It took her a moment to realize what had set Callan off. It was the coffeemaker, which she’d set last night before she’d gone to bed, but apparently she’d forgotten to put the coffee in as the machine was beeping incessantly, the sound shrill in the quiet apartment.
Thank goodness her neighbors were already at work, otherwise, they’d be complaining about the noise. Mr. Brown, who lived downstairs, liked to pound on the ceiling when she was being loud. The grouchy middle-aged guy also loved to type up long letters detailing the noise coming from her apartment and tack it to her door, along with whatever other complaints he leveled at her. He worked from home, some kind of tech job, but luckily he wasn’t home today.
Careful not to startle him, she put a hand on his arm, muscles tensing under her touch. “It’s okay. It’s just the coffeemaker.”
With a shake of his head, he reached out, then snatched his hand back as if burned when the coffee maker let out another piercing beep.
It wasn’t funny. The guy obviously had some kind of issues around coffee makers or beeping noises, but before she could stop it, a giggle burst from her lips.
The sight of him, wearing a pair of Shawn’s sweatpants and no shirt, sent her over the edge. The navy sweatpants were more like capri leggings, hugging every inch of him, and there were a lot of inches.
Daisy took another minute or two to drink in the sight. He had a six-pack on top of a six-pack, his hair was loose around his shoulders, he was tall, and looked like a statue of an ancient warrior carved from marble and come to life.
This huge warrior, because it was really the only word that fit him, was afraid of a coffeemaker. Before he decided to toss the offending machine across the room, she stepped over and quickly pressed a button. Silence filled the room.
The quiet finally broke through to him. Callan whirled around to face her, his face drawn and pale.
“What manner of witchcraft is this?” he demanded, gesturing at the coffeemaker. “It shrieked at me when I touched it.”
Another giggle escaped. “No witchcraft, though I wish it was magic, then I wouldn’t have to remember to fill it with water.”
She filled the machine, pressed a button and the scent of delicious, life-giving coffee filled the air.
“Sorry about the noise.”
He was still eyeing the machine as he ran a hand through his hair, his posture relaxing slightly.
“Aye, ’tis an odd world you live in, lass. I fear I may never grow accustomed to it.”
Then, like Frankie when catching a delicious scent, Callan tipped his head up, sniffing. “It smells good.”
On that, they could agree. “The only way to start the day.” She patted his arm.
Seeming to realize he was bare-chested, he strode over to the sofa, grabbed Shawn’s old heather gray tee and pulled it over his head.
“That’s—” She clapped a hand over her mouth. The tee looked like a painted on crop top. “That is not going to work.” At least this time, she didn’t burst out laughing.
The coffee ready, she poured them both a mug, hers in a mug that proclaimedone cup to rule them all,while Callan’s cup had a duck on the front and said,no one knows what the duck they’re doing.
Reaching for her phone, she absently tapped the screen, intending to check the weather. Instead, music blared from the wireless speakers she had set up in the kitchen and living area, filling the space with a Fleetwood Mac song.
The sudden noise startled Callan, who had just taken a sip of his coffee. He jumped, the mug slipping from his grasp and shattering on the floor. Frankie, who had finally settled down, started barking again, adding to the cacophony.
“Sorry!” Daisy yelped, quickly turning off the music. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Callan stared at the phone in her hand, his eyes wide. “How did you conjure singing from that tiny box?”
“The phone? It has a music app which sends the music to the speakers.”
She gestured around the room, a pit in her stomach. The guy wasn’t acting, he was seriously confused. So if he wasn’t acting, had he hit his head while practicing at the Faire and now he thought he was a medieval highlander? Could the Faire be the cause of all those scars? No way, they used blunted swords. So what was going on?
And if he hadn’t hit his head, what other explanation could there be for the outrageous claims?
“Remember, we talked about phones last night?”
She decided to treat him like Mr. Havers. He had dementia and asked her the same questions over and over when she sat with him on days his son had to be in the office instead of working at home. Not the tech bro jerk, but a nice guy who was polite and liked girls who wore glasses.
For a couple of months Daisy thought about getting a pair with clear lenses, but given her track record, when things ended badly, which they always did, she’d still have to see him in the building, and there was no way she was giving up her fabulous studio apartment.
