But like a total coward, I had recoiled, thanked him for his help with the gutters and quickly scampered back inside.
That night, I awoke from a dream in which someone’s hands were all over me. A hot, insistent tongue in my mouth. I wasn’t entirely surprised to find my own hand snaking down inside my panties. The faint smell of rain and woodsmoke seemed to float on the still air of the bedroom. I’ve regrettably taken notice of a similar and pleasant aroma drifting off Zayn in our frequent encounters both in and around the house.
What was wrong with me?
“Hey, you!” a soft voice calls from the foyer, pulling me from the memory. I shake my head absently and resume my wiping down of the kitchen counter.
“Hey, B, in here,” I call back.
I hear Bea kick off her shoes in the entry way and make her way into the kitchen. Bea has been here every day since the night of the attack, to bring me a hot dinner and a fresh bottle of Rombauer.
I listen half-heartedly to her as she chats about her day and unloads the Chinese takeout she brought onto the dining table.
From the living room, Bundy chirps curiously, looking out one of the floor to ceiling windows. I follow his gaze but see nothing. He is clearly seeing or sensing something that I cannot. This wasn’t the first time I wondered if the small, inky feline was perhaps a conduit and could somehow sense what I could not.
Bundy leans in and brushes his body against the window, and out of the twilight shadows steps Zayn, with a broom in one hand and rake in the other. He smiles at us through the glass, giving the broom a friendly sort of raise.
“Oh my god. Is thathim?” squeals Bea, “your parttime gardener and mysterious savior?”
“He isnotmy gardener,” I reply, infusing a sense of neutrality I do not feel into my voice. “As I have already told you, he is my neighbor. Of sorts.”And my ever-constant guardian, I think.
“Christ, he is hot,” Bea says, as she waves back at him, grinning widely. “You failed to mention that little tidbit.”
“Huh,” I reply absently, keeping my eyes trained on the white cardboard boxes now neatly lined up in front of me. The fact that Zayn was devastatingly attractive, I couldn’t dispute.
“Doesn’t matter,” I minimize. “He won’t stick around for long, I’m sure.”
“Are you?” asks Bea. “He looks to be pretty dang settled here. Very man of the house vibes. Almost like he belongs here.”
“Well, I don’t know why he’d stay. I’m always working, have fresh PTSD, and I’m a total loner who only has one friend,” I say, gesturing to Bea, who has made herself comfortable on the chair.
Bea is silent for a moment before eyeing me reproachfully. “Well, when that friend is me, one is all you need.”
She smiles to herself as she pulls out a shiny magazine with bold print from her bag.
“Okay, we have dinner, let’s check those horoscopes. Now let’s see here,” she says, a slender finger trailing down the inside of the folded, glossy magazine. “Cancer… cancer… aha! Okay.”
“This month brings you trouble in both personal and work relationships.Ha! I’d say so.” She reads on, “As far as romantic concerns go, around mid-month, consider the concept of a twin flame. Twin flames being two entities that once were one being and are now longing to reunite in this lifetime. Often associated with a strong pull, and strong sense of—oh it’s you—as soul recognizes soul.”
My fingers halt, chopsticks and fried rice hovering halfway to my mouth. I peer over at Bea in utter shock. She’s looking back at me with a devilish sort of gleam in her eye.
“Does that… resonate with you?” she asks, lifting an eyebrow.
“Does it really say that?” I demand.
“See for yourself,” Bea replies, tossing the magazine down onto the table between us. But I don’t need to see for myself.A now all too familiar jolt of pure electricity had shot down my spine at the words “twin flame.” That electric charge was my body talking to me. And it told me all I needed to know.
My eyes dart up to the window overlooking the back porch. Zayn’s tall, muscular form stands at the far end sweeping dried leaves into a pile in the gathering darkness.
Tending to this home. And to me.
14
TEA
KAT
“Bundy?” my voice echoes through the lofty sitting room, with its high ceiling, and dark, polished beams. But no responding meow meets my ears.
