CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I’m thrilled to learn Jasper lives in Cabbagetown, a neighborhood in central Toronto that’s known for its funky, colorful Victorian houses and picturesque nooks and crannies. When I lived in Toronto, I’d come here often on my days off, particularly in the autumn when the leaves turned and the flowering cabbages were in bloom. I’d stroll along the streets, check out the shops and restaurants, and, when I needed an hour or two of solitude to clear my head, I’d wander the vast, peaceful grounds of St. James’ Cemetery.
“Is it sad I was hoping Jasper lived in one of the Victorian houses?” I ask as Evan pulls the car up in front of a four-story apartment building.
Gwen laughs. “No. The first time we came for a visit and Evan told me Jasper lived in Cabbagetown, I hoped it’d be one of the Victorians.”
“She wasespeciallyhoping it’d be one of the hideous yellow and purple ones,” Evan says.
“They’re not hideous!” Gwen’s tone is so scandalized you’d think Evan had just calledherhideous. “They’re charming and full of character, just like this whole area.”
“It’s that charm that’s taken this from a beautiful neighborhood to something trendy, which has driven up real estate prices. Do you know the Victorians cost up to two million dollars these days? The prices have driven out so many families and middle class people who want to live in Toronto but don’t necessarily want the hustle and bustle of the busier areas.”
Gwen glances over her shoulder at me as Evan hops out of the car. “Touchy subject,” she whispers. “We’ve been talking about buying a house within the next year, and everything is more expensive than we realized. He was grumbling the other day about how people are leaving Toronto and coming to Bellevue, and it’s driving up real estate prices.”
“I’d believe it, considering what I’m paying for my itty bitty apartment,” I tell her.
We get out of the car and join Evan, who has my bags waiting on the sidewalk. He’s dropping us off at the front of Jasper’s building and then driving to one of the nearby public parking lots.
“Next time I do an impression of a miser, I’mreallygoing to lean into it,” Evan says with a wry smile. “I’ll go full Scrooge McDuck with a Scottish accent and everything.”
Gwen presses into him on one side and I do the same on the other. “Make sure to complain about the price of bread and eggs too,” she says, kissing his cheek.
“And how much it costs to go to the movie theater these days,” I add, kissing his other cheek.
With a laugh, he playfully shoves us away from him. We take my bags and head toward Jasper’s building, slipping in behind someone who’s on their way out. When we get out of the elevator on the fourth floor a minute later, I follow Gwen to the end of the hall, where she knocks on a door with a small autumnal wreath. We wait for several beats and then she knocks again.
“That’s weird.” She pulls her phone from her purse and checks the screen. “I texted him a few minutes ago to tell him we were almost here.”
The sound of the door being unlocked comes from the other side, paired with a string of muffled muttering. Gwen and I stare at the knob as it jiggles back and forth, then jump back when the door suddenly flies open.
“Apologies,” Jasper says breathlessly. His arms are bent at the elbows, hands in the air like a doctor who’s just scrubbed in for surgery. “I was elbow deep in…and my hands were…please come in. Mind the doorknob when you’re closing the door, it’s covered in grease.”
I’ve never seen Jasper so disheveled. The sleeves of his dark-red pullover are shoved to his elbows and his jeans are not only unironed, they’re actuallywrinkled. His wild hair and the stubble on his cheeks—which are flushed, either from the stifling heat in the apartment or the embarrassment of his struggle getting the door open—make him look way sexier than it should for someone who’s obviously quite distressed.
“Why is it so hot in here?” Gwen asks.
“I honestly have no clue,” Jasper says, his voice higher than usual. “The temperature was perfect until about half an hour ago when heat started blasting from the vents. I’ve put in a call to the super, but it’s the Saturday of a holiday weekend, so who knows when he’ll arrive.”
Sweat is gathering around his hairline, making little curls spring up over his forehead. He raises his hand as if to push his hair back, then remembers his hands are covered in—whatever they’re covered in—and uses his forearm to shove his hair back instead.
He shoots me an apologetic look as he hurries across the room. “I promise I’m normally a much better host. Please come in and make yourselves at home, maybe open a window or two. I just need to check on a few things and I’ll be back shortly.” He disappears into what I assume is the kitchen, leaving Gwen and me standing in the doorway staring at each other. The moment our eyes meet, we both dissolve into stifled laughter.
“Poor Jasper,” I whisper.
“We shouldn’t laugh,” she says around a giggle. “But only Jasper would be so polite while having a meltdown.”
“A literal meltdown.” I set my bags on the floor and peel off my jacket and cardigan. It feels like we’ve just arrived on a tropical island. Gwen shucks her outerwear and pushes the sleeves of her top up as far as they’ll go.
“Come on, I’ll give you a tour and show you to your room,” she says.
“I’m almost afraid to go into the kitchen, but the desserts for tomorrow should be put in the fridge, seeing as it’s a thousand degrees in here,” I say, lifting the insulated bag from the floor.
“Okay, we’ll venture in and see if there’s anything we can do to ease his stress,” Gwen says.
Jasper is drying his hands on a towel when we enter the kitchen. I scan the room; it’s small and bright, with the window wide open, letting in a cool breeze to offset the oppressive heat. The most noticeable thing about the room is the fact it looks like a food bomb went off in here. Every inch of counter space is covered in pots, pans, and various ingredients.
“I was rather hoping you wouldn’t see the kitchen this way,” he says when he sees us.
