My musing is interrupted by a knock at my door.
My heart does this weird stuttering thing. I check through the peephole and nearly swallow my tongue when I see who it is.
Jared.
He’s here. He’s come to see me. That’s got to be a good thing, right?
Unless he’s reconsidered and has come to tell me he actually doesn’t think being friends is a good idea.
Or maybe he’s come to demand back his T-shirt and sweatpants because a week is too long for what was clearly meant to be a one-night lending situation and he’s been quietly seething about it the entire week.
I stop my catastrophizing by opening the door.
Jared is standing there in a worn band T-shirt that clings to him in ways that should be illegal, holding a plate covered in cling film. His hair is slightly messy, like he’s been runninghis hands through it, and there’s a smudge of what looks like chocolate on his jaw. I want to lick it off.
My ability to keep things with Jared in the friendship zone is already going spectacularly badly.
“Um…hi,” he says.
“Hi.”
“I thought given you’re new to the building, I should do the neighborly thing and bake you something to say welcome,” he says, holding out the plate.
“You bake?”
“Yes, I bake. Do you like brownies?”
“What kind of question is that? If you have someone who doesn’t like brownies in your life, you need to cut them off now. Because it’s very likely they’re possessed by the devil.”
He laughs as I take the plate from him.
“Thanks so much. These look delicious.”
“You’re welcome.”
“You want to come in for a bit?” I ask hopefully.
My heart skips as Jared smiles warmly.
“Sure. I’d love to come in and meet the famous Patches.”
I open the door to let him inside, putting the brownies on my kitchen counter, and then lead him through into my half-unpacked disaster of a living room, where Patches is doing her best impression of a throw pillow on the couch.
“Patches, this is Jared,” I tell her. “He saved my life once and makes excellent brownies, so be nice. Jared, this is Patches, destroyer of socks, hoarder of hair ties, and the reason I can’t have nice things.”
Patches opens one eye, judges Jared worthy of her attention, and immediately rolls onto her back, presenting her stomach to him.
“She’s friendly,” Jared says.
“She’s a total hussy, just like her owner,” I reply.
Jared makes a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a strangled cough.
Shit. Did that sound flirty? I’m not supposed to be flirting with him.
Luckily, Patches is purring like a motorboat and attracts Jared’s attention back to her. He scratches her belly.
Okay, now I’m officially jealous of my cat.
