I sat at my kitchen table, sipping a hot mug of coffee as I clutched onto a newspaper in one hand, red pen in the other. I desperately circled any and all jobs that related to my field in nursing. I had barely scraped by with last month's rent and I was sure that though my landlord, Mr. Greggs appreciated my home baked cookies, he'd expect a full month's rent by the end of the month.

As though hearing me call for him, a loud tap interrupted my morning coffee. I walked slowly to the door, not bothering to peek through first. There was only one person who would check on me everyday.

"Morning, Mr. Greggs," I greeted as I swung the door open. His frail form drowning in an oversized flannel shirt and baggy black pants. His hair had thinned significantly in the last year that I had known him and was cut short, with barely a few wisps remaining on his shiny, balding head.

"Good morning, Emily." Wait for it - three, two, one, "How's the job hunt going?" He croaked, his voice thick with the smoke of his morning cigarette. I wrinkled my nose at the smell. I couldn't stand the odor.

"Good," I smiled at him, "I'll have something in no time."

"I hope you do. I can't eat anymore cookies." He patted his pot belly with his hand as he spoke.

"You never get sick of my cookies, Mr. Greggs." I teased him, holding the door open with one hand.

He snorted, "You're right. Betsy loves them." He replied sneakily, referencing his dog.

"Well, I was making a batch today but if it's only Betsy who enjoys them, I may as well give them to Ms. Smith on the second floor." I replied baiting him with the idea of giving anything to the nosy elderly neighbour that he avoided at all costs.

"Well, if you're making, I'll have, obviously." He turned away mumbling to himself about the old hag who lived downstairs. I could have sworn I heard him mutter something about eating my cookies. I always knew he had a soft spot for me.

I closed the door and went back to my newspaper, circling another position. Wanted: Nurse/caregiver capable of managing spinal cord injuries in a fourteen year old. Must be responsible and take position seriously. If interested, call 608-433-5789.

I stood up, stretching in the process before putting on my workout clothes and tying my blonde hair into a high pony tail. I grabbed my phone and keys, leaving my apartment.

I jogged to the nearby gym for my weekly yoga class with Ashley, entering the building already out of breath. That wasn't the best sign.

"Hey!" Ashley greeted loudly, popping her gum. Her bubbly personality shone through even at eight o'clock in the morning.

"Morning," I replied in a much more acceptable tone, placing my belongings into a locker. "How's work?" I asked, not fully mentally ready to have a full conversation but knowing Ashley was expecting it.

"Great!" She chirped brightly. Ashley worked as a morning news anchor. She was up and coming still, which meant that she had just gotten off of work an hour ago. I suppose that accounted for most of her chipper attitude. This was her evening after all. "You should have seen the dogs we had in studio today! The fluff!" She squeaked and I laughed as she placed both her hands on her round cheeks.

"I'm definitely watching the highlights later." I always did.

Ashley was the definition of happy-go-lucky. Every problem had a silver lining if you looked hard enough, and she looked alright. I met Ashley in college where I had initially hated her. I couldn't believe that someone as peppy as her was naturally that way. It took a lot of patience to realize that Ashley was genuine. She had a pure soul. And her peppy spirit had found its calling as a news anchor.

"How's the job hunt going?" She asked stretched her long limbs out. I admired her slim figure for a moment.

"It's going," I responded half heartedly stretching out with her.

"You'll find something, Emily! You're so great at what you do." She grinned.

"Thanks," I smiled back. Sometimes all you needed was a little encouragement and that was always found in Ashley. You didn't even have to look hard to find it.

"Alright, class!" Jim, our yoga instructor walked in with his black mat tucked under his arm. "Please spread out your mats and be seated."

Ashley snickered as Jim turned to frown at her, "Ashley, please keep your puns to yourself."

She burst out laughing, no doubt changing the word 'puns' to 'buns' in her head. She was tired, it was pretty much the evening for her.

He glared in her direction before shooting me a small smile. I waved in return, "Please be seated. Breathe in and out," he took a deep breath in and we followed.

"Now, release," he stated peeking one eye open to look at Ashley with a hard look, "Don't even think about it."

She let out a chortle but let it slide. After a yoga class filled with inappropriate jokes from Ashley and Jim's neck vein almost bursting, we wrapped up, rolling the yoga mats we were sitting on.

Jim walked up to us, "How are my two favourite yoga clients?" He asked grinning from ear to ear.

"Hey, Jim, good class!" Ashley replied brightly. I had suspicions that Ashley liked Jim, but she showed it like an eight year old boy would. She only got like this when she really liked the guy.

"It would have been nicer with a little less heckling from this corner," he stated teasingly. Jim was a good guy, so he didn't mind too much that we laughed the class off in front of the other ten yoga students.

Ashley looked away sheepishly, "Sorry, Jim. It won't happen again, pinky promise?" She reached to him with her pinky and he wrapped his around hers, shaking as he did so.

"I'll believe it when I see it," he grumbled, walking away.

Ashley and I walked outside and grabbed a coffee, for me, sleepy time tea for her, and parted ways. I loved seeing Ashley but her nighttime schedule meant we basically only saw each other once a week for this class. I replied to her texts in the morning and she responded in the middle of the night.

I walked back into my apartment complex, almost running right into Ms. Smith, who was checking her mail. "Oh, sorry Ms. Smith!" I called as I took a step back. She spent a lot of time at the mailbox, which just so happened to be at the entrance of the building. For someone who was retired and living alone, she sure received a lot of correspondence.

She raised an eyebrow at me, "Where are you coming from?"

"Yoga class," I gave her a small smile before beginning my trek up the stairs.

"Yoga doesn't count as exercise!" She called from the lobby.

"I'll keep that in mind!" I yelled back.

I opened the door to my apartment with my key and stepped inside, grabbing a bottle of water from my fridge. I went to take a quick shower before finally changing for the day.

I walked over to the newspaper from this morning, picking it up. My eyes zeroed in on the nursing position. I grabbed my phone, taking a deep breath before dialling the number.

"Hello?" A deep, masculine voice sounded, breathing heavily like he was answering after a jog or something.

"Hi, my name's Emily, I'm calling about the caregiver position?" Nerves were in my throat and I wasn't exactly sure why.

"You're a nurse?" The guy asked gruffly, his breathing now stabilized.

"Yes," I replied. Why else would I have phoned in? "I'm an RN."

I could hear multiple people shouting loudly in the background, startling me. Where the hell was this guy? "Come in for an interview tomorrow, then."

"What time?" I asked taking the cap off of my pen and poised it over the paper in front of me, waiting for further instructions.

"4:00 at 1438 Bristle Creek, apartment 4D." Came the rushed reply.

"Okay, sou-" the ringtone sounded loudly on the dropped call and I pulled the phone away from my face in confusion. Who hangs up on someone calling about a job?