“Thank you.” He’s still not moving.
“Um…” I’m doing my best to keep myself together. He’s so damn close, I can smell him. Sure, there’s an underlying odor of lube because he’s been cleaning, but underneath all that is a musky, woodsy scent.
It’s delish.
“You’re welcome.” I blink several times. I finally pull my head out of the clouds. “Are you sure you don’t need more help with the lube?”
He smirks.
I realize what I just asked him.
“Some other time.” He reaches out and places his hand on my upper arm. Giving it a little squeeze, he turns, and in no time, he’s back out in my kitchen. I follow him and watch him approach my back door. “Later, baby girl.”
And bam. My ovaries explode—again.
My only hope is all the ovary detonating won’t damage them. I want to keep those
functioning, just in case.
Chapter Nine
Just A Dream
It’s been about two weeks since I last caught a glimpse of my neighbor. It’s rather depressing, because I was hoping all that bonding we did over the lube would ease us into a friendship.
Did you see what I did there? I said “lube,” then I said “ease into”? Get it?
Snort.
Humor aside, I’m disappointed that things haven’t progressed. Hell, I had half a mind to bake something for the man. And no, I had no intention of delivering the treats in only an apron. Could you imagine the look on his face when I turned to head back to my place? Nobody needs to see that.
I can’t help fantasizing that the night after the whole “can I borrow your laundry detergent because I’ve got a basement and you don’t” conversation could have spawned something amazing. At the very least he could have invited me over to domylaundry.
No such luck.
He didn’t even return my soap. I half expected him to knock on the door to return it as an excuse to see me. Ha! That’s a joke.
“This sucks,” I mutter as I read the same sentence for a fifth time in the manuscript I’m supposed to be editing. “Focus, Colette.”
Screw this. I need to stop. I’ve been hard at work for eight solid hours. Well, six solid hours is more like it. But it’s quittin’ time, and I’m sure Henry Miller would enjoy a break from his nap on the sofa. A little time in the backyard is just what the doctor ordered. Standing, I bend backward, then from side to side to stretch out. A giggle escapes as I recall my dad doing the same thing.
Speaking of my dad … according to Mom, his trip to the doctor revealed that he was not experiencing acid reflux or whatever Mom said. He, in fact, has clogged arteries. Both my parents assured me it was nothing to worry about. I researched the condition, and it does seem as though a simple balloon procedure would clear it up, but I prefer to remain concerned. Someone needs to be. I haven’t heard if that procedure’s been scheduled yet, but I need to follow up. Bending, I pick up my little notebook and pen so I can jot down a reminder to call them later.
“Come on, Henry. Let’s go outside.” It perks him right up. Well, as perky as a cat his age can get. He stretches his paws in front of him, then he flops onto his side to stretch out his back legs. I can’t help thinking how alike the two of us are, you know, as it relates to stretching.
I grab myself a glass of wine, then pull open the screen door and stand aside to let my little asshole of a cat go first. Once he’s out, I step onto my wooden deck and shut the screen again to keep the pesky insects out. Henry Miller trots down the steps and heads straight for my little tree.
I don’t know why he bothers, honestly. He can’t climb the tree. He has no front claws. They were gone when I adopted him. No matter. Sitting in my chaise lounge, I smile at him. Henry Miller’s activities always amuse me. He’s like the best kind of roommate. He never speaks, he uses his box, and he doesn’t eat my cookies.
See? Perfect.
Leaning back in my chair, I release the air from my lungs and close my eyes. Raising and lowering my shoulders to help release some of the knots I’ve earned sitting in my office chair, I sip my cool glass of white wine. “This is the life.” Looking down at the table next to my chair, I spy the little notebook I grabbed when I came outside. It’s the one I like to draw in from time to time. I turn back several pages to the image of the squirrel from a few weeks earlier. I smirk at the little guy and giggle to myself. I suck at art, but there’s something about that drawing that makes me smile. I probably need to hang it on my fridge. You know, display it like moms do with their kids’ art. I laugh this time. “God, I’m such a dork.”
Yes. I’m talking to myself, but if anyone were to hear me, I can easily say I’m talking to Henry Miller. Setting the wine down, I close my eyes again and consider taking a little nap. There’s nothing like a fifteen- or twenty-minute nap to rejuvenate you for the rest of the day. Am I right?
Opening one eye, I make sure my feline is still in sight. He is. I close my eyes and do my best to will myself to sleep. Except I hear something from next door. Movement, for sure.
Which meanshe’shome.Finally.
