure?” he asked. “I do not want to impose.”
“You are not imposing,” Maya said, surprised to find she meant it.
“But you have to help me carry all these boxes to your apartment first.”
They made three trips down the hallway and Maya learned that Frederick had lived in 4D for almost six months but had barely spent two weeks total in the apartment.
He worked in renewable energy, he told her, developing sustainable solutions for emerging markets. His company had projects all over the world.
“It sounds exciting,” Maya said as they stacked the last box inside his apartment, which was notably larger than hers and sparsely furnished, as though he had never quite settled in.
“It is,” Frederick said, but there was something hollow in his voice.
“It is also exhausting.”
