Chapter 2

Who is that guy? And why am I still thinking of him when we barely interacted for five minutes? Actually, ‘interacted’ is a bit generous. I introduced myself, and he grunted in response, like I was an annoyance.

To be fair, I was … kind of. I mean, I was in his way, not that it was intentional, but if it had been other people, they would’ve responded kindly. Not him. He was clearly one of those grumpy, brooding types who talked in monosyllables or didn’t talk at all.

I try to chalk up this weird fixation to intrigue. After all, the burn mark on his face is big enough that it’s hard to ignore. The scar was darker than the rest of his skin, and there was even a tight band of scar tissue on the corner of his right eye. I wonder if it’s still painful when the skin stretches.

Ugh, I know. It’s the nurse in me. I can always make such detailed observations in seconds. I hope he didn’t see me stare. Then again, he probably did. He did shrink into his clothes and pull his collar up. God, he probably thought I was one of those people who’d blatantly ask him about it.

My phone rings while I walk toward my car, and I toss my things in the passenger seat before answering. “Mom?”

She sounds a little breathless, probably from her daily run. “Hi, honey. Are you off work?”

“Yup. Just got in my car. I’m dropping by the bookstore real quick and grabbing dinner on the way.”

“What’s dinner?”

“Burrito and quesadilla maybe.”

“You don’t eat like someone in the medical field.”

Laughter bursts out of me. “Mom, I know.”

“You tell your patients to avoid these foods, and yet you consume them like you have a second life.”

I’m still chuckling when I slide the key in and the engine rumbles to life. “Yes, Mom. I’m too tired to make dinner. It’s been a long shift.”

“Yet you’re never too tired to bake cookies and cupcakes and whatever.”

“Baking is my way of destressing. So, why did you really call? I’m sure it’s not to ask for my meals.”

“Oh, your father told me we’re flying to Ferncombe for your birthday. He said it’s a surprise, so don’t tell him I told you.”

I put her on speaker as I shift the gear to drive and drive out of the parking lot. “So, why did you?”

“I wanted to ask where you’d like to eat. He said I should do my research and book the restaurant you like. We both know I’m no good at lying, so I figured why not ask you directly.”

God, my parents are so funny without even trying. “I want something Japanese. I’ll send you the name later.”

“Okay, got it. You have to pretend to look surprised when we get there, okay?”

My cheeks hurt from smiling. “Yes, sure, Mom.”

“Love you, honey. Got to go. Try to add more fruits and veggies to your meals tomorrow. Maybe you can blend them into a smoothie. It’s a healthier breakfast than just bagel and iced coffee.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

God, I love these two. It never fails to amuse me that they always make it a point to celebrate my birthday, which is technically not the actual date I was born.

In fact, it’s the day they decided to adopt me. They always tell me how lucky they are to have me, but I disagree. I’m the one who’s lucky. Finding parents as loving and kind as them? It’s like winning the lottery ten times over.

* * *

“You’ve gotto be kidding me.” I groan and release a huge breath, unable to believe I’m coming home to this. With half a dozen paperbacks inside a bag in my arm and a tote on one shoulder, I stand in front of the elevators with a huge “DO NOT USE. FOR REPAIR. SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE” in big, bold letters.

The only reason I chose this apartment in the first place was because of the elevator. Walking up and down five flights of stairs every day may sound exciting to my fitness-crazy mom but not to me. I’d rather peel off my nails. Okay, that’s a bit too much, but the point is, I’m too exhausted to even walk to the second floor.

My unit is on the fifth. Just the thought of walking all the way there has me half-convinced that I should check into a hotel instead.

“Why is this happening to me? First, my grocery. Now, no elevator. Is it too late to move? Should I go to the second building on my list? It doesn’t have an elevator, but at least I’ll be on the ground floor. God, I’m so tired. Kill me now, please. Or at least make the elevator work.”

Talking to myself is a weird habit. I know. Dad likes to joke about how unaware I can be of my surroundings, and if he sees someone talking to themselves, he’d run the opposite way.

Yeah, well, this is me. Sometimes I need to voice out my thoughts just to hear how stupid I sound.

“Here let me help you.” The deep voice shocks me enough that I trip backward, my heart pounding.

“Oh, God. Jesus. You scared me.” My hand flies to my chest, trying to calm myself.

It’s the guy from the other day. The one who didn’t introduce himself. The one whose name I still don’t know.

Without waiting for permission, he grabs the books from me, my nerves crackling with sparks when his fingers brush mine, and starts walking upstairs. I’m so surprised to see him that he’s almost on the second floor when I finally recover and sprint to catch up to him. I’ve never been so fast in my life.

He doesn’t say anything, just carries the books in his huge, veiny hands. His biceps and forearm flex, and I have to check whether I’m drooling or not. The first time I met him, I thought him handsome. Now, this up close, he’s actually a whole lot sexier and more good-looking, especially with those piercing blue eyes that make me feel like I’m standing naked in front of him. Or that he’s stripping me naked.

Get a grip, Zara. Not now.

We walk side by side without talking, and I struggle to breathe normally because the most exercise I have is pacing the entire length of the emergency room.

My nostrils flare while I pretend that there’s no invisible weight pressing against my lungs and my legs aren’t burning.

As if on its own volition, my head spins toward him. He’s a good deal taller than me, and the shoulder-length hair covers the sides of his face. This way, it’s not easy to tell he has a scar. He’s also wearing another collared shirt.

Yet another weird thought, but his hair looks shinier and softer than mine. I just want to run my fingers through them.

I’m well aware I’m staring, but I can’t help it. I may not get this chance again. He already has a low opinion of me—based on our previous interaction—so why not play to his first impression?

His ear pokes between the strands, and I see a silver helix piercing and another piercing below it. Damn. Why do I find it sexy? Why do I find everything about him sexy?

When my gaze lands back on his face, his forehead scrunches, and he clenches his jaw. Ah, yes. The rigid jaw, which is not only defined but looks so sharp I feel like it will cut me if I run a finger along it.

All of a sudden, the air in the stairwell feels hot and stifling. Has it always been like this here? Or is it just because I’m close to someone who looks like he should be on the billboard?

When we reach the third floor, I decide to push my luck a bit. We still have two more floors to go, and I may never get another shot at being this close to him.

“I’m Zara, by the way.”

“Yes, you told me the other day.” His baritone voice feels like a caress on my skin, and my core clenches unexpectedly.

Really, girl? Are we now getting aroused by this?

“I’m on the fifth floor,” I tell him, feeling like someone desperate for attention. Which I am, to be honest.

He doesn’t respond. It’s starting to feel like I’m talking to a wall, but I’m nothing if not persistent.

“You know, common courtesy dictates that when someone offers you their name, you tell them yours.” I give him the stink eye. “Unless maybe your name is either difficult to pronounce like Ermenigildo or something you’re embarrassed to say, like maybe Horatio or Archibald or Wilbur.”

The corner of his mouth curls up, and it feels like a win. “Alec.”

“Alec.” His name rolls off my tongue, and yes, he looks like an Alec. “What floor?”

“Sixth.”

“How long have you lived here?”

“Three years.”

“Does the elevator usually break down?”

His eyes crinkle in the corners, but he still doesn’t look at me. “The right question is, does the elevator usually work?”

“No.” My shoulders droop, and all thoughts about how sexy my neighbor is are forgotten. “You mean, I have to walk every day?”

“It’s not so bad. Besides, it”s good exercise.”

I rear my head back and scowl. “It’s not? Easy for you to say because you’re a walking advertisement for protein powder. Okay, maybe not really but look at me. Do I look like I voluntarily go to the gym? Do I look like I will sign up without a gun to my head?”

He casts me a sidelong glance and smirks. I almost tumble and fall face down because God, Alec smiling causes something warm to pool low in my belly. “You’ll get used to it.”

“I don’t want to get used to it.” I huff in exasperation, still debating if Alec is worth staying here for. “Have you always lived in Ferncombe?”

He nods. “Most of my adult life.”

“Do you know any breakfast places?”

A furrow creases his brows, and his tongue peeks between his lips before he sucks his lower lip between his teeth.

Holy…

My body reacts instantly. My thighs cinch together, and the pulse between my legs becomes more pronounced. Lust fogs my brain, and I’m not sure I can think clearly anymore.

My foot catches on something, and I stumble forward, arms flailing wildly. I’m certain I’m about to embarrass myself when my fingers grasp his bicep with a white-knuckled grip.

His bicep feels like a steel pole with how hard it is.

Time slows to a crawl. When I lift my face, he’s staring at me with a wild look in his eyes. Alec’s face twists in an expression I don’t understand, his gaze zeroing on my hand on him.

When I’m sure I’ve regained my balance, I let go of him and turn straight ahead. Electricity zaps through the air, and I know I’m one touch away from combusting into flames.

Fortunately, we make it to the fifth floor without me making an absolute fool of myself … for the second time or third time. We stop in front of my door, and Alec waits while I swipe my key card and the door gives off a faint click.

I’m about to take the books from him when an almost boyish uncertainty passes his face. Thickness hangs between us like a heavy fog, and his throat flexes when he swallows and opens his mouth as if to say something.

He flicks his eyes behind me, but when he brings them back to my face, he lets out a deep sigh. “I know some.”

“Huh?” I don’t remember the last thing I said because my rioting emotions have taken over. “What’s that?”

“You asked me if I knew some breakfast places.”

I did? When? “Do you?”

“Yeah. A few blocks down. If you…” All my paperbacks rest on his one hand while his other reaches behind him to rub the back of his neck. “If you want, I can take you there tomorrow.”

If Alec sprouted wings or horns, I couldn’t possibly have been more shocked. Is he asking me out? On a breakfast date? No. Maybe I’m overthinking it. I asked him about it first, and maybe he was just being nice and taking me there.

Whatever the case, I don’t care. Happiness blooms within me, and I beam at him, no longer concerned whether I look manic. “Sure. It’s my treat.”

Alec steps back as if I just hit him. “What? No.”

“You helped me carry my books all the way here. It’s the least I can do.”

He dumps the books in my arms and shakes his head. “If you do that, I won’t tell you where it is.”

Before I have a chance to respond, he spins on his heel, shoving his hands in his pockets. He says something, but I’m too distracted by his retreating back to understand it. God, even his back looks sexy—the wide shoulders that taper to a slim waist. The perfect ass. I don’t mind this kind of view … not at all.

“Wait, Alec. What did you say?”

“7 AM tomorrow. I’ll pick you up.”

It may just be breakfast to him, but to me, it’s a date. No one can convince me otherwise.

Mom will be so proud of me. After 27 years on this Earth, I’m finally going on a date.

* * *

“Honey,how’s your new place? Is the elevator working now?”

I moan and slump on the sofa, propping my legs on the armrest. “No.”

“Do you want to move?”

“Absolutely not!”

I can almost see the gears turning in her head. “Why not? The elevator sold you, didn’t it? Now you know it doesn’t work, you still don’t want to move?”

“It’s not that,” I say lamely, twirling my hair around my finger. “Fine. I have a hot neighbor.”

“Ooh, how hot? Wait, I need to sit down for this.” There’s a soft thud in the background and the creak of a chair. “Okay, go on. How hot?”

“Scorching. Like I’m about to melt where I’m standing.”

Mom laughs. “Then? Why don’t you go to him and tell him your lightbulb keeps flickering? Maybe borrow salt or oil. Or you know, maybe you can bring him some of your baked goods.”

“First of all, it’s scary where your mind is going. Second, that’s too obvious, Mom. He doesn’t seem like the type to welcome advances, you know. I need to be a little subtle … if I’m going to do anything at all. Which I’m still not sure I should.”

“That’s true. Besides, you’re an awful liar.”

“Mom!”

“Remember when we asked you if you finished your volcano project and you said yes? Even Lila could tell you were lying through your teeth.”

“Lila’s our dog, Mom.”

“Exactly my point. So why don’t you just knock on his door and ask him if he can eat with us on your birthday dinner?”

Clutching the throw pillow to my chest, I roll my eyes. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s just … weird.”

“Weird? I asked your dad out.”

“He’s not like dad. Alec is … serious and kind of hard to reach, if you know what I mean. If I ask him, he’ll probably say no.”

“He won’t unless he’s emotionally unavailable.” Mom pauses and whispers, “He’s available, right? He doesn’t have a wife or girlfriend?”

“No, I think. I mean, I can ask him tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? What’s with tomorrow?”

“We’re eating at this breakfast place or something.”

“Zara!” Mom shrieks. “You could’ve saved me time by telling me you’re going out on a date!”

Warmth floods my cheeks as I start planning what to wear tomorrow in my head. Probably that backless yellow dress? Too much. It’s breakfast. Maybe the fluffy black and white off-shoulder blouse and white shorts? Ugh. “It’s not a date. He’s just showing me around.”

“Still a date.”

“No, it’s not.”

“I bet you’re gonna spend the whole night obsessing about what to wear. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Burying my face in the pillow, I let out another groan. “Mom, I hate that you know me so well.”