by Kylie Parker
“Yep. He’s not coming for another week, at least.” She was frustrated.
“Bacon, pepperoni, double cheese, thin crust…” Isabelle chirped and tossed the menu on the table. Kate began to dial the number of that restaurant. At that moment though, the three friends heard a loud, piercing sound. It was very close and crystal clear, as if it was coming from the street. It took Isabelle a few seconds to realize what it was.
“I think your neighbor is a musician. That’s an electric guitar. He sounds pretty good,” she remarked. However, Kate did not appreciate the noise, especially when she was about to speak on the phone. Two minutes later, after she had managed to place their order, she was very angry. Still in her red robe, she announced:
“I need to put some clothes on and go give that moron a piece of my mind.” Her voice had gotten high-pitched.
“Kate, don’t. You shouldn’t fight with your new neighbor. Let me put on my sneakers and I’ll go,” Isabelle interjected.
Five minutes later, she exited the house. There were no houses to the right, so Isabelle climbed down the few steps and paused for a moment. But it was quite obvious to her that Kate’s new neighbor was the loud guitarist, as soon as she covered the thirty yards of distance to his house.
Unlike the Miles’ estate, this plot was much larger and looked nothing like it either. Just after the large driveway, where Isabelle saw that black Lamborghini earlier, there was a massive, black power gate. For some reason, it was open. A 40ft-long and 5ft-wide walkway separated the huge loan. It was lined with small, white stones. A row of small lights was on the edge of each side of the lawn. The walkway led to a large, dark-brown front door. However, Isabelle did not have to walk all the way to the door. Clearly, despite the chilly weather, Kate’s new neighbor was outside, playing the guitar. He was on the left side of the lawn, facing Kate’s house near the upper left corner, with a guitar in his hands. A big amplifier was also facing her house.
“That explains it…
Although Isabelle was still quite far from him to make out any details, she soon realized that he was very tall. The young flight attendant began to walk quickly towards him, in the starry, but moonless night. Isabelle could only see part of his chin. Strumming his guitar, the big man could not hear Isabelle approaching him from behind. At twenty feet away, she found out what he had on: Black jeans and a black, leather jacket. Isabelle then quickened her pace.
When she finally reached his spot, she stopped less than two feet behind him and slightly to his left. She extended her left arm and placed her hand on his shoulder. Immediately, the stranger threw his pick down and grabbed her fingers with his right hand. The echo of his music was still in the air when Isabelle heard his voice:
“I think I know who this hand belongs to… Ms. Stiles, isn’t it?” After finishing his sentence, he slowly turned around and faced her. It was Dean Marshall…
“Oh!” Isabelle exclaimed and pulled her hand away from him instinctively. She could not believe her eyes. Kate’s new neighbor was the man who had saved the lives of nearly 200 people and the man her friend had warned her about just that morning. She could not utter a word. She just stood there with her eyes wide open.
“How can this be?
“I’d normally wait for you to speak, Ms. Stiles. But… You’re obviously too shocked to say anything. You never gave me your first name. What does the ‘I’ on your name tag stand for?” His manly voice filled her ears, sending her pulse rising.
“I…Isabelle,” she mumbled after a few seconds.
“Very nice to meet you, Isabelle. Is there anything I can do for you or should I keep practicing? Why are you here?” He took a step closer to her.
“Um… uh… Mr. Marshall…” Her trembling voice left him no choice but to ask her to speak up.
“I’d love to hear that sweet voice of yours again, Isabelle. I can’t hear you.” He leaned forward, towards her and mellowed his voice.
“Yeah… Um, you’re Kate’s new neighbor? How come?” She squinted at him.
“Who’s Kate? Forget I asked. Let’s go over to my porch. It’s right next to you…”
Chapter Seven
In a state of shock, Isabelle looked to her right and realized that Dean was telling her the truth. Indeed, fifteen feet to her right there was a porch, but it was completely dark and she could not see it. He passed by her; the smell of leather, mixed with his own scent filled her nostrils. Dean then pressed on the light switch in front of him. In the middle of the porch, there was a small, beige bamboo table along with two beige bamboo chairs.
“Ladies first…” he insisted. Right after she took a seat, Isabelle did not know where to start. Dozens of questions were rushing through her mind.
“Can I get you anything? Oh, crap…” Dean banged his forehead with his right hand. “I forgot I just moved here. All I got is some cold water. Sorry about that. Anyway…” He pulled the guitar strap over his head. Dean owned a gorgeous black Gibson.
“No, thanks. I’m good. That’s a fancy guitar you got there… Dean.” At last, Isabelle worked up the courage to address him.
“Thanks. You know what they say: ‘Small world.’” Dean held his hands shoulder-width apart and at his eye level, flexing his index and middle fingers at the beginning and at the end of his phrase. Isabelle often found the use of air quotes annoying but, at that point, she was so overwhelmed by emotion that she actually liked it. She even laughed briefly.
“Yeah, you’re right about that,” she chuckled.
“Well, I last saw you in Washington. What brings you to New York? Aren’t you flight attendants supposed to be on the move all the time?” Dean got curious. His smile sent shivers down Isabelle’s spine.
“I got two weeks off. We’re visiting a friend and former colleague. She lives next door…”
“We?”
“We as in ‘me and Monica.’ Remember the tall brunette?” Isabelle’s eyes sparkled with excitement.
“Tall brunette? Oh, you mean the girl with those insane legs?” Dean’s question insulted her a bit. She did not want to hear anything about other women. Isabelle lowered her eyes; her smile disappeared.
“Oops, my bad.” Dean raised his right hand in the air apologetically, admitting his mistake.
“I guess that’s her. After all, she was the tallest flight attendant the other day.”
“You’re probably wondering what I’m doing here, aren’t you?” he asked her.
“I guess you just bought this place. Right?” Monica faced him again.
“Right.”
“One other thing: Seriously, what the hell are you doing out here? I mean, sure, you can play whenever you like, but, aren’t you cold? I’ve been out for what… five minutes, and I’m freezing!” Isabelle rubbed her shoulders with her hands.
“It must be your eyes… Man, how stupid of me.” Dean literally jumped from his seat and quickly got rid of his leather jacket. He then went over to Isabelle and covered her back with it.
“Dean, what are you doing there? What do you mean ‘my eyes?’” She protested, but he would not take no for an answer.
“You got penetrating eyes, Isabelle. I got distracted. Totally forgot you might be cold,” he murmured, returning to his seat. Dean only had a white tee on. His flattery brought Isabelle’s smile back to her face. Much more comfortable now, she went on:
“I can’t thank you enough for what you did for those people. It was amazing. And to think that you’re just a…” It was Isabelle’s turn to flatter him.
“What? A rich, spoiled prick?” he interrupted her. She liked his wit, but she did not appreciate being interrupted.
“No. I was gonna say a ‘civilian.’ Please, don’t do that again.” Her polite tone took him by surprise, but Dean felt he was wrongfully accused. Not by Isabelle, but by everyone unfortunate enough not to bear his name.
“I won’t. I don’t know if you’ve heard anything about me or read anything online, but I’m really not what people thin
k I am. Ok, I’m rich. I got more money than I can spend. I like fast cars, like the Aventador you saw on the driveway. But trust me, those people don’t know shit about me…” Isabelle did not know if he was honest, but his firm, commanding tone sounded like music to her ears. There was something different about him. He sounded a lot more down-to-earth than she expected.
“For the record, I don’t like judging people. Especially complete strangers. It’s not fair,” Isabelle lowered her tone.
“I’m glad you see it that way. How long are you here for, anyway?” Dean leaned forward and put his right elbow on the table while holding his guitar with his left hand.
“We’ll spend thirteen more days here. Why are you asking?” Isabelle folded her arms across her chest.
“I just got an idea. Look, don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.” Dean arose to his impressive 6’4” stature and left Isabelle alone. He did not allow her to say anything, but she did not mind. Their encounter was a very pleasant surprise.
Dean returned to the porch, five minutes later. He would not admit it, but he was a little cold and had to put on a blue sweater. To Isabelle’s surprise, he had a different guitar in his hands: A beautiful, natural, acoustic Taylor guitar. He did not have to plug that one in.
“Here she is. I love this guitar…” Dean muttered under his breath before he took it in his hands.
“Dean, you shouldn’t have. We’ve ordered takeout; I should be going…” At that point, Isabelle tried to rise from her seat. However, she sensed his large hand on her wrist.
“Stay…” As she slowly turned her head to the left and faced him, Isabelle soon understood that he was not really ordering her. There was sadness in his eyes. His tone was not as firm as it was earlier. He sounded lonely…
“How can I say no to that…? Oh, my God, look at those puppy eyes…
Isabelle did not speak. She sat back down. Within seconds, she heard a familiar tune: Bon Jovi’s famous ballad “Thank You for Loving Me.” It was released back in 2000 when she was still ten years old, but it was such a hit that people listened to it up to this day. Isabelle remembered the multiple times she had heard that song. In parties, weddings, or other occasions, that ballad was very popular, despite its age.
She remained silent as Dean sang. Ok, he did not sound like Jon Bon Jovi himself, his voice was a bit too deep, but he was pretty good for an amateur. She saw the bulging veins on his hands and witnessed the tension on his face. Dean had a sensitive side that she had not found in any of the men she had dated so far. Upon the final strum on the strings of his Taylor, she burst into applause. Then, she heard the phone ringing in her right pocket.
“That was great. Now, I really gotta go. Sorry…” She excused herself and tried to get up. Dean beat her up to it, though. With his guitar still in his left hand, he jumped up and made three steps to the right, blocking her path.
“You can go… But, I just performed live for you. Don’t you think I deserve some kind of… payment?” He tilted his head to the right and smiled at her.
“Payment? Like what?” Isabelle could not imagine what he had in mind.
“One…” he whispered. With their faces barely four inches away from each other, Isabelle got even more curious.
“One? What, one dollar, one thousand…? What?”
“Kiss…” Dean closed his eyes. He then angled his lips, as he slowly leaned forward towards Isabelle. She felt her heart pounding in her chest. Their lips locked in a long, tender kiss…
Chapter Eight
Swept away by the kiss, Isabelle ran back to Kate’s house. Dean’s approach was sweet and original, nothing like she had ever experienced before. There were no cheesy lines or clichés. She had no time to think if she should tell her friends about it. Kate’s words came back in mind; she was very clear: Isabelle should avoid him. In this stunning turn of events, the young flight attendant was baffled. What was so wrong about him? What did Kate know that would drive people away from Dean?
In the few seconds it took her to reach the front door to the house, Isabelle had made a quick decision: She would only tell Monica. Even if Kate asked, she would not disclose anything to her. It would be a good way to force her friend to speak about everything she knew about Dean.
“Hey… Looks like you found a way to finally shut him up,” Monica opened the door and commented. Strangely, Isabelle was breathing heavily and had a smug smile on her face.
“Izzy… Come here. Step into the light, will ya?” Monica was intrigued. Isabelle’s body language was telling her something. The smile and the difficulty in breathing were clear signs, but she also noticed something else. She grabbed Isabelle by the wrist and pulled her closer, two feet inside the house where she would have more light. Isabelle looked down, hiding her face from Monica.
“Hey! Look at me when I’m talking to you!” Monica got angry; she raised her tone and glared at Isabelle. But, she would not indulge her friend. Monica had to place her right index finger on her chin and push it up. Isabelle raised her eyes. She could not stop smiling. Pushing the several puffs of hair out of her face, the tall brunette found what she was looking for.
“What the hell…?” she whispered, leaning towards her. Isabelle was blushing; her fair complexion could not hide her excitement. Monica then placed her right palm on Isabelle’s chest. Her heart was still racing.
“Ok, we need to talk,” Monica stated. Just when Isabelle was about to verbalize, though, they heard Kate’s voice from the kitchen:
“What’s taking you guys so long? Come on, the pizza’s getting cold…”
Attempting to pass Monica by, Isabelle felt her hands on her shoulders.
“I don’t know what happened to you out there, but you’d better excuse yourself for a minute. Catch your breath and wash that face of yours.” At first, Isabelle believed that Monica was overreacting. On second thought, though, she could be right. A confrontation with Kate was something they could both do without.
“She can be very persuasive when she wants…” Monica commented to Isabelle, as she made her way towards the living room. Walking behind her, Isabelle pointed at the bathroom, smiling down at Kate who had a slice of pizza in her left hand.
“I’ll bet. The noise is gone…” she commented.
Looking at herself in the bathroom mirror, Isabelle took a few deep breaths and splashed some water on her face. Her earlier reluctance had caused suspicion. Deep down, she knew she would have to tell Monica about what had transpired, but one thought haunted her mind: Kate’s reaction upon discovering her new neighbor’s identity. She was torn. A part of her was desperate to be honest with her friends. All three of them believed that honesty was the foundation of their long friendship. At that time, though, Isabelle would not tell Kate. She had not followed her advice, and she would probably be mad at her.
Upon listening to her footsteps on the corridor, Kate swallowed a mouthful of pizza and turned her face to the left, waiting for her to emerge.
“Bra-vo,” she applauded.
“Let me guess. My neighbor’s 45 years old and his teenage son is trying to draw everyone’s attention?” Kate had to go with the odds.
“Nope…” Looking much calmer than before, Isabelle sat on Monica’s left across from Kate.
“Hmmm…” With her legs crossed, Kate put her left elbow on her left knee and leaned forward. Then, she began to tap her forehead with her index finger.
“Huh! Don’t tell me it’s a 50-year old with a taste for women half his age!” Kate was scared by that thought.
“Nah...” Isabelle smirked.
“He’s young, rich, handsome, polite, really tall and… quite a charmer, if you ask me.” Isabelle last statement added to Kate’s curiosity. But, by that time, Monica was getting curious as well.
“I need a description, darling,” she hummed.
“Later. I’m hungry…” Isabelle reached out and took a slice of pizza out of the pizza box.
“What did you tell him? And what t
ook you so long?” Kate still had questions.
“I told him we’re having a girls’ night in, but he wouldn’t let me leave like that. He wanted to play something for me; I’m telling ya, he’s pretty good. But, he’s quite greedy, too.” Isabelle’s smug smile reappeared.
“Greedy? What, he wanted money?” Monica’s voice got high-pitched.
“Um… no. He wanted a kiss.” Isabelle’s smile grew even broader.
“Huh! You didn’t!” Monica got upset.
“Guilty as charged…” Isabelle raised her hands in the air and at shoulder height with the half-eaten slice of pizza still in her right hand. Monica pushed her to the left with her right hand while Kate was surprisingly cool about it.
“How was it?” she asked, in a low tone.
“Oh…” Isabelle raised her eyes and looked at the ceiling. She shut them, reminiscing about the kiss.
“It was slow, sweet, tender… God, my knees were shaking. He’s got, like, really full lips. My favorite… And don’t get me started on his scent. It was really masculine. God, what a man…” Watching Isabelle’s gesturing (with both hands in the air and clenching her fists, while describing the kiss), Kate grabbed a pillow from her right and threw it at her.
“Shut up! I’m sooooooo jealous!” she exclaimed.
Isabelle opened her eyes and lowered them. Glaring at Kate, she accused her:
“Yeah, said the little horndog who’s been fucking her gardener for two days straight. How many times did you guys do it? Five? Eight? Ten?” She was clearly annoyed.
“Fourteen…” Kate had no choice but to avert her gaze from Isabelle and look down at the pizza box on the table. Then, Isabelle grabbed the pillow Kate had thrown her seconds earlier and threw it back at her. She even heard Monica’s laughter as she did.
“This must be her personal record or something…” Monica collapsed onto Isabelle’s shoulder, holding her stomach.
“You’ve had sex fourteen times in two days, but I kissed a guy and you’re jealous? Can you believe the nerve on that chick?” Isabelle addressed Monica, expecting her approval. But her friend could not utter a word. The only thing she could do at that time was a nod while laughing very hard.
