Fiona
NORMALLY I ENJOYED TRAVELING AND work. However, this trip to Miami I wanted to end quickly. I had been anxious to return home. The beach and parties didn’t appeal to me. When I asked to leave early instead of staying an extra day to enjoy the nightlife, I had surprised even myself.
Chantel was home now and I knew she wouldn’t have done much in the way of unpacking. I could lie to myself and say I wanted to get home to finish the move in knowing that was a lie. My dark-haired, sexy, kind, thoughtful, smart, neighbor was the reason I was ready to return. He’d texted me a few times and we had spoken on the phone a couple times, but he was on the night shift so he was busy nights and sleeping during the day. I could tell when he called he was tired. The fatigue was present in his voice.
I hadn’t wanted to bother him, so I didn’t text him or call. I let him do both. After our night on the roof, I had expected him to kiss me. I had expected him to do more than kiss me. He didn’t try anything though. He’d taken my hand, turning it this way and that in his and then he kissed it. Our night had ended with such a simple yet powerful gesture.
The next morning I left for Miami. Leaving was the last thing I wanted to do. I knew he would be working when I finally arrived at the apartment, but I still had a small sliver of hope his truck would be outside. It wasn’t. The disappointment that he wasn’t magically there sank in, and I tried to brush it off as I got my bags and went inside. As I walked past, I glanced at his door longingly like a silly girl with a crush.
Opening my apartment door, I could smell the vanilla from Chantel’s favorite candles. The soundtrack to Phantom of the Opera played over the speakers, and I could hear Chantel singing loudly along to the music. Dropping my bags at the door, I went to the kitchen to find Chantel dancing around singing into a wooden spoon wearing nothing but her panties and bra.
She squealed when she spun around, surprised to find me standing there. She laughed at her ridiculous appearance and started singing into the wooden spoon again like she was entertaining me.
I walked over to the stereo and turned the music down. I headed to the fridge for a sparkling water. “I see you’re working hard at unpacking,” I said as I shot her an annoyed glance.
She shrugged. “I started, but I got hungry. I wanted something yummy and found brownie mix! At first I thought I was in the wrong apartment or that my roommate had gotten confused at the grocery store. I decided not to question my luck and began making a batch of brownies. Want to lick the spoon?”
Shaking my head, I chose not to explain the brownie mix. I drank my water and hoped she didn’t ask. She studied me as she licked at the spoon. Lifting one eyebrow at me then another. It was a talent she was proud of.
“But then . . .” she continued. “I saw this swanky little cork in the bowl and thought why that looks like it came from a fancy bottle of wine. A bottle that I knew too well . . .” She waited for me to say something.
I kept drinking my water. I probably resembled a person that had been stranded in a desert receiving their first glass of water.
“What? No explanation for the wine drinking and brownie mix? Do we have another roommate I don’t know about?”
Rolling my eyes, I walked over and took the cork from her. I wanted to keep that cork. I was afraid she’d break it or throw it away.
“And then, I called Shay because I figured she’d want to know about the brownie mix . . .” Chantel trailed off again. Her eyes getting wide as she waited for me to say something.
“Oh good grief, if you called Shay then you know the answers to all this. Why are you torturing me for answers?” I said knowing she didn’t need me to tell her a thing.
Chantel threw her hands in the air dramatically. “Because,” she drew the word out to last a minute, “I want the details. The juicy wine drinking details. And I want you to make me cookies.”
“Shut up.” I wasn’t ready to share Marty or the night we spent together with anyone yet.
“You either start talking or I get more annoying,” Chantel said in a singsong voice.
“There isn’t much to tell,” I snapped.
“You BAKED FOR HIM AND DRANK MY WINE! There is something to tell!”
With a sigh, I lifted my left shoulder. “He cooked for me. I thought the wine would taste good with the pasta.”
Chantel covered her heart with her left hand and gasped loudly. “YOU . . . ATE . . . PASTA!?”
“This is why I didn’t want to give you any details,” I pointed out.
“But Fiona, you don’t eat pasta. I’m sorry if I am in shock. The brownie mix about gave me a heart attack. This is too much.”
“It was whole wheat and fresh. Not processed,” I told Chantel not knowing why I sounded so defensive.
“That makes this all more believable,” she snarked. She leaned on the counter with her eyes wide as she smiled at me. “Marty made you pasta he knew you’d eat. Soooo he took the time to get to know what you liked. That’s pretty damn sweet. And it sounds nothing like Mack.”
“If they weren’t twins you wouldn’t know they were related,” I assured her.
“Have you thought about double-teaming them? All that hotness taking over your body?”
“GOD! Chantel, no! I haven’t.”
She laughed loudly. “Well, I have. Sorry, but after meeting Mack’s identical match I started fantasizing.”
“Ugh, stop it. And Marty and Mack aren’t identical.”
Chantel cocked her eyebrow again. “Yes, they are.”
There was no use arguing with her. It was obvious they weren’t identical. But Chantel didn’t see past their faces.
“Are you really going to eat those brownies?” I asked thinking about how good they would taste.
“Yep! I starved for weeks to do that swimsuit shoot. I am splurging tonight.”
“Maybe I could take a couple to Marty,” I suggested thinking it gave me a reason to see him tomorrow.
“You can if I don’t eat them all.”
The doorbell rang preventing me from telling Chantel there was no way she was going to eat them all. Chantel’s eyes bulged. “Is that Mr. Sexy Twin?”
“He’s working tonight, but in case it is him, keep your naked ass in this kitchen.” I walked to the hallway and toward the entry. Thinking it could be Mack or Stone, I opened the door wondering why they’d stop by.
However, Marty stood outside our door. He was freshly showered, his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, and a smile on his face that made my heart flutter. I knew I was in trouble. I didn’t believe in love and romance. I’d watched my parents ruin lives in the wake of their drama and heartbreak with those words. But Marty . . . made me want to question it all.