She winced. “Oh. Sorry.”
“This is a vacant house as far as everyone is concerned.”
“Won’t anyone who sees an open window just assume you’re cleaning it out?”
He frowned. “No one minds their own business here. They’ll want to see who’s here while I’m at work, and it would only take one pushy step into the house to realize I’m actually living here.” The Palms residents were strong-willed and opinionated, and had no qualms sharing—and in some cases, enforcing—those strong wills and opinions. Especially when it came to someone a couple of generations younger than them.
He really liked the residents. He respected them. He was completely intimidated by several of them.
And he could name at least seven who seemed extra curious about his life lately.
She dropped onto the couch beside him, and it suddenly felt much too small. “If I can’t open the blinds, we need to at least start going through the boxes so more light can get through the space.”
He grunted in acknowledgment. He’d get to the boxes. Eventually.
She looked at his full plate of chicken alfredo as her stomach growled.
He wanted to be petty.
He wanted to ignore her hunger.
He wanted to pretend she didn’t exist and let his life go back to normal
“There’s extra food on the stove,” he said instead, because at his core, he was a decent person. And he could never deny anyone a plate of food—even if her actions roller-coastered his life upside down and sideways at break-neck speeds. “Plates are in the cupboard next to the microwave.”
She raced to the kitchen with an excited smile that zinged all the way through him. He dug back into his food, savoring each bite, until she sat beside him again, closer this time. His food turned to sawdust.
“This is delicious,” she said after her first bite. “Did you make this?”
He wasn’t offended by her incredulous tone. Most people were surprised to learn he loved to cook and bake—something to do with the bike and the black clothes and long hair. First impressions were rarely correct.
“Yes. You might be more comfortable at the table,” he hinted.
“No, this is fine.” She bounced slightly on the springy couch. “This couch is more comfortable than I expected it to be the first time I saw it.”
He took another bite and chewed slowly, trying to retrieve that Zen feeling he usually got while eating a meal he’d created.
“We should get to know each other.” Eliana licked sauce off her fork, and he blinked away from the sight with a heavy swallow. “Since we’re living together and all.”
“Not like that.” He set his half-full plate on the coffee table.
“That’s not what people would think …” She waggled her eyebrows.
He didn’t know what expression his face held—something between absolute awareness of every single part of Eliana mixed equally with horror, if he had to guess based on his feelings—but it made her laugh.
And that laugh made his stomach twist tighter than rotini, which happened to be his second favorite type of pasta.
“I’m messing with you,” she assured him. “I have taken a vow of singleness.”
His shoulders relaxed. Of course she was teasing him. He’d seen theHappily Singlevideo. He needed to unwind this spool of tension or else the next couple of months would be torture.
“A vow.”
“Yep. I put it on the internet, which means it will live forever. Screenshots never forget.”
“Life lesson number one.” He drew a one in the air with his finger. He needed to ignore her. Glare. Brood.
But it was hard to brood with a stomach half-full of homemade pasta and cream sauce and Eliana’s sunny smile lighting up his depressingly dark bungalow.
