Eden

Although it’s getting dark out, the light outside in the seating area under my window is good enough for me to be able to do some work. Since it’s officially fall now and the temperature drops down into the fifties at night, I slip on my low chestnut UGG boots and pull my Penn State hoodie over my soft white tee in order to be comfortable outside. Gathering my phone, my craft basket, a bottle of water, and the metal TV table my mother always used for crafting, I head out.

I get my station in order before taking a seat and picking up the applique project I’m starting. I’ve decided I want to add a little personality to my room, so I’m making myself four throw pillows for the couch. The first two will have a cream-colored background with tan branches and melon-colored birds while the other two will be a yellow background with cream-colored birds. The birds are made up of different fabrics I got down at the local craft store. If they turn out half as good as they look in my head, I’ll be thrilled.

Picking up my phone, I scroll through my playlists until one grabs my fancy. Sliding my earphones in I press play, put the phone down, and get ready to do my project. I’ve been doing applique since the moment my mom handed me a needle, thread, and some fabric. Her grandmother taught her mother, her mother taught her, and she taught me. Someday I hope to pass the skill down to a daughter of my own.

I cut the birds out earlier and also turned the edges under and used liquid starch to keep them in place, so I’m good to go to the next step. Setting the first piece of fabric down on the tray, I smooth it out. Next, I add a piece of the tree, set it down, put it into position, and then use two pins to hold it where I want it. Cutting a piece of thread, I put it through the eye of my needle and tie it off several times. After putting a thimble on the middle finger of my right hand, I pick the needle up and start by bringing the first stitch up from underneath on an angle. As always, I lose myself in the process. For me, doing applique is relaxing, which is why I love it so much.

I’ve got the entire tree and half of one of the birds stitched on when I feel someone watching me. Glancing around, I see no one. And yet, the feeling persists. I don’t feel like I’m in any danger, but I feel certain someone is staring at me. Looking at Donovan’s window, I see that the curtains are closed. I’m not surprised to see this because I haven’t set eyes on him in forever. In fact, I’ve hardly seen him at all since the nightmare at the bar when I made a fool of myself.

I look around more, searching for who could be watching me. When another thirty seconds of nothing passes, I shake it off and go back to my applique. I try to get back into it but as the minutes tick by I realize it’s not working. Something out here has shifted and it’s impossible to lose myself in the needlework. Accepting that it’s a lost cause, I sit forward to pack it up and take everything inside.

Setting the needle down, I wrinkle my nose when I smell cigarette smoke. Sniffing the air, I realize it’s coming from the side of the building. Standing, I quietly follow the smell past Donovan’s room. I wave my hand in front of my face as I walk right into a pocket of smoke when I take a left turn where the building ends.

I stop short when I find Donovan leaning against the side of the building, one black shit kicking boot crossed over the other. He lifts his head and takes a drag of his cigarette before he blows the smoke away from me. When he turns back and our eyes meet he stares at me in silence, apparently waiting for me to say something first.

“Have you been watching me?” I ask in an accusatory tone.

He makes a dismissive sound as he stands up straight and takes another drag. Rolling his eyes, he turns his head and blows the smoke away before he turns back and gives me a withering look. “Was I standing here, on the side of the building where no one is, watching you? Is that really what you’re asking me?”

When he puts it like that, I sound ridiculous. Still, his being out here tells me my hunch is probably right. I don’t know where he was or how he did it, but he was definitely watching me. “How’d you get out here? I’ve been sitting outside for more than an hour and I never saw you come in or out,” I challenge.

Donovan shakes his head as he takes another drag and then drops the cigarette onto the pavement. Putting it out with his boot, he pulls a pack of Marlboros from his back pocket before he leans over, picks the butt up, slides it into the pack, and slips the pack back into his pocket. I begrudgingly give him credit for not littering.

“I was down in the garage,” he says.

It takes me a second to realize he answered my question. When I do, I give him a smug look as I gesture back over my shoulder with my thumb to the parking lot. “Your car is right there.”

“Yeah?”

“Doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to be out in the garage with no truck,” I point out.

“I thought your name was Eden.”

Confused, I cock my head. “It is.”

“Really?” he chides. “Because you’re throwing out a real Nancy Drew vibe right now.”

I cross my arms over my chest and pin him with a look. “Well, I thought your name was Donovan, but apparently I’m talking to Larry the Cable Guy. I’d never have guessed you had jokes.”

He grimaces as he pulls the pack of cigs from his back pocket. Gross, he chain smokes. Taking one out he put it between his lips before he slides the pack away. Still silent, he extracts a black Zippo from his front pocket. He continues to ignore me as he flips the Zippo open and flicks his thumb against it, the sound of flint meeting metal the only noise as he lifts the lighter to his cigarette and lights it. The snick of the lighter closing is followed by him taking a drag of the cigarette.

“You always this suspicious, Shortstack? Or do you save it for me?”

My eyes narrow. “My name isn’t Shortstack.”

There’s a flicker of a smile on his face—like a hint of what could be if he weren’t so uptight—and the sight of it is enough to leave me breathless. Here I assumed his lips didn’t know how to do that.

“You’ve called me Stretch several times now,” he says gruffly.

“No, I—”

I stop talking when I realize he’s right. Damn. I really have.

“Well,” I huff, “you’re very tall.”

“And you’re very small. Hence, Shortstack.”

“I’m not very small,” I argue. “I’m average height.”

He looks at me like I’m daft. “Average height is five foot four. You’re shorter than that.”

I give him my most withering look. “Just answer the question,” I snip. “What’re you doing out here?”

“I already told you I was in the garage.”

“And seeing how your car is over there, I’m saying I think that’s a lie.”

He runs a hand through his hair and stares down at me like he can’t believe I’m taking it this far. Quite frankly, I agree with his unspoken assessment. I’m not what you would call docile, but something about Donovan evokes reactions from me unlike any I’ve had before. Reaching into his front right pocket, he pulls out what I immediately recognize are the set of keys Ron keeps in the main office.

“If I’m here I make sure everything is in place and close up the outbuildings for Ron at night after everyone is done for the day. When I can do it, it means he doesn’t have to come back and do it himself. Feel free to call him and check that out, Shortstack. Hate to burst your bubble, but I’m not out here stalking you.”

Awesome. I’m not sure I could look any dumber. I don’t know why I care how I come across to Donovan, but I do. “Sorry,” I mutter. “I just… I thought I felt eyes on me.” I can feel my cheeks turning pink, but it’s not like I can do anything to stop it.

His eyes narrow as he assesses me. Taking another drag, he turns and looks around as he blows out the smoke. When he finished looking around, he brings his gaze back to me and shrugs. “I see nothing but it’s dark out and the place is surrounded by trees. If you’re being watched by anything, it’s probably an owl or a ten-point buck. Nothing you can do about it—it’s just nature.”

Oh, great. He thinks I’m worked up by nature. That isn’t embarrassing or anything. Turning on my heel, I head back to the front of the motel. “Sorry to bother you,” I say over my shoulder.

He doesn’t reply, but it’s not like I expected him to. When I get back to the sitting area in front of my room, I start gathering my stuff together. From the corner of my eye, I see Donovan come around the corner.

Surprise, surprise—we ignore each other completely as he unlocks his door and heads into his room. Great. First I humiliate myself at the bar and now I look stupid for thinking he was watching me. I need to catch a break here.

For the rest of the night I try to forget what a fool I made of myself outside, but it doesn’t work. It’s impossible to forget when I can hear the very person I’m trying not to think about moving around on the other side of our shared wall. Like every other night I’m also aware each time he leaves his room for a cigarette.

I know I could ask Margie to let me switch rooms, but that feels like I’d be admitting I can’t handle him—and I’m a lot of things, but weak isn’t one of them. Come hell or high water I’m staying in this room—which means Donovan Beckett will be my neighbor for the foreseeable future.