“Great. You can come for dinner if you want too. We’re grilling kebabs.”
“The chicken wrapped in bacon?” I asked hopefully.
“Yep.”
“Sold.” I felt a little better. Nothing makes a bad day better like bacon. “What can I do to help you close?”
“Why don’t you sweep, and I’ll do kitchen duty?” She held the broom out to me, and I saluted before taking it from her.
But after she’d gone into the kitchen, I remained on the stool with the broom in my hand, staring at the notebook on the counter.
Sebastian Pryce. After all these years, he was a hot, mysterious lawyer with a firm handshake and a tragic past. Was his standoffish demeanor just a defense mechanism? He’d jumped up to help me at the beach this morning in a heartbeat, so I knew he had manners somewhere under the icy exterior. And those eyes. When he’d taken his glasses off and looked at me, there was something other than anger in them. Was it fear? Sadness? Was he still afraid of being rejected? I flattened one hand on the notebook’s front cover. What was in here?
For a moment, Sebastian’s right to privacy warred with my insane curiosity about him…
How wrong would it be to take a peek?
Totally wrong.
But maybe there was an address or phone number in it? I could justify it that way, right?
You just want to get up in his business.
I ignored that and opened up the front cover. Blank. I flipped to the back cover. Blank.
Well, damn, I thought, randomly flipping to a page in the middle. Guess you’ll have to find me, then.
And speaking of me.
There was my name.
My mouth fell open as I took in all the words on the page, which really didn’t make much sense to me.
Refrain from spacing hangers in closet just so. 50
Write less than eight words on a line. 30
Eat a mint after it falls on floor. 80
Zip up my fly less than eight times. 50
Turn off the television on an odd channel. 60
Lock the front door less than eight times. 70
Sit in a restaurant chair that feels “wrong.” 75
Eat at a restaurant without bringing own dishes. 80
Go to a hospital and sit in lobby. 80
Handle a kitchen knife while others are present. 90
Talk to Skylar Nixon.
What the hell was this?
I read the list again but felt no closer to understanding it. Some of the items seemed like maybe they were things that made him nervous, and others were just odd behaviors. Zipping his fly eight times? A chair that feels “wrong”? Why couldn’t he handle a kitchen knife in front of other people? Was he scared of knives? And hospital lobbies? Maybe that was the germ thing? And what was with the numbers? I felt sorry for him, but boy…this was pretty odd.
If he wanted to have a conversation with me, why hadn’t he done it today? He’d had plenty of chances. Was he just too shy? Biting my lip, I turned the page.
And saw my name again.
Skylar
I think I loved you
is not the best introduction
after we’ve just met
I realize this. And maybe you will
never know
never know
never know
never know
never know
never know
never know
never know
Maybe it is too soon (or too late?)
to tell you about the dream I had
your laugh was a butterfly
Today when I touched you
I felt a familiar chill down my arms. I think it
came from the future (or the past?)
With your hand in mine I saw the
tragedy of us
unfold quite clearly
I have no choice but to
keep my distance
but your beauty is gravity
and terrestrial bodies will always fall
I read it again and again and again, gooseflesh rippling down my arms. He wrote poetry? Had he written this for me today? Did he really feel this way about me? My heart was pounding. I stared at the words, trying to memorize them, scared Natalie was going to catch me snooping but needing desperately to take something beautiful from this day, even if it was sad too.
A few seconds later, someone pounded so hard on the door that I gasped.
Spinning around, I slapped my hand over my heart when I saw Sebastian through the glass. I slammed the notebook shut. Act natural. You saw nothing. You know nothing.
But suddenly I wanted to know everything.
Fuck, I scared her.
I watched Skylar whirl around and put a hand over her heart. When she saw it was me, she picked up the notebook from the counter and walked toward the door. The moment she unlocked it, I yanked it open and snatched the notebook rudely from her hands. I’d been in a complete state of panic since realizing it wasn’t in my jacket, but I felt only mild relief to have it back in my possession. Had she looked inside it?
Fucking hell. I’d die. Die.
“Hi,” she said brightly, coming outside. The door swung closed behind her. “I wondered if you’d come back for that.”
“Yeah. Sorry.” I couldn’t bring myself to look her in the eye, so I stared at her feet. They were small and narrow, and even though she wore high heels, she was still a good six inches shorter than me.
“No problem, we’re still here closing up.”
I nodded, the tension in my gut uncoiling a little. She wasn’t acting as if she’d seen anything crazy. I risked a glance at her, and those blue eyes cranked my adrenaline right up again.
“I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you earlier. Do you live nearby?” Her tone was light and friendly and she leaned against the door, hands behind her back. It made her breasts stick out a little, and I looked at them before I could help myself. The thought of accidentally choking her jumped unbidden into my mind, and I took a step back.
Shit. Just get the fuck out of here.
“I gotta go.” Without meeting her eyes, I turned and counted off my paces in sets of eight as I hurried away from her.
Hating myself, I went home and cleaned my house from top to bottom, took another shower (during which I jerked off to her again, which only made me feel more loathsome), ate dinner staring at a stupid cable news show that reaffirmed my belief that the world was a fucked-up place full of greed and cruelty, and went to bed.
Staring at the empty space beside me, I counted myself to exhaustion, and fell asleep.
• • •
The next day was better, although I was angry with myself for being such a dick to Skylar.
To work it off, I went to the gym in the morning and spent the early afternoon working outside at my cabin. The piece of property on Old Mission Peninsula I’d inherited from my mother was small, but it was well off the main road and had about twenty waterfront feet, although no beach. The land had been in her family for a hundred years or so, and when she died, it was divided into three parcels and willed to my two brothers and me. They’d sold their plots to a developer, but I’d held on to mine and built a cabin on it. A contractor had done the construction last summer, and I’d spent my winter working on the interior, installing reclaimed wood floors and kitchen cabinets, stained concrete counters, new appliances, a stone and tile bathroom downstairs. The whole place wasn’t even eight hundred square feet, but it was plenty of room for me.
My latest project was an outdoor shower. With the water line prepped and in place, I began working on installing the solar water heater, so that showers out here would be refreshing rather than dick-shrinking cold. Of course, the entire time I worked I pictured Skylar underneath the shower heard, warm water running down her body, dripping off her curves, clinging to her skin. Oh fuck. Now I was hard. Frowning, I adjusted my jeans and kept working.