When I open the door, I'm surprised to find Matt standing there in his casual T-shirt, this time red, and grey sweatpants. His hair is still wet.
When he sees me, a smile breaks across his face. Dimples pop on each cheek. My entire world narrows in on those two dips beneath his five o’clock shadow.
He tilts his head.
Shit, I’m staring again!
“Came to check up on you. How are you doing?” he asks.
Warmth floods my chest, but a voice from deep inside my mind insists he thinks I’m a few marbles short.
“I’m great,” I say. It comes out a little terse.
He holds up a takeout bag, ignoring my tone. “Got dinner. Have you eaten already?”
Somethingin my stomach flutters. I dismiss it as a cry for help from my empty stomach and let him in.
He makes a beeline for my kitchen and starts plating the food. He brings two plates to the couch and sits down, leaning back. The couch groans under his considerable bulk, which he ignores.
I convince myself that Matt’s just doing his neighborly duties. That doesn’t stop the slow smile spreading across my face.
I sit on the opposite end of the couch, a distance relatively safer for my heart’s health.
“By the way, I went to check up on the guy upstairs.”
“Jesus?” he jokes.
“No, I mean, the guy I saw running away yesterday.”
“What?” his smile is gone. “Alone?”
“Yeah, it's just three floors up,” I say, confused by his reaction. I take a small bite of my burrito.
“Did you talk to him?” he asks hesitantly.
“He wasn't there,” I say, still chewing. This is so unattractive.
“Oh.” His face relaxes a bit.
“So I talked to the landlord to check what's up with him.”
“What?” he repeats, a little annoyed.
“Yeah, he wasn’t very helpful, even though he couldn’t stop inhaling my muffins,” I huff. Clearly, I wasn’t over the loss.
“You had muffins with the landlord?”
“No, I brought him muffins to get the grumpy guy’s number, Matt. Keep up.” I take another bite of my burrito. Stop eating while talking, Oliver!
“That makes sense,” he says, his tone sarcastic. “Wait, did he give you the number?”
Way to rub it in, Matt! “No, he didn’t,” I grumble.
“At least you tried,” he says.
All that was missing was a pat on my head, and he would be the perfect proud grandfather.
“Besides, I reached out to his family. They moved him to a rehab facility just this morning,” he continues.
