Callie’s afternoon walk almost always ended at the neighborhood grocery store. With no car, she could only carry so much back home. The solution was to buy only what was necessary for whatever she planned on cooking for dinner and for breakfast the next day.

Her lunch was usually leftovers from dinner.

Unless Brundar came over, and then she had to stock up on more stuff.

Callie smiled. Feeding him was such a pleasure. The guy ate the way he made love, giving it his complete and undivided attention and savoring every little bite.

Absentmindedly, she rubbed a spot on her neck that held a ghost memory of a bite. She must've dreamt it because her neck was spotless. Brundar hadn’t even left a hickey.

Probably a tiny bug bite she couldn't see or feel.

It had been two days since he’d made love to her. He’d said hi at the club, but that had been the extent of their interactions.

The logical part of her brain told her that he was busy. Guarding his cousin during the day and helping Franco run the club evenings and nights counted as two full-time jobs. It was a wonder Brundar had managed the little time he’d spent with her. In fact, he’d told her that he’d asked for a half a day off just so he could have an early dinner with her.

The other part of her brain, the one that was more emotional, felt neglected and unwanted.

He was avoiding her.

Today, Callie was once again eating dinner alone. It was no fun to cook for one, but she needed to eat, and there was no way she was going to stoop to sandwiches or frozen dinners. A simple dish of spaghetti with mushroom sauce that took about fifteen minutes to make was what she was planning for tonight. It was inexpensive, which was important since she was saving as much as she could to pay for school. Tomorrow, she’d eat the leftovers for lunch.

The only time Callie splurged on food was when cooking for Brundar.

Back at her building, she took the stairs up to her apartment. At her door, she put the grocery bag on the floor and shuffled through her purse looking for her keys.

The sound of the elevator doors opening had her turn around. Maybe it was her next door neighbor. The apartment adjacent to hers had been dark and quiet for the entire time Callie had lived there.

A woman was muscling a suitcase out of the elevator while pushing a carryon in front of her. Callie rushed over to hold the doors from closing on the suitcase.

“Thank you,” the woman said, finally getting the heavy luggage past the metal sill. “I always over pack, forgetting I also need to schlep the thing around.”

“Let me take this.” Callie reached for the carryon.

“Thank you.” The woman let go of the handle. “I’m right over here.” She pointed at the door to the apartment next to Callie’s.

“I thought no one lived there,” Callie said as the woman pulled out her keys.

“I travel a lot.” She offered her hand. “Hi, I’m Stacy.”

Callie shook her hand. “I’m Callie.”

Stacy opened her door. “Would you like to come in?”

Callie chuckled. “You just came back from what must’ve been a long trip. How about you come over to my place and eat dinner with me?”

Stacy looked tempted but shook her head. “Thank you. That’s really nice of you, but I need to unpack, take a shower, etc.”

It was quite obvious that the only reason Stacy had declined was that she was embarrassed about accepting a dinner invitation from a neighbor she’d just met.

“Come on. You can do it later. I hate eating alone. Besides, you probably have nothing edible in your fridge.”

Stacy grimaced. “Don’t remind me. I don’t want to know what grew in there while I was gone.”

“So, does it mean you’re coming?”

“Yeah, you twisted my arm. Let me just push that monster inside.”

Callie lent Stacy a hand. The suitcase had wheels, but it was so heavy they barely moved. “How much did you have to pay for excess weight?”

Stacy closed the door and followed Callie to her apartment. “The company I work for pays all of my travel expenses.”

“Oh, yeah? What do you do, if you don’t mind me asking?” Callie put the grocery bag on the counter and motioned for Stacy to take a seat.

“I’m a business consultant. I go in, talk to everyone, see what needs improvement, and sometimes even oversee the implementation.”

Callie pulled out the box of spaghetti from the bag. “Sounds fascinating.”

“It is.”

“I’ll brew us some coffee.”

“Thank you. I need it.”

Filling up a pot with water, Callie put it on the stove, then popped a pod into the machine. “I’m making spaghetti with mushroom sauce. I hope you’re not allergic to mushrooms.”

Stacy slapped a hand on her thigh. “Not counting the peculiar swelling of my hips, which is a reaction I get to any kind of food, I’m not allergic to anything.”

Callie chuckled. “I have a similar allergy. Though in my case the swelling happens in my tummy.”

Stacy cast her an incredulous glance. “What are you talking about, girl?”

“I’m a waitress. So I’m on my feet a lot. That’s the only reason I don’t gain weight.”

Stacy frowned, making Callie uncomfortable. Was she one of those snobs who looked down at waiters and cashiers and the like?

“You must be getting excellent tips to afford this place.”

Callie relaxed. The frown wasn’t about what she’d thought. “I’m apartment sitting for the professor who lives here. He was kind enough not to charge me rent.”

“Mike?”

She had no idea. “I guess so. The whole thing was brokered through a friend of his. I don’t even know his name.”

Stacy shook her head. “Mike moved out over a month ago. He got a job at Arizona State.”

“I was under the impression that he was teaching a semester abroad.”

“He did. Two years ago.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

What the hell?

What kind of a story had Brundar invented and why?

“Maybe we are not talking about the same person. Maybe another professor rented this apartment after Mike left and then got an offer to teach abroad.”

Stacy crossed her legs. “I guess that’s the only plausible explanation. After all, several professors live in this building because it’s so close to USC. That’s why the rent is so expensive.”

Callie put on a smile. “Mystery solved. How do you like your coffee?” She changed the subject.

Frankly, she didn’t believe for a moment the explanation she’d offered Stacy. Brundar had rented the apartment for her and concocted the story about the professor. The landlady had probably told him about the previous tenant, and that was where he’d gotten the idea for his lie from.

The question was why?

And if he’d lied about that, what else had he lied about?

“Black, with stevia if you have it.”

“Sorry. I only have regular sugar.”

“Then one teaspoonful of sugar it is.”