He chuckles, heading back to the kitchen to pick up his toolbox. “You don’t know if it was professional.”
I nearly snort. “I’m sure it was. Thank you. Really. Are you sure I can’t pay you?”
“I said don’t worry. Thanks for looking after Ghost.” He puts his jacket back on and goes to leave. For some reason, I don’t want him to. I try to find an excuse to have him stick around, but I can’t think of any.
“No problem,” I murmur before following him outside. “Thank you again, Mark. Really.”
“Take care, Alicia,” he says and walks away.
I watch him until he heads up the front steps of his house. He pauses, glancing at me. Caught creeping on my neighbor, I shoot back inside the house and shut the door, feeling my cheeks flaming.
I groan loudly, hitting my forehead on the door a couple of times before collecting myself and making my way to the kitchen. Trying the sink, I mentally thank my Samaritan neighbor and start making myself a quick dinner, contemplating offering it to Mark too. Just a little thank-you. I love to cook, so it wouldn’t be a bother.
Forty minutes later, I fix a generous plate of salad and mac and cheese with bacon, wrap it in foil, and walk to my door. I stop in front of my mirror, noticing the complete disaster on my head. My hair is sticking out in all possible directions, and I try to smooth it out. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t work. So I try to braid it. No luck. Then comes the low bun. Horrible. I go back to a ponytail, but this time I sleek it back with hair oil.
There, that’s much better.
Not knowing why I put so much care into how my hair looks, I sigh, annoyed at myself as I put my jacket on. After checking myself in the mirror one more time before I leave, I walk outside.
And freeze.
There’s a car parking in Mark’s driveway, right behind his truck. It’s a red sedan. When the door opens, I instantly back into the shadow of my porch.
A woman with the most beautiful and shiny hair in the world looks around, shivers, and starts walking toward Mark’s porch.
I swallow the acid in my throat.
The door instantly opens as she walks up the stairs to his house. She didn’t even need to ring the doorbell or knock. I hear Mark’s laughter followed by hers, and she walks inside.
A grim feeling spreads from my throat to my chest. Here I was having fantasies about my hot neighbor while he was someone else’s reality. God, I feel horrible now. I slept in his bed. Twice. What if he didn’t change the sheets? I most certainly didn’t. And what if she came in yesterday while I was there?Horrible, horrible, horrible.
Mentally thanking my hair for keeping me in the house for an extra two minutes and saving me from the embarrassment of meeting Mark’s girlfriend, I walk back inside and trash the food. It’s perfectly edible, but I honestly don’t think I can eat it either. All I’ll be able to think about is my little fantasy burning into ashes.
* * *
A week went by, and I haven’t seen Mark or his girlfriend, but the car disappeared that same evening. Not like I was looking, but I happened to glance outside—a few times—and it wasn’t there around nine.
Today the contractor finished the floor in the kitchen. I was fortunate he was able to come a day after my call. He said it would only take him two days to replace it since it’s a small area. We agreed on the same hardwood that Mrs. Jenkins had, considering I didn’t want to make it evident that a disaster had happened here. Plus, it’s not my house and not my right to make huge alterations like changing the color of the floor.
I’ve been told to wait a couple of hours before I walk on it, and I’ve been patiently waiting.
A knock on the door startles me.Of course. Everything startles me when I’m in dreamland, writing a sexy scene. I’m like a doe caught in headlights. I rise from the couch, where I’m in the process of describing the duke of Hampshire’s steel rod in his trousers, and walk to the door, but when I peep outside, there is no one there. Hmm. Weird.
I pause, closing the door. A knock comes again from the back. I swallow nervously and instantly lock the front door, beating myself up for opening it without checking.
I grab my cast iron pan from the cabinet on my way to the back door, raising it in the air like a weapon as I go to check. This time, I peep outside through the window first.
“Holy crap, Frank. You scared me shitless!” I drop the pan on the table and unlock the door. “How did you find me here?”
He lets out a loud snort and bumps me with his head. Or tries to. Is it just me, or did his antlers get bigger? Instead of butting me, he nearly knocks me down, making me laugh.
“You’re getting bigger, good boy.” I coo and walk outside. “All the ladies of the forest are yours, I bet.”
He nudges me with his nose, more carefully this time, and I pet his big head.
“Why did you leave Kayla? Did she send you here?” I ask in a baby voice. Kayla would roll her eyes at the way I speak to her moose, but she’s used to him being around all the time, and I’m grateful for every interaction I have with him.
Justin had been jealous of a mysterious Frank living behind Kayla’s trailer for a long time, until he saw him protecting her from some goons. I think that was when they stroked up an agreement to tolerate each other. The thing is, Frank is a total ladies’ man, and if you’re a dude, you pretty much don’t stand a chance of befriending him. I got lucky he picked me, and therefore, Frank is here.
