3. Celina

THREE

CELINA

After nearly two weeks in my new apartment, I finally decided to do a big grocery run. I'd spent the last half month running to the store for this and that. As much as I enjoyed it, it was getting a little tiresome. I kind of wanted to be able to get whatever food or snacks I wanted without getting into the car and driving to the store.

I glanced at my neighbor's door. Two weeks and not a peep. I was almost a hundred percent sure it was vacant. At first, I'd assumed they were on vacation, but who goes on vacation for two weeks or longer? Other than depressed novelists with writer's block, that is.

Even though there was no movement next door, my daily daydreams continued. Was he a hitman for the mob, trying to get out of that life and find love? Or maybe he was an escaped soldier who'd joined a secret test group, and could now read people's minds and move stuff with his mind. Was the government trying to catch him and bring him back? Or—my favorite one, since I never saw anyone during the day—he was a vampire. A sexy one, not sparkly. The classic, sensual vampire. Sexy eyes, gorgeous lips, and…well, I guess my imagination was getting the best of me.

At the store, I bought most of the items I really wanted—hummus and carrots, hot chocolate mix since it was chilly outside, and salted almonds. I was trying not to gain twelve pounds while I was here, but I still splurged and got a small container of ice cream, American cheese, and bread for grilled cheese. It was November. It was cold. I wanted comfort food. Enough said.

By the time I checked out, the cart was way fuller than I thought it would be. It didn't dawn on me until I got home that I'd have to lug the bags all the way up the stairs to my apartment. I stared at the outdoor flights of stairs and frowned. Did I make two trips? Or did I load up my arms and do it in one trip?

The hot chocolate and grilled cheese were really calling my name. And the frigid breeze blowing up my back helped make my mind up. I grabbed all four paper bags and got them loaded into my arms, then thumped the car door closed with my butt. The first flight of stairs was easy, and I thought I'd made a great choice. On the second flight, though, one of the bags started to slip, and I cursed the cute little grocery store and its lack of plastic bags with handles.

By the third set of stairs, anyone looking would think I was fighting for my life. Two bags were clenched in my right arm, the third was clutched in my left, and the fourth was making a slow, slipping descent down my chest and stomach while I––valiantly I might say––tried to keep hold of it with what little finger-hand-wrist-arm I had left to hold it. I sighed with relief when I made it to the top of the stairs and rounded the corner to my apartment. Now, all I had to do was get my stuff into the kitchen.

My resolve faltered when I realized my keys were on a band that held all my keys, and that band was around my wrist. There was no way to set the bags down without dropping the eggs. The little white Styrofoam box had been staring at me in demented glee all the way up the stairs, waiting for me to bust all dozen of the damned things on the concrete floor. Not being one to give up, I pressed the bag against the wall with my stomach and had just about managed to get my keys spun around to my fingers when one of the bags in my right hand began an inexorable slide to the ground.

I was too preoccupied to hear the footsteps trotting up the stairs. In my haze of panic and struggle, the deep voice calling out startled me. I yelped and finally dropped one of the bags and juggled the others to the floor with what little grace remained in me. A man jogged forward and caught the bag with my pint of ice cream before it could hit the floor.

"That was close," he said, setting the bag on the ground.

I ignored him, checking to see if my eggs had broken. A few cans and other items had slipped from the bags, and I grabbed them as fast as I could. This was not how I wanted to meet my new neighbor. Hi, my name is Celina. I'm a klutz, nice to meet you.

"Didn't mean to scare you. I saw the bag falling and wanted to help," the stranger said.

I nodded as I put things back in the bag. "Thanks. Sorry for the trouble." I winced inwardly at my habit of always apologizing even when things weren't my fault.

"I'm Miles. Your new neighbor, I guess. When did you move in?"

I sighed and stood, turning my face to meet him. Then I froze. Like…stone statue frozen. My cheeks went red, and a shiver ran up my spine. He was, without a doubt, the most beautiful man I'd ever seen in my life. Was I hallucinating? Maybe I wasn't actually here. Maybe I was taking a nap on my couch, and one of my daydreams had become a full-fledged REM fantasy. How could any real live man look like this? Muscles rippled under his polo shirt, and the sleeves made his massive biceps look even bigger than they already were. My God, I could almost see his abs through the shirt's fabric. And that face? Those eyes? Holy shit.

He tilted his head and frowned slightly. "Um…are you okay?"

There was a flicker of something in his eyes. Not recognition, but something similar. I knew for certain that I didn't know him. Nothing about this guy was forgettable, that was for sure. He took a small step back, almost as though he was afraid of me, then in less than three seconds, he was back to normal. I'd have thought it was strange had I not still been frozen and mute and taking in the Adonis that he was.

"Thanks," I stammered. "The bag. That's nice."

I was dying inside. What garbled shit was coming out of my mouth? That's nice? What the fuck did that even mean?

He handed me the bag of groceries he'd been holding and nodded. The man was a saint for not laughing in my face. The intensity of his gaze made me uncomfortable after a few seconds of eye contact, yet he kept staring. Averting my eyes, I quickly unlocked my door.

"What brought you to town?" he asked as I started bringing bags inside.

"Just a little getaway. I'll only be here two more weeks."

"Only two weeks? How come?"

"Um…well, I was only supposed to be in town for a month, and I've been here two weeks already. So, yeah. Gone in two weeks." I wasn't sure why he was so intrigued.

From the corner of my eye, I saw him glance back to his apartment. He then mumbled under his breath what sounded like, "probably for the best."

I had no idea what that was supposed to mean. I would have dwelled on it, and maybe obsessed over what the heck he was talking about, but I was exhausted. The amount of interaction I'd had today was enough to last me a month. My brain was overloaded, and I desperately wanted some quiet to recharge.

The fact that the guy talking to me looked like he'd walked off the pages of a Harlequin romance novel didn't help. Not only was I mentally exhausted, but I was also nervous, anxious, and excited in his presence. My palms were sweaty, and it was all I could do not to drop another bag as I brought the last one inside.

"Can I ask your?—"

"Thanks for helping me. Have a good day," I blurted, then slammed the door in his face. My eyes went wide as I realized how rude I'd been. I let out an embarrassed sigh and locked the door.

My heart was still beating heavily in my chest while I put my groceries away. It wasn't like I was never around men. I wasn't a nun or a total shut-in, and I'd even tried a bit of dating. By dating, I mean matching with some guys on a dating app and having a cup of coffee. Those guys all inevitably ghosted me once they realized how awkward and weird I was. At least I was self-aware. I knew I was awkward and weird. It would have been way worse had I not known that about myself.

Not a single one of those guys had been even half as hot as my new neighbor. What was his name? Had he told me? He did, I was sure of it. Mitchell? Mike? Miles? I thought it was Miles. I liked that name. Not that I'd ever get the chance to use it in conversation. I'd made an absolute fool out of myself, and I planned on staying out of his way for the next two weeks. There was no reason to relive my idiocy every time he laid eyes on me. I blew out a breath. Well, at least my eggs didn't break.

Even though I'd decided to stay away from the sexy neighbor, my mind constantly harked back to him the rest of the afternoon. After spending an hour trying to read a book, I finally threw it aside and groaned internally. Why couldn't I be normal? It was during times like this that I wished I had some true girlfriends. Someone to talk to. Tiffany didn't count since I paid her. She was a business associate, not a friend. I couldn't call her and ask how to talk to a guy. Or, God forbid, how to flirt with one.

Growing up in shitty foster care had left me with a lack of social skills that made the simplest things, like making friends, difficult. I'd picked up a few friends over the years, but the friendships never lasted long. I was too odd; we had nothing in common; I was too antisocial.

I took a deep breath and went to the kitchen. The self-destructive thoughts had to stop. One way I'd discovered to get my mind off bad things was to bake. I'd made sure to get all the ingredients I'd need should baking therapy be needed. It actually helped. I had a batch of chocolate chip cookies in the oven in less than thirty minutes.

Almost as soon as I closed the oven, ideas flooded my mind. In fact, I knew exactly what I wanted to do with my manuscript. The next three or four chapters sprung, almost fully formed, into my head. Before the mental flashes of genius could disappear, I snatched up my laptop and flopped onto the couch. My fingers flew across the keyboard. Usually, I would write a couple hundred words, stare into space for a minute, write a hundred more, and repeat. Now, it was like my hands were possessed, and my brain had been jolted by adrenaline. By the time the buzzer went off for the cookies, I'd written almost three thousand words. I'd knocked out my usual daily word count goal in less than twenty minutes.

I pulled the cookies from the oven and stared at them in wonder. Where had that come from? My writer's block had been plaguing me for over a month before I decided to come to Lilly Valley. What I'd written had been pretty good, if I did say so myself. Why now?

Slowly, like rising floodwaters, a thought dawned on me. First angling my eyes toward the door, then letting my head follow, I stared at the thick wood. The door was closed, but in my mind, I could see my neighbor's apartment across the hall. Was he my…muse? The word was trite and silly, but I couldn't think of another synonym that worked as well.

Even as I shooed the thought away, images of him flashed through my mind––his tall, muscular frame, his deep masculine voice, how he looked at me. My mind's eye started undressing him before I could stop it. I gently shook my head to clear those thoughts before they went too far.

What was wrong with me? Did I need to buy a vibrator or something? Had I reverted to a horny seventeen-year-old? I needed to get my head back in the real world. Even if I was the type of person to ask a guy out, why would I? I would be leaving in a couple weeks anyway.

I busied my mind by counting the cookies as I moved them to a cooling rack. I frowned at the end. I'd made over four dozen of the damned things. In my desire to zone out and bake, it looked like I'd doubled the recipe. There was no way I could eat all these. Years of being damn-near starved by awful foster parents had filled me with a deep aversion to wasting food. I chewed at my lip as an idea sprouted to life.

I grabbed a plastic container from the cupboard—one of my few non-food purchases—and placed twelve cookies into it. Then, like it had a mind of its own, my hand pulled the pad of sticky notes off the counter and scribbled a note, then stuck it on the lid. I scooped up the container, walked out the door, and across the hall to Miles's door before I could let doubt filter in. I stopped to take a deep, steadying breath, then put the plastic tub down on the floor. I shoved my finger into his doorbell for one solid second before spinning on my heel and damned-near sprinting back into my apartment.

I clicked the door closed and pressed my eye to my peephole. After a few more seconds, Miles opened the door and looked left and right before tilting his eyes down and seeing the tub. I held my breath as he read the note. All it said was Enjoy, but I still thought it said too much. He looked up from the note, and even though there was no way he could see me through my peephole, he looked right at the lens. I stifled a squeal as he locked his eyes on my door. It was like we were staring at each other. I froze in fear. If he called out, I would die. Not a metaphor, no. I would fall over dead. My heart exploded in terror and embarrassment.

Thankfully, he just grinned and stepped back into his apartment. My heart was jackhammering. I'd never done anything like that in my life. It may have been the single most ballsy thing I'd ever done. It was terrifying. Terrifying and exciting. God, I needed to go to bed to calm the blood racing through my veins. The clock said it was past ten—way past my usual bedtime.

The next morning, I rolled over and had a moment of panic as the memory of what I'd done the night before came flooding back. I pressed a hand to my mouth and glanced at my bedroom door. Beyond that threshold was the front door. Through that portal was the hallway where I'd left cookies for the neighbor. It really had happened.

Desperate to know if he'd done anything in return, I got out of bed and grabbed my robe. I threw it around myself as I went to my door. Outside, the hallway looked the same. Once I opened the door, I saw what was on my welcome mat. It was my empty cookie tub, with a new note placed on top. I picked it up and read what it said:

Cookies were great. Thanks. It was nice meeting you - Miles