by Gina Sturino
“Not at all. I probably wouldn’t have heard you, but I don’t have cable yet. It’s pretty quiet over here. You sure you’re okay?”
Nodding, I flattened my palm against the left side of my ribcage. My breathing slowed, and the piercing pain faded to a dull ache. I looked down to my feet. “I am, thanks… just embarrassed. It’s silly, really.”
He tilted his head. “What is?”
“Nothing. I’m sorry. I’m tired. I should get back to bed.”
Dane gave a firm nod, then spoke in a soothing tone that melted away any remaining anxiety and embarrassment. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. You should get back to bed. Sweet dreams, Nova.”
I nodded in response, then slipped back inside, up the stairs, and into my bed where I did just that. I had a sweet dream.
A very sweet dream that involved a very sexy, new neighbor.
Jolting awake the next morning, my arms rubbed against coarse, scratchy material. Seriously? Am I really spooning a suitcase? I pushed it away like a jilted lover, but it barely budged. My friend, Cami, had offered to unpack it during her stay with me, but I’d adamantly refused, already feeling bad for putting her out. As my emergency contact, she was first to be notified following the crash, and stayed with me the night after my release from the hospital.
With a hefty sigh, I slid from bed, gave the suitcase a final glare, then stalked to the bathroom.
After the accident, my morning routine included downing two Tylenol, but since the previous afternoon, the migraine had eased to a barely noticeable, dull ache. For the first time in days, I gave my reflection an assured smile and then padded downstairs, glancing at the patio door before moving to the small galley kitchen. My cheeks warmed. I wasn’t usually so clumsy—or on edge.
The mug from the previous night still sat in the microwave. I pressed the screen to reheat the water. My fingers thumped against the counter as the seconds ticked down. With a work schedule that demanded late nights and early mornings, I usually drank coffee throughout the day. But Cami, who’d stocked my fridge, preferred chamomile tea and other crunchy health foods.
The microwave beeped. I added a teabag to the mug and moved to the living room. Sinking into the white leather couch that had cost a small fortune, I propped my feet on the freshly dusted coffee table.
Cami had done so much over the last week—cleaning, cooking, playing nurse. She wanted to stay longer, but I begged her off, arguing I’d get better rest alone. She relented after I promised to check in with her daily.
I took a sip of tea, then picked up my cell, and tapped the screen while leaning back into a buttery, soft cushion.
Cami answered on the first ring. “Nova! Sweetie!”
“Hey Cam, how are you?”
“Oh, fine, fine. How are you?” Her voice always percolated with happiness. It fit her—bubbly and sweet.
“Surprisingly good.” I did sound good. “I did something crazy.”
“Crazy?” she asked.
“I quit Loft.”
“What?” Cami’s shriek pierced my ear. “Because of London? Or San Francisco?”
She was the only person who knew about San Francisco. Well, besides Darrell, but I was certain I’d never hear a peep about it from him.
“Everything, really. I’ll tell you about that later. Mind if I stop by sometime this weekend, maybe Saturday?” I replied, steering the conversation away from work. “I’ve been thinking about Neal.”
“Oh. I wondered if you’d remember,” she replied cautiously.
“What?”
“Well, his name came up a few times while you were out of it.”
“I might try to find him,” I said, my hand trailing over the expensive leather of my over-priced couch.
She sighed. “It’s not as easy as it seems, finding someone who wants to be… lost.” The hurt in Cami’s voice made my stomach clench.
Years ago, Cami had a big blow-up with a friend, Celia, over a bad-news boyfriend. After their fight, Celia ran off with said guy, and they hadn’t talked since. Years of friendship were destroyed over a man. Every so often, Cami would reignite her efforts to locate Celia to make amends, but each attempt came up short. I knew how much it hurt her to be cut from Celia’s life.
I truly understood now, because I felt the same way about Neal.
“Yeah, but I need to at least try,” I replied softly.
“I get it. I do. I just don’t want you to get hurt, on top of everything else.” I heard her sigh, an unusual sound from my spritely friend. Her tone quickly reverted to its typical cheeriness. “I’m running errands this afternoon. You need anything?”
“Thanks, Cam, but I think it’s time for me to venture back into the land of the living. My head’s been pretty clear. Fresh air and a walk to the Metro Mart might do me good.” An idea formulated in my head, an idea I could credit to Dane. “So, I’ll see you Saturday then? Maybe I’ll drop off some homemade cookies?”
“Homemade cookies? Since when do you bake?”
Since today. “It’s the least I can do to thank you for everything.”
Cami knew I rarely cooked, not with my demanding career. Take-out or delivery, working through lunch and dinner—I barely had time to eat, let alone cook. For years, my life ran on a tight schedule. A very tight schedule. Always in a rush, always worrying about work. Every day planned down to the minute. No time for myself.
Now I have time. A new beginning. A second chance.
Life could change in an instant. Maybe the accident was a blessing, a wake-up call. I’d take time for myself and do things that mattered to me. I’d not only find Neal, but more importantly, I’d find myself.
No more schedules, no more working through lunch and dinner. I’d learn to cook. I’d learn to bake. A batch of cookies for Cami… and maybe some for my new neighbor. Welcome to the neighborhood cookies for Dane, the mystery man whose seductive voice and smile sucked away a migraine.
I grinned, then frowned. Who was I kidding? I didn’t even know how to turn on the oven.
Maybe I’d just buy them.
Four
I pulled a cart from the corral within the Metro Mart’s entrance, jerking it back and forth until the gummed wheels straightened out. Wincing from the motion, I steadied my breath before continuing into the store. Thankfully my ribs were just bruised, not broken.
The store bustled from the lunch-hour rush. I navigated through a maze of people and produce bins, silently berating myself for not switching to a quieter cart. An old lady glared as I passed her, cart squealing, and I sheepishly backed away toward the bakery department.
A display piled high with boxes of cookies, brownies, pies, and scones stopped me in my tracks. I picked up a box of double chocolate chip cookies.
“Homemade are so much better,” a familiar voice came from behind.
I twisted around, meeting sky-blue eyes.
“Dane.” My cheeks instantly flushed as I remembered my spill on the patio.
“No-va,” Dane said, annunciating the syllables in my name. “Do you know what that means in Spanish?”
“Huh?” I answered, blinking from confusion.
“Doesn’t go. Your cart, No-va.” Dane’s eyes gleamed. “Your cart doesn’t go. I heard it across the store.”
I laughed. “Really?”
“Here, for the sake of everyone, please take this one.” Dane pushed his empty cart beside mine and began transferring the contents.
“Thanks.” My smiled widened.
“Hang on, I’ll be right back,” Dane called from over his shoulder as he pushed the squealing cart back to the corral. He returned to my side in seconds. “Shouldn’t you be home resting?” He took reign of the cart, and I walked beside him.
“I need groceries. My fridge is literally empty.”
“Did you walk here?” he asked, and I nodded in reply. The Metro Mart was only a three-block walk from our apartment complex, but I usually drove.
“Yep. My car’s totaled.” The B
ermer Beamer. Totaled. I brushed away the guilty pang in my gut. I’d used my bonus money from the Bermer deal to buy a BMW X3. All that money wasted.
“Well, I figured.” He tapped his forehead in the location of my bruise. “I have just a few things to pick up, but if you don’t mind shopping along with me, I can be the gentleman my auntie always claimed me to be and will carry your packages back for you, madam.” His bright eyes closed as he accented the word madam.
I hadn’t thought about it, how I’d manage the bags with sore muscles and bruised ribs. Cute and thoughtful, an uncommon combination in my dating experience. “I don’t want to keep you, but that’d be really nice.”
We continued through the produce department. I added avocados, tomatoes, and lettuce to my other selection of vegetables in the cart.
“You eat like a rabbit.” Dane pointed to the food. “Please tell me you also eat meat?”
“Of course,” I replied, reaching for a cucumber.
“I make a mean cucumber salsa. So good over mahi-mahi.” A grin flashed across his face, and my stomach reacted with a flutter. He grabbed one for himself.
“Oh, so you bake and cook?” I asked. “Impressive.”
“Yep. Well, I can follow a recipe. Nothing gourmet or anything.” He tilted his head, arched a brow, and said, as if offering clarification, “I’m a simple man with simple needs.”
I blushed, unsure whether his proclamation had multiple meanings.
We pushed wordlessly to the deli. I picked at various artisan cheeses, and Dane appraised my selection.
“Nice, so you’re a cheese eater. You kind of need to be here though, right?” A now familiar smile returned to his face. “The land of Cheeseheads.”
“You’re not from Wisconsin?”
“Just moved to the state. I’ve spent a lot of time in Chicago, but Milwaukee’s new. Haven’t even had time to check out any breweries, but that’ll be changing soon.”
“You’ll love it here,” I assured. Milwaukee, with its rich beer brewing history, had long been nicknamed Brew City. The area held all the culture, fun, and vibe of a big metropolis, but on a smaller, more accessible scale. With many quaint towns and the lake country surrounding the city, and Chicago less than ninety miles away, it was the best of both worlds.
“Yes, I think I will,” Dane agreed, his playful eyes twinkling with what I thought could be another underlying message. Black hair fell over his forehead, and he raised a hand to haphazardly brush it back.
His hair was longer than the clean, classic cuts I’d usually see around the office at Loft and Associates. His dark T-shirt and worn denim lent him an edgy appearance, like he rode a motorcycle.
“Did you move here for a job?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Yep, a new gig. Tequila distribution.” The word tequila rolled off his tongue with an authentic-sounding Spanish accent. “I love the stuff, and now I get it at a discount.”
“So, beer and liquor?” I teased. A chilled glass of chardonnay was my drink of choice.
“As I said, I’m a simple man.” Dane reached across to grab butter from the cooler, and his skin brushed against mine. It was just a gentle grazing, yet the tingle from his touch rendered me frozen. I stood in place, staring at the spot on my arm.
“Nova?” Dane called. He’d pushed ahead several feet. My eyes snapped to his bicep—where our skin had touched—and landed on the edge of a tattoo. It peeked from the corner of his T-shirt. I hadn’t noticed it the day before.
I blinked, then met his eyes. “Think I’m set,” I murmured, although I hadn’t gotten the ingredients to bake cookies. Shopping with Dane had put that idea on hold.
“I need two more things—sugar and flour, since I now know my neighbor won’t have any on hand.” Dane glanced from over his shoulder, winking as he led us to the baking aisle. “You free tonight?”
I titled my head, nodding slightly.
“Want to make cookies?” He picked up a pack of chocolate chips, and then flipped it over to show me the recipe on the back of the packaging. “A lesson in baking.”
I continued to nod, warmth filling my belly.
“Well, as a master chocolate chip cookie maker, it’s kind of my duty to give you a lesson, since you don’t bake. And, as your new neighbor, it’s kind of your duty to bring the new guy cookies. So here we can kill two birds with one stone.” He made an exaggerated tossing motion before dropping the package into his part of the cart.
Looks like I’ll be learning to bake after all.
Dane carried the bulk of the bags as we walked back to our complex, only allowing me to handle the lightest one which contained a loaf of bread. At the corner of Ogden and Van Buren, we waited for the traffic light to change. I glanced toward Winetopia, the lounge I frequented when I had a rare night out. Not only convenient, being just a block from home, it also carried the best wines and offered an extensive cocktail menu. The chic, modern ambiance attracted an older crowd, unlike the college scene at the bars and restaurants around Brady and Water Street.
“You should check out Winetopia.” I pointed to their sign.
“That place?” Dane grimaced. “Looks snooty.”
“I like it.” I shrugged.
“Duly noted.” A teasing smile lit his mischievous eyes.
“Dane!” I exclaimed, and he laughed. “I was just going to say how right your aunt is, thinking you’re a gentleman, but never mind now.”
A grin overtook his face. “I’m just joking, Nova. Well, not about that place, it does look snooty. But not you.”
I blushed and self-consciously patted away loose strands of hair that had escaped my messy bun. I couldn’t imagine how I looked at that moment—I’d made the quick trip to the grocery store in yoga pants and a tank top, not expecting to run into anyone, let alone my sexy as sin, new neighbor.
Dane used his fob to access the back door to our complex which opened to a rear stairwell. He held the door for me. I started toward the elevator, then looked back to offer an explanation since our units were only one floor up. Most days I’d skip the elevator and take the stairs. “I bruised some ribs in the wreck. Stairs aren’t my thing right now.”
Playful teasing gave way to a strange sense of intimacy in the elevator’s small space. We ascended in silence. The door opened to our floor, and Dane waited for me to exit first.
“Here we are,” he stated, handing over my bags. “Tonight, then?”
“Yes, tonight.” I nodded my head.
“Come by at six.” Dane slipped into his apartment.
Five
As I emptied the last grocery bag, my cell erupted. Pete Mackroy’s number flashed on the screen. Silencing the phone, I let the call go to voicemail. By now, I assumed Darrell had notified him that I’d quit Loft and Associates.
Each time Pete had called the last several days, I’d replied with vague texts. I was not ready to discuss the accident, lawsuits, or insurance claims with anyone, let alone a stranger.
The phone buzzed, indicating the arrival of yet another voicemail from Pete. I sighed before snatching it from the counter and heading to the patio. Hitting the speaker, I listened half-heartedly to his message as I stepped outside.
Guilt gnawed at me. Returning Pete’s call was the courteous thing to do, even if he was a friend of Darrell’s. I tapped his name on my contact list. He picked up first ring.
“Hi Novalee, that was fast,” Pete said.
“Hey Pete, I got your message. Sorry I missed your call,” I replied, twisting a lock of hair between my fingers. My stomach twisted along with it. Please don’t ask how I’m doing. Please don’t ask about the accident.
“No problem. Figured I’d give it one more shot to see if we could connect while I’m in Milwaukee. Does tomorrow morning work—around ten?”
“Well,” I hesitated, dropping the strands. “Ten works, but I… I don’t want to discuss the accident. I just want to move on.”
“Let’s talk tomorrow. I’m in town regardles
s,” Pete explained. His office was based out of Chicago, some big-name firm I should have been impressed with. “Is there somewhere near you where we could meet for coffee?”
“Dark Beans,” I said, referring to the coffee shop located next to Winetopia. “It’s on Ogden Street.”
“I’ll punch it into the GPS.” Pete’s voice soothed. He had an unusually calm tone, especially for an attorney. “See you tomorrow then?”
We said our goodbyes, and I clicked off the call.
I should have said no. I should have blown it off completely, but part of me felt I owed it to Darrell to at least meet with Pete. It was one of only a handful of times he’d gone out of his way to show concern.
However, a larger part of me knew exactly how much attorneys billed per hour, even over coffee. Way to trim the excess.
Leaning against the sliding glass door’s frame, I glanced to the park before shifting my attention to Dane’s patio.
Giggles and flowers. The muddied memory flashed in and out of my mind. I closed my eyes, wiping away any remnants of the strange images.
At least it wasn’t a replay of me falling on my ass.
As evening approached, a mixture of excitement and nerves mingled in my belly. Getting involved with my neighbor, no matter how attractive and sweet he may be, was a complication I definitely did not need.
But I couldn’t shake it. I hardly knew him, yet I liked him.
It’s just cookies. A little baking. You wanted to bring some to Cami, right?
I nodded, agreeing with myself. Besides, having a friend next door offered a sense of security, someone besides Cami that I could count on in a crunch.
Before heading to Dane’s, I raided the bottles of wine in my fridge, choosing a chardonnay from a local vineyard. Some of their grapes were shipped from California, but a majority were plucked off the vines in their own backyard. I grabbed the chilled bottle from the lower shelf, my fingers clenching nervously around the bottle’s neck, then stepped into the hall.
