Dead Wife? Guess Who's Back & Boss Now, Hubby! - Chapter 118: Chapter 118
You are reading Dead Wife? Guess Who's Back & Boss Now, Hubby!, Chapter 118: Chapter 118. Read more chapters of Dead Wife? Guess Who's Back & Boss Now, Hubby!.
Looking around at the weird buildings and rainbow of skin tones, catching all those friendly looks thrown my way, I felt like a kid in a candy store.
This place was nothing like my old neighborhood, but weirdly, I wasn't freaked out at all.
Actually, I was pumped about what came next.
I parked my luggage against a wall and pulled up the address my landlord sent me.
Not too far, but with all my crap, a cab was the way to go.
I hit up the rideshare app and grabbed the closest car.
Not cheap, but I was dead on my feet.
All I wanted was to face-plant somewhere ASAP.
The driver showed up in a flash—like five minutes and boom, there he was.
This dude had a face that had seen some stuff and a massive colorful tattoo snaking down his right arm.
He popped the trunk and grabbed my bags without saying a word.
When he noticed me eyeing him nervously, he finally turned and asked if I was British.
I shook my head fast and told him I was American.
The second I said "American," his whole vibe changed.
"You're American too? Small world, huh!"
"Where you from? I'm Boston born and raised."
His accent had this weird twist—probably from living down under too long.
But I instantly chilled out.
Running into someone from back home felt like the universe throwing me a bone.
"New York," I answered, actually smiling for once.
Once we got talking, we didn't stop.
Turns out he moved here chasing his girlfriend.
Had his own tattoo shop back home, but taxes here were killer.
Plus, opening a new shop would cost an arm and a leg.
So he'd been grinding as a driver, stashing cash to eventually restart his business.
Sitting at a red light, he flipped open his wallet to show me a photo.
Him and a woman grinning like they'd won the lottery.
When he talked about her, his whole face lit up like a Christmas tree.
"So what's your story? Why Australia?"
"New York folks usually rolling in it, aren't they?"
When he asked why I'd come, I froze for a sec.
Not like I could say "My family's toxic as hell and I'm running for my life."
That's not exactly small talk gold.
"Work thing. Got an offer I couldn't pass up."
After scrambling for an excuse, that seemed least suspicious.
"Makes sense. If the money's better here, why not jump ship?"
The driver nodded like I'd made the smartest move ever.
I just nodded back, letting it drop.
The whole rest of the ride, dude wouldn't shut up.
Gave me the lowdown on local stuff and rattled off restaurant recommendations.
I filed it all away for later.
When we hit my apartment, I paid through the app and dug out some fresh local bills for a tip.
"Put that away. We're both American—we don't do that formal crap."
He dropped my bags and peeled out like a boss.
I felt this weird warm feeling spreading through my chest.
Following the address, I walked up to my new building.
The landlady, rocking a blonde perm, had been camping out waiting for me. She tossed me the keys, barked a few house rules, and bounced.
Before I could even process what happened, she was gone.
Walking down the hall, I caught a flash of someone weirdly familiar turning the corner, but they disappeared before I could get a good look.
I shook my head, blaming it on jet lag messing with my brain.
The apartment wasn't huge, but it had the essentials, including a tiny balcony off the bedroom.
Sunlight flooded in, making the whole place feel not half bad.
Best part? A little kitchen.
I was stoked.
I wasn't into typical Australian eats, especially dishes featuring the Australian lungfish. The first time I tried it—grilled and served with bush tomatoes—I nearly choked. "It's like eating a cross between a tree branch and a mud puddle," I grumbled to my Aussie friend.
So having my own kitchen where I could cook real food? Perfect.
Plus, since my parents basically ignored me my whole life, I'd learned to cook for myself early on.
Now that I can actually cook, of course I'm excited!
This place was nothing like my old neighborhood, but weirdly, I wasn't freaked out at all.
Actually, I was pumped about what came next.
I parked my luggage against a wall and pulled up the address my landlord sent me.
Not too far, but with all my crap, a cab was the way to go.
I hit up the rideshare app and grabbed the closest car.
Not cheap, but I was dead on my feet.
All I wanted was to face-plant somewhere ASAP.
The driver showed up in a flash—like five minutes and boom, there he was.
This dude had a face that had seen some stuff and a massive colorful tattoo snaking down his right arm.
He popped the trunk and grabbed my bags without saying a word.
When he noticed me eyeing him nervously, he finally turned and asked if I was British.
I shook my head fast and told him I was American.
The second I said "American," his whole vibe changed.
"You're American too? Small world, huh!"
"Where you from? I'm Boston born and raised."
His accent had this weird twist—probably from living down under too long.
But I instantly chilled out.
Running into someone from back home felt like the universe throwing me a bone.
"New York," I answered, actually smiling for once.
Once we got talking, we didn't stop.
Turns out he moved here chasing his girlfriend.
Had his own tattoo shop back home, but taxes here were killer.
Plus, opening a new shop would cost an arm and a leg.
So he'd been grinding as a driver, stashing cash to eventually restart his business.
Sitting at a red light, he flipped open his wallet to show me a photo.
Him and a woman grinning like they'd won the lottery.
When he talked about her, his whole face lit up like a Christmas tree.
"So what's your story? Why Australia?"
"New York folks usually rolling in it, aren't they?"
When he asked why I'd come, I froze for a sec.
Not like I could say "My family's toxic as hell and I'm running for my life."
That's not exactly small talk gold.
"Work thing. Got an offer I couldn't pass up."
After scrambling for an excuse, that seemed least suspicious.
"Makes sense. If the money's better here, why not jump ship?"
The driver nodded like I'd made the smartest move ever.
I just nodded back, letting it drop.
The whole rest of the ride, dude wouldn't shut up.
Gave me the lowdown on local stuff and rattled off restaurant recommendations.
I filed it all away for later.
When we hit my apartment, I paid through the app and dug out some fresh local bills for a tip.
"Put that away. We're both American—we don't do that formal crap."
He dropped my bags and peeled out like a boss.
I felt this weird warm feeling spreading through my chest.
Following the address, I walked up to my new building.
The landlady, rocking a blonde perm, had been camping out waiting for me. She tossed me the keys, barked a few house rules, and bounced.
Before I could even process what happened, she was gone.
Walking down the hall, I caught a flash of someone weirdly familiar turning the corner, but they disappeared before I could get a good look.
I shook my head, blaming it on jet lag messing with my brain.
The apartment wasn't huge, but it had the essentials, including a tiny balcony off the bedroom.
Sunlight flooded in, making the whole place feel not half bad.
Best part? A little kitchen.
I was stoked.
I wasn't into typical Australian eats, especially dishes featuring the Australian lungfish. The first time I tried it—grilled and served with bush tomatoes—I nearly choked. "It's like eating a cross between a tree branch and a mud puddle," I grumbled to my Aussie friend.
So having my own kitchen where I could cook real food? Perfect.
Plus, since my parents basically ignored me my whole life, I'd learned to cook for myself early on.
Now that I can actually cook, of course I'm excited!
End of Dead Wife? Guess Who's Back & Boss Now, Hubby! Chapter 118. Continue reading Chapter 119 or return to Dead Wife? Guess Who's Back & Boss Now, Hubby! book page.