“It’s not pity. And your expensive shirt might need some TLC so it doesn’t get ruined.”
He shoots me a glance over his shoulder—he’s careful to look over his right shoulder, showing me the normal side of his face—and I amend, “Well,moreruined. I’ll replace it. I feel awful. Aboutthe salad ... and ... and the look out front.” As I flounder through an apology, he grips the edge of the washing machine, his knuckles flashing white. “I would never mean to make you feel bad. I had a heart transplant, and I have this huge scar, too, so I know what it’s like to have people stare, and I wouldnever—”
“Liv, is it?” he cuts me off, turning to face me. Neither of us turned on the lights in the laundry room, so he’s huge and hulking in the darkness again, standing there like a tragic movie poster, with his slacks slung low on his hips and his bare torso. He’s so beautiful that even his scars can’t hide it.
“Olivia, but my friends—”
“Do you honestly think that because you’ve got a big red mark on your chest and half of my body looks like it’s been through a war, we’re suddenly going to be best friends? That we’ll swap tales of skin grafts and endure rude stares together?”
A hesitant tremor sparks in my belly at his words. “Something like that.” I opt for an encouraging smile, despite the simmering animosity radiating off him.
“I don’t do scar buddies,” is his stony response, and my smile fades. “I meant what I said to Lou. I’m not looking for a relationship right now—or anything else either. I’ll try not to ‘skulk around in the dark’ anymore, and you can keep the salads and electronics to yourself. We’ll settle for being neighbors who don’t attack each other. Nothing more. Sound good?”
He doesn’t give me a chance to respond. Hunter brushes past me with a concerted effort to make sure no part of his arm or hand touches me, and I’m left in the dark laundry room, my mouth gaping open.
“Wow, that must be some migraine,” Lou comments from behind me a moment later. “He actually slammed the door. Like he’s thirteen and throwing a tantrum.” I turn to face my friend, still reelingfrom Hunter’s blunt rudeness. “I don’t think he’s normally like this. He got more bad news at work today and—”
“And he’s a totaldumhuvud!”
Lou grimaces, recognizing the Swedish insult from both my and Farmor’s using it. “What did he say to you?”
“Nothing worth repeating. But you might want to take your dream of becoming family and throw it through a shredder. I don’t know if I ever want totalkto him again, let alone considerdatinghim.”
“Well, crap,” she repeats.
“Yeah,” I agree, rubbing at my temples. “Hey, what happened to your date?”
“He was running late at work, so I came home to change. I have to leave in ten to go meet him.” She glances sideways to the wall that conjoins the half of the duplex Hunter now inhabits. “Do I dare leave you two here alone? Will my home still be standing when I get back?”
“I won’t throw anything else at him—unless he tells me he doesn’t want a scar buddy again. Then I make no promises.”
“Hedidn’t!”
“Oh, hedid.”
Lou groans. “What a turd.”
“Don’t worry about it. I doubt he’ll come back here, and if he does, I’m a grown-up. I can be civil. Since he’s your cousin and all.” I shoo her. “Go on. Go get ready for your date.”
“Nope. I’m going to cancel it and stay here to watchGrey’s Anatomyor something with you.”
“I forbid it. What if this date istheone? I can ogle McDreamy by myself, thank you very much.”
“You know the chances of this date finally being the one are slim to none, right?”
“I know this is the banker guy who you’ve been looking forward to meeting for two weeks, right? So I think the chances are higher than slim to none. Now, go! Before I shove you out the door and possibly scratch your Louboutins.”
“You wouldn’tdare.”
“Try me.”
Lou holds up her hands with a defeated laugh. “All right. I’m going, I’m going.” She actually takes off her shoes (that are worth more than my entire closet of clothes) to dash up the stairs to her room.
When I hear her talking to someone on her phone above me and a deep voice responding during all her pauses through the shared wall, I realize she must have called Hunter. I can’t make out the words and don’t want to know what awful things he might say about me to Lou, so I grab a bag of popcorn and shove it into the microwave, waiting for the sound of the kernels bursting into buttery goodness to drown out the murmurs of their voices through the too-thin walls of this duplex.
By the time Lou comes rushing back downstairs in a stunning little black dress that shows off her svelte figure (despite daily Swedish treats) and her teal-tipped hair, I’m sitting on the couch with the huge, steaming bowl of popcorn in my lap, my apron gone and old reruns ofFriendson.
“Oh man, not the season where Monica and Chandler are secretly dating. You know I love that season!”
