“Seriously, Arabella”—I massage my favorite apple-scented lotion on each arm as I sit, towel still wrapped around my hair, bathrobe on, in front of my vanity—“I believe he is the man of my dreams.”

Arabella’s brows practically shoot up to her hairline. “Woman, please. If I bought a pair of shoes each time you’ve said that, my closet would have to be the size of the Atlantic seaboard.” She dabs a deep shade of crimson-colored lipstick on her lips, then shoots me a pointed glare through the screen. “Seriously.”

We’re having our FaceTime call, this time as she gets her day started and I get ready for bed. It’s the only effective method for us to stay in touch without missing each other miserably. We were practically joined at the hip in college and while she understood why I wanted to live in Paris, it still broke her heart. She toyed with the idea of packing up and joining me; however, Arabella Royale is one of Savannah’s most talked about socialites. Not to mention, the woman is a sucker for southern men.

“I know, but if you saw him you’d understand why. Did I mention he’s got a steamy British accent?”

“At least three times already,” she says, breathing off an easy laugh.

“And”—I pause and as my tongue grazes my cheek for one hot second—“he’s moved in across from me.”

Arabella whips her attention away from the reflection in her mirror, anchoring her hazel eyes on me. “Now ain’t that something to talk about. Just think about how y’all can get down and dirty from one apartment to the other. But a little risky. If it doesn’t work out, someone has to move.”

I burst out a giddy laugh before I say, “I’ll keep you posted. How’re things with you and Parker? Any sign he’ll be getting down on one knee soon? I mean how long has it been? Three years now?” I finally remove the towel from around my hair and brush it into a ponytail.

“Three years off and on.” A sigh escapes her lips. Honestly, I’m not sure if we’re headed to the altar or doomsday. Proof that not everyone you think you oughta be with is the one you’re meant to be with.” She brushes the last strand of hair into place, then finishes it off with two pumps of hairspray.

“Well then, it looks as though we both need to keep each other posted.”

Arabella sprays perfume on each wrist and says, “And your meeting? How did it go, sweetie?”

“Ugh”—I bury my face in the palm of my hands—“the meeting. It went alright. I just need to find a guest designer for the first issue. I’ve reached out to one who is local and I’m hoping he accepts my request to meet with me tomorrow morning.”

“Well, babe, I know it’ll work out. It’s Haute Couture for cryin’ out loud. Everyone who is anybody will be lining up to be in your mag.”

“Thanks. Honey, I’ve still got a ton of work to do before I crawl my pitiful ass into bed. You have a great day today and we’ll chat later. Love you.”

“Yep. Love you too,” she says before we end our chat.

Truffles’s yelp by my bedroom door takes my attention from the files sprawled across my bed and onto him.

He looks at me, paw raised, and barks again.

“Poor little guy. Mama got so wrapped up with work, I missed your 8 o’clock pee time.”

I step into my slippers and head out to the living room, the sound of Truffles’s claws tapping against the hardwood floor letting me know he’s trailing right behind me.

“Just let Mama get a raincoat on and grab your leash, baby boy.”

He whimpers all the way to the door, lowering his head as he waits for me to button up my coat.

Drama king.

“Come on. I’ll put on your leash once we get on the elevator,” I tell him as if I’m expecting him to reply, okay.

Arf

Close enough.

Once downstairs, I scurry to the front double doors, Truffles leading the way. Jules has already gone home for the day, more than likely on his hot coffee date. He leaves mosts days around seven, anyway.

I open the door and Truffles dashes out, me hanging onto his leash, running behind him. “Whoa, boy, slow down,” I yell, in sort of a whisper.

He lifts his leg, taking care of his business, a satisfied glow on his face, as he shivers. It’s much cooler out now, rain a minute sprinkle. A couple walks by, holding hands, looking perfectly happy. They both give a collective awww when they see Truffles.

Admittedly, Truffles is quite the cutie that folks—mostly women—get all giddy over. No wonder Jules likes to take him for walks.

Arf.

Truffles yelps, dashing to the double doors.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.”

Crap.

I left my key to the lobby doors upstairs.

Instinctively, I pull on the door to see if I can jar it open.

Fail. Perks of living in a secured building.

I shiver, folding my arms in front of me.

Maybe I can ring Mrs. Deveox in 1B. But she’s probably asleep now, just as ninety percent of the residents are.

I give it a shot, pressing 1B, as I bounce up and down, in a effort to stay warm.

Arf. Truffles practically yells, paw up, waiting by the entrance.

I grimace at him, as the intercom rings Mrs. Deveox. “Bonjour, qui est là?”

“Bonjour, Mme Deveox. C'est moi Lauren de 11A. Pouvez-vous me laisser entrer? I’ve forgotten my key to the front door.”

There is an exhausting pause.

“Je suis désolé qu’avez-vous dit? Je suis un peu dur d’oreille.”

Crap. I forgot Mrs. Deveox is hard of hearing.

“My key. I forgot it. Can you let me in?”

“Bonjour? Tu es encore la?”

Ugh. “Yes, I’m still here,” I say, bouncing even more frantically.”

Oh, it’s no use.

“Never mind, Mrs. Deveox. Merci.”

I run my index finger down the directory, looking for someone I think I can call to help. Then I spot 11B. Simon Hunter. My new neighbor.

I look down to Truffles, who has pooled himself around my feet in an effort to keep warm. “Shall I ring Simon, Truffles?”

Arf.

Sounds like an emphatic yes to me.

I press the button to 11B and wait past three rings when I decide to give up.

Then…

“Hello, may I help you please?”

God, his voice is heavenly which is good because the thoughts I have when I hear it may be viewed by some as sinful.

“Um, yes,” I stammer. “It’s, um, Lauren Blake from across the way”—I fidget with my coat—“only I’m not across the way right now. I’m kinda locked out of the building. Would you mind buzzing me in?”

“Now you’re sure you’re not some deranged serial strangler, right? I mean, how can I be certain you’re who you say you are?” I hear a chuckle brewing under his tone.

“Well, we met today on the elevator,” I say, realizing my face is wearing a wide grin.

“Aw, yes. In fact, your smile was the highlight of my day.”

The door buzzes and a click indicating it’s unlocked follows.

Truffles and I run into the lobby, and over to the elevator, its doors opening just as soon as I press the call button.

And once we reach our floor, the doors slide open, and there waiting to greet us…

Simon. A huge smile parting his full lips.

“You alright?” he asks, bending down to pat Truffles.

I am now.