by Rica Grayson
“We killed it,” I managed to say with a straight face. I wasn't able to hold it for long.
We burst into fits of laughter.
I was waiting for Eva outside as she went to the restroom. The group split. I sat at a bench, bent down, my elbows on my lap, and my chin resting on a palm.
I heard a faint humming of the song we just sang. I thought I’d imagined it at first, so I didn’t pay it much mind.
“Nice singing up there.”
I looked up, startled. I knew that voice.
“You stayed,” I said like an idiot, unable to keep the surprise from my voice that he was here at all. Luke sat down, occupying the small space to my left.
“Sister’s home. Came back. If I didn’t, I would’ve missed the best part.”
He was teasing me.
“Right,” I muttered, unconvinced.
When he hadn’t said anything, I looked up. There was a quiet intensity in his gaze that I found it hard to look away.
“You keep hiding your face under those curls.”
It was the last thing I expected him to say.
I slid a finger below my bangs, thoughtful. “My forehead’s too wide.”
Why did I say that?
His eyes darkened. “Did someone tell you that?”
I looked away. “Maybe.”
“There’s not a damned thing wrong with it.” Did he sound enraged on my behalf? Then, “Why do you care about what they think?”
“I don’t care about what people think.”
“Bumped into you, knocked on your door plenty of times, sweetheart. Why is it each time you let your hair fall to cover your face?” he challenged.
“I like my hair.”
“You care what people think.”
“I don’t.”
“I bet you couldn’t wear a ridiculous dress outside for a whole night. Think people will talk.”
What? He didn’t know what he was saying. He didn’t have a clue about me.
I decided to shove it in his face when I did. Victory was gonna be sweet. “What will I get if I do?”
“Hmm.” He slid a finger underneath a curl.
I shifted away to establish distance between us, even though it didn’t really help. There wasn’t much space to move.
“You can make me do anything you want for a month.”
“Anything?” I raised a brow, somewhat skeptical.
“Anything,” he whispered. “But if I win,” he continued, his voice growing softer, somehow more seductive. He nodded towards my bangs, a self-assured smile on his face. “If I win, you pin these curls away for one month.”
I was so shocked at the demand, it left me speechless for nearly a full ten seconds. Then it finally sank in that he was actually serious.
He could make me do anything and he wanted me to put my curls away? It was such a bizarre request that it threw me.
But I wasn’t one to back down.
“You’re on.”
Chapter Five
Pancakes Next Door
It was like the whipped cream opened up the floodgates. Or maybe it was the hammer. We started borrowing things from each other. Sometimes completely ridiculous things. Then I just started doing it out of the sheer pleasure of needling him.
“Nail polish remover?” he echoed one day, face blank.
I nodded, keeping my expression somber. “You know, keeps the nails clean.”
He shut the door.
And for some weird reason, it made me smile.
I dragged myself out of bed to go to Abe's the next morning. I was running on five hours of sleep, but I figured that was probably a good thing, being productive and all that.
Luke even plagued my dreams now. It left me in a grumpy state, because the last thing I should be feeling for him was attraction.
My mood improved when I bought cheesecake. I had an inexplicable craving for it this morning. Then I found Sherry inside, and Eva dropped by not long after with her adorable golden retriever, Peaches. She came over, looking excited.
“Is it true? You're really staying?” she asked Sherry.
I stopped, fork in my mouth. That was news to me. If she was staying, then it would be just like old times. I expressed a sound of delight.
Wes decided to walk into Abe’s that moment. He was tall, with dark hair and a crooked nose, and he was smooth when he wanted to be. He charmed a lot of women with his smile.
He stalked towards a woman with purple-streaked hair behind the counter, who was just finishing serving a customer.
Everything escalated from there. I watched as her eyes seemed to light up when she saw him. She seemed happy at first. Until Wes said something as he went closer, and then she wasn’t. It was as if everything happened in slow motion. We witnessed as she whacked Wes on the head once with his roses. I winced.
I’ve never seen a woman do anything like that to him. He looked a little lost, and he came over to ask us for advice.
“Just keep trying. If it affected her enough to act that way, she cares,” Sherry said.
He sighed. “I’m coming back later, see if she needs a ride.”
“Good idea,” Eva said a little distractedly. “I’m gonna get coffee. Want some?”
I went with her.
“Are you okay?” I whispered.
She looked a little down this morning.
“I’m fine,” she replied, and muttered something about not catching enough sleep. I knew better. There was weariness there, but I let it go for now.
We heard a commotion from the kitchen.
“You’re fired,” came the woman’s shrill voice.
We heard. The woman with purple highlights emerged, her cheeks red and stained with tears. She cast West a look of hurt as she walked out. Wes looked back at us, and I nodded. He got up and went after her. He didn’t come back.
Me and Eva left fifteen minutes later. I didn’t miss how Eva hugged Peaches, as if trying to absorb comfort.
We didn’t really keep things from each other. If something got too much, we let it out. I was preoccupied with those thoughts when I was climbing up the stairs in our building.
I heard the jangle of keys first before I saw Luke trying out the right key to his door. He was carrying a familiar bright pink-colored box.
Pancakes.
I just had cheesecake, but pancakes were an entirely different story.
I cleared my throat as I stopped by my door. "Luke," I said.
He moved the box behind him. "Sierra," he said cautiously. I took a little step closer to the side so I could see, but he moved along with me, keeping it mostly out of view.
I scowled. "You're hiding something behind you."
"It's top secret," he said, and a small smile tugged at his lips.
"I know what it is." I looked at it longingly. Or what I could see of it anyway.
“My sister told me they’re the best in town. I guess I'll be eating these alone. I bought half a dozen too." I heard him sigh.
"You bought half a dozen? Why?" If he planned to eat them all, I'd be impressed. They were large with generous toppings. If he didn’t finish them and ended up discarding it, I would cry.
His eyes were on me as he said carefully, "Maybe I wanted to share them with someone."
My scowl deepened. I turned away from him, rummaging for my own keys in my purse. Okay. He would seriously not only tease me with pancakes, but also with his love life. It made me think about my own non-existent one.
"Don't you want to know who?"
"No."
"You might know her."
"No," I repeated, firmly this time.
"She's wearing laced boots. With sexy fucking heels."
I froze. I was wearing knee-high laced-up black boots. They were a favorite. It showed a fair amount of skin, but they added a little height, too. I had on a light cardigan and a peach summer dress that stopped just above my knees. The contrast was striking, but I liked looking nice and feeling nice when I went out.
I didn’t answer. I didn’t know what to say. I was still trying to think of the pros and cons between staying and going.
“I have fresh milk and coffee,” he added.
It was probably weak, but… pancakes.
“This is a one-time thing,” I told him, stopping at his door. I saw satisfaction flicker in his expression as his lips pressed together, like he wanted to say something more.
But he didn’t.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have even a small amount of curiosity what his place looked like. Granted, the layout of the room was nearly the same as mine, but everything else was different.
He hadn’t stayed here very long, but it looked comfortable. Lived in. Very… cozy.
It was a word I didn’t think I’d associate with a place he lived in. Looking at it now, it was still a little sparse, but everything was selected for either practicality or comfort.
Except the TV. It was a flatscreen one and it was huge. It sat in the middle of the living room, and it made everything else look tiny compared to it.
Instead of the dining table, he placed the pancakes on a narrow center table.
“Don’t eat much there,” he said, as if reading my thoughts. “Feels a little formal. I’ll get the plates.”
"Okay," I replied. I eagerly accepted one chocolate pancake. "Mmm." It made me smile when I saw that it was topped with strawberry and whipped cream. The sweetness and the cream blended perfectly.
He started the coffee maker and brought two glasses of water when he returned.
I cut another small piece and stabbed it with my fork. I was about to ask him where his phone from hell was when I realized he hadn’t even started to eat his.
“You okay?” I asked, frowning. These were the best pancakes I ever had, and he wasn’t even eating his.
I savored mine before I cut another piece. This was great. Maybe we could get along after all.
He moved to get his portion, clearly distracted.
“Yeah,” he murmured in reply. “Here's another one.” He pushed another piece towards me.
He had a bite, a look of surprise crossing his face.
“You’re right. These are good.”
“Of course they are. They’re the best,” I told him, because it should have already been perfectly obvious.
“So. What brings you back to Fortuity?” I asked. Mmm, strawberries. “I’m gonna guess it’s not the food, because if it is, you’d be crazy for even leaving in the first place.”
“It’s a long story.” His expression hardened as he stewed on something.
But he didn’t say anything more.
Okay. So he was going to play it that way.
“Got coffee one time and dad mentioned something about you designing the menu. How’d you get into graphic design?”
“It’s a long story,” I returned.
I didn’t back down from his gaze. He looked amused. “Quid pro quo?”
I shrugged. “Call it whatever you like.”
He was silent for a moment. “I had this moment where I realized there were a lot of things I still wanted to do. I couldn’t do it where I was, not with the people I was surrounded with. So I moved here.”
I could sense that there was more to it, but I didn’t push. I wasn’t ready to bare my soul either.
My turn. “I’m not super smart.”
He looked like he was about to protest, but I explained, “I’m not good with numbers, or skillful with words. But I’ve always loved design. When I was a kid, I’d sneak in at night and grab my dad’s acrylic paints. I’d use my fingers to do some obscure design, since his brushes were always kept in this tall cabinet. I’ve made a lot of things since then. It’s fun.”
I don’t know why I told him that, but going back there and digging deep made me remember.
They’d never let me use the brushes. And the only time I ever asked was when I decided I’d never ask them for anything again.
“You have your own talent and skill.”
“It took a while to get here, but I did.” And it did take a while. “Thank you for this.” I motioned towards the box. I licked the cream that got on my finger.
“It’s all good,” he replied, his voice low.
I was on my last strawberry when he said the last thing I expected—“Go out with me.”
I choked. Coughing, I grabbed my glass of water.
He was crazy. And weird.
But mostly crazy. Where the hell did he get that from?
When I could finally speak, I stammered, “I—I can’t go out with you.”
“Why not?”
“Because—” I scrambled for a reason, and then the most obvious one came up. “You’re my neighbor.”
He leaned back, crossing his arms. “And?”
Why can’t he see how problematic that could be?
“If things go south, we won’t be able to avoid each other.”
He only smiled. Why did that do funny things to my heart? “Sweetheart, you can’t worry about things that haven’t yet started.”
“You stole my pizza!”
“I’ll buy you one right now.” He sounded dead serious.
How the hell was I supposed to deal with this? I came here for pancakes, and then this.
“You said you don’t date people who can’t cook.”
“Never said that.”
“Yes, you did.”
“I said others wouldn’t, and I apologized.”
“Argh.” I slapped a hand over my forehead. This was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. Had I just thought we were going to get along fine?
“Nothing else to say?” I could hear the amusement in his voice now.
And his voice was much closer than where he was a little while ago. When I looked up again, his eyes were dark with heat.
In my surprise, I dropped my fork and my back met the soft back of his leather couch. Focus on something else, focus on—wow, he still hasn’t finished his pancakes.
“Uh—” I said the first thing that came to my head. “You haven’t finished your pancakes.”
“I found something that would taste much better.”
Oh.
His lips brushed over mine, teasing, light touches. He was that close, and then—
His phone rang, cutting through the bubble of the moment. It was that same dull, repetitive sound that made you want to throw it out the window. He looked like he wanted to, too. His jaw clenched.
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t have. It was only the first time I stepped inside his place, and he nearly kissed me. I got up.
“Sierra—”
“I—I got to go,” I said, starting to panic. My voice somewhat strained, I said in one breath, “Thanks for the pancakes.”
Then like a coward, I ran out.
Chapter Six
Dancing With The Enemy
“Here is fine,” I told Wes. He slowed the car down before pulling over by the apartment building. “Thanks!”
We’d come back from a movie night, where we ended up watching The Conjuring.
Because Sherry and Chase were both back, we invited them without telling them the other was coming, which made for an interesting night.
“Sierra,” Wes said, stopping me as I held the door open. “That thing we talked about,” he said, tense, “is it really okay?”
He had asked me to design something for Amy, the woman in Abe’s he gave his flowers to. A banner, he said. He wanted it large, easily visible. It was cute. And sweet. More because the request was unusual for him to make.
I smiled broadly. “Sure. I’ll have it ready by next week. See ya,” I said. I shut the door and waved.
I found that horror movies weren’t so scary when you were watching them as much as they were after you did. It was the images that flashed in your mind when it was late at night and you needed to go to the kitchen to get a glass of water.
Or, like me, it was when you were walking home at night along a dark pathway, and lights flickered on the way to the main door of the building. It seemed that they haven’t been fixed yet.
I glanced up at the window next to mine. Luke’s lights were still on, when everyone else’s weren’t.
I walked up the stairs slowly to keep my steps light. Not that our doors did much to block the sound if someone really wanted to be loud, but I tried to keep the noise to a minimum.
I was careful to shut my door too.
After I got ready for bed, I pulled the covers back and sat down. As I leaned back on the headboard, I wondered, briefly, if he was on the other side.
The calls had eventually stopped from his side after yesterday. Whether he ended up unplugging it, I would never know. But my ears were enjoying the blissful silence.
I shut off the lights. When I closed my eyes, images from the movie still crept in my mind. I turned my lamp back on immediately. It helped somewhat, and I was able to tamp the fear that someone would grab my foot. I was close to drifting off, hovering somewhere in between consciousness and sleep, when—was someone vacuuming?
Vroooomm. Vrrrrrrr. Vrrrrrrrr.
A couple of thumps followed from the other side of the wall. What the heck?
The machine wheezed. I heard a louder thump, before it sputtered back to life.
Vrrrssshhhhhh.
Grrr. Freaking thin walls.
I shifted in my bed trying to find a good position, and pushed a pillow over my ears in an attempt to block the sound.
Hmm. I read once about people finding the sound soothing. It could be white noise, couldn’t it? I removed the pillow, testing the possibility. And heard the machine wheeze again. Another thump, and then the sound of clashing of something hard and solid.
Nah.
I put the pillow back over my ears. Something crashed on the ground. I heard a muffled curse behind the wall, before the machine finally came back to life. I snickered.
Eventually, the vacuuming stopped, but now sleepiness fled. I was back to being freaked and thinking every little sound was made by some vengeance-seeking ghost.
