Neighbor Dearest (7 page)

“I have to get going,” he finally said.

“Okay.”

We walked together back to our second floor apartments.

“If I don’t see you again, be careful tomorrow night.”

“What do you mean?”

“On your date.”

I’d almost forgotten my coffee date with a guy named Brian.

“Oh. Right. Well, I still owe you dinner.”

“Okay.”

“Have a good night, Damien.”

“You, too.”

As I watched him open the door to his apartment, I felt flush. I was developing a massive crush on this man. It felt like there should have been a warning alarm going off at the same time, though. He’d told me he had no interest in a future with anyone who wanted to get married or have kids. His last relationship ended because of that issue. I still couldn’t figure out the root of why he felt that way. He was so good with the kids at the center today and had such a naturally protective nature about him.

Inside, I walked over to the wall and replaced my artwork with the canvas that Damien had painted of me and the dogs. With a massive smile on my face, I stood there staring at it for a while.

Change the story.

I hadn’t thought of Elec once tonight. And that felt damn good.

Restless for the remainder of that evening, I wanted to do something I’d been planning to for a while. Taking a box of baking mix out of the cupboard, I decided to make those blueberry muffins we’d once joked about. It seemed like the perfect gesture to offer my thanks for his help.

My apartment smelled so good when I took the hot muffins out of the oven. After they cooled, I dug up a basket from my room that had been used to hold magazines. I placed a cloth down in the middle and arranged the muffins before covering them.

Originally planning to bring them by in the morning, when I heard what I assumed was his front door close shortly before midnight, I decided to just walk the basket over while the muffins were still fresh.

I took a deep breath and knocked three times. When he opened the door, I noticed his hair was rumpled.

Damien certainly didn’t look happy to see me, and his expression was awkward. “What’s going on?”

My heart fell when I looked beyond his shoulders to find a woman with long auburn hair sitting on the couch and straightening her shirt.

The words wouldn’t come to me. Still holding onto the muffin basket, I just stood there, feeling like my eardrums were beating. I had no right to be insanely jealous, but God, I was.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just wanted to give you these,” I said, practically shoving the basket at him. “Enjoy them.”

Before he could even respond, I rushed back to my apartment and slammed the door.

CHAPTER EIGHT

FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS

The next morning, the sound of the dogs barking was oddly comforting. It meant they were disrupting whatever was going on between Damien and his little fling. I wondered if she’d had one of my muffins.

Bitch.

I hadn’t even thought to take one for myself before I dumped the basket in his hands.

Was I being ridiculous? After all, I had a date tonight myself! The reality was, I was forcing myself to go on that date.

A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts. Not expecting anyone this early, I wasn’t even dressed. My hair was knotted, and I was sure there were bags under my eyes.

Damien didn’t look much better when I opened the door.

Still wearing the same clothes from yesterday, he lifted his hand. “Hi.”

“Hey.”

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.”

Looking tense, he placed his hands slowly into his pockets as he looked at me. “What exactly happened last night?”

“What are you talking about?”

Nice try dodging the question.

He moved in closer to me. “What am I talking about? You leaving me with a giant fucking basket of muffins and running off before I could even say anything? Ring a bell?”

“I thought you’d be alone. It caught me off guard.”

His eyes softened. “You were upset…”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Chelsea. Fucking horrible at it. You don’t hide your feelings very well.”

“You think you know just about everything there is to know about me, don’t you?”

“Not everything. But it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to read you. It’s one of the things I like about you, though. You’re one of the least fake people I’ve ever met.”

“Then, tell me. Why do
you
think I was upset?”

“Honestly? I think you’re confused about me.”

“Confused…”

“Yes. I think you’re wondering why I opted not to have dinner with you and instead ended up with a woman I’d literally just met, someone who isn’t as sweet as you and sure as fuck isn’t as pretty as you. So, you’re wondering what the hell I was thinking. Am I right?”

That’s exactly what I was thinking.

He continued, “I know we haven’t known each other for very long, but I do feel a connection with you, okay? If you’ve sensed something, you’re not imagining it.”

“Well, if I wasn’t confused before…now I definitely am.”

“I feel like I need to say this now, because I can’t stand the thought of you thinking that I somehow find you undesirable when it’s exactly the opposite.”

I crossed my arms. “Again. Not following you.”

He closed his eyes as if to try to find the right words. “It’s just that I know for sure that I can’t ever be what someone like you needs in a boyfriend, in a partner. It’s not that we wouldn’t have fun or be great together at first. I’m just not good for you in the long-term—not marriage material. And the reasons are too complex to get into, except to say that it has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me. I can’t, in good conscience, start something with a girl like you.”

“A girl like me…”

“Yes. You’re not the kind of girl a guy takes home for a quick fuck. You’re the girl he keeps.”

Right. Just like Elec did.

“You didn’t have to explain all of this. You don’t owe me an explanation.”

“Well, if you hadn’t clearly been upset, I might not have said anything. I just don’t believe in beating around the bush with people or leading them on. I’m not like your ex. But I also need you to understand that there’s a difference between not
wanting
to be with someone and not being
able
to. I know more than anything, you’re scared to get hurt again. And while I know I would really enjoy crossing the line with you, if I did, I
would
end up hurting you. I’m not gonna be
that
guy.”

Feeling a weight on my chest, I said, “Well, I appreciate your honesty. This was a little deeper of a conversation than I expected this early.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I felt like something needed to be said after the way you left. I couldn’t sleep all night, thinking you were upset.”

I swallowed, feeling a numb mixture of sadness and disappointment. Unsure of what to say, I smiled. “Is being friends off-limits, too?”

“Of course not. I feel better about the friends thing now that I explained myself to you. I just don’t want things to be awkward between us, you know, if—”

“If you’re with a girl…” I interrupted.

He nodded. “Or if you’re with a guy.”

Damien had said he felt better, but he didn’t look it. He didn’t look relieved. He looked upset and tense.

And I was more confused than ever.

***

Brian Steinway was a great all-American guy.

Having relocated from Iowa to the Silicon Valley to take a job at Hewlett Packard, he was fairly new to the Bay Area.

During our coffee date, he listened intently to every word that came out of my mouth and kept telling me how much more beautiful I was in person. He had blond hair and blue eyes and quite frankly, looked like the brother I never had. Brian was sweet and self-deprecating and everything a girl should want on paper.

In our corner couch at the Starbucks on Powell Street, I sipped my latte as we carried on a comfortable conversation amidst the sounds of frothing milk and grinding coffee beans. I pretended to be truly interested in what he was saying, even though thoughts of Damien were ever-present, clouding my head when I should have been giving this sweet man in front of me all of my attention.

I couldn’t help thinking about the fake coffee date that was supposed to be here with Online Damien. Then, I’d quickly remind myself of the conversation we’d had this morning, and it would snap me back to reality. The past twenty-four hours had been like an awkward dream.

As we got up after a full two hours of sitting, Brian took my cup to throw it away. “I’d love to give you a ride home.”

“Sure,” I said without thinking.

Damien would’ve told me that was a bad idea. But he didn’t really have a say. Anyway, I was pretty sure Brian was harmless.

When we made it to my neighborhood, Brian parked a block down from my place. He came around to let me out of the passenger side before walking me toward the building. I didn’t want to invite him upstairs, so I intentionally stopped in the courtyard.

Before I even had a chance to say goodnight, a massive amount of light lit up the night sky. Both blinking, Brian and I looked around at what seemed like stadium lighting that illuminated the courtyard as if we were in the middle of a Friday night football game.

What was going on?

When I looked up, Damien was staring down at us from his second floor window. His arms were crossed. Then, he casually moved out of the way when he saw me glaring up at him.

“What’s up with the lights?” Brian asked.

“My landlord is a little bit cuckoo. He must have installed them to fend off burglars.”

“Are they on a sensor or something?”

“Something like that,” I said, knowing full well Damien was controlling this.

“Can I take you out again? Maybe dinner instead of coffee?”

“Sure. That would be nice.”

“I’ll call you soon, then.” Brian leaned in and gave me a peck on the cheek. He stood in the courtyard watching until I was safely inside.

My first instinct was to storm over to Damien’s and demand he tell me why he turned on those lights at the exact moment I’d shown up with Brian. Then, I realized that was probably the reaction he expected from me. After the conversation this morning, I needed to take a step back, have some pride, and just let things be.

Settling into my couch, I tried to focus my mind on a magazine. Mindlessly flipping through the pages, I was bored. It was just past eight, and the night was young.

A few minutes later, I could hear music coming from next door.

Damien suddenly blasted the volume. It took a bit to realize the song was,
Two Is Better Than One.

My phone chimed.

Damien: Hear that? They wrote a song about you and your ménage fantasies.

Chelsea: Don’t you have anything better to do on a Friday night?

Damien: How was the date?

Chelsea: He was nice. How was yours?

Damien: I didn’t have one.

Chelsea: Too busy spying on mine? Seriously, what was with the lights?

Damien: I had them installed a while back when some kids were fucking with my mural. I can control them from here.

Chelsea: That was really intrusive.

Damien: Just looking out for you.

Chelsea: By nearly blinding me?

Damien: LOL. Did you get his full name? I can do the background check.

Chelsea: I do have his name, but he’s harmless. Trust me.

Damien: You shouldn’t have let him know where you live so soon.

Chelsea: I knew you’d say that.

Damien: Then why did you do it?

Chelsea: It’s fine.

Damien: Are you seeing him again?

Chelsea: Probably.

Damien: I’m checking him out. What’s his full name?

Chelsea: Brian Steinway

Damien: Like the piano.

Chelsea: Yes. LOL.

Damien: Any other info?

Chelsea: Born in Iowa, works at Hewlett Packard, lives in Sunnyvale.

Damien: Alright.

Damien went quiet after that. I didn’t hear from him again until there was a knock at the door about twenty minutes later.

I opened. “What’s up?”

“I came to tell you the news in person.”

“What news?”

“I looked up the guy you’re dating.”

“And?”

“Well…I’m afraid…” He scratched his chin.

“What? Tell me!”

“Nothing. Completely legit.” He grinned.

“You scared me,” I said, smacking him playfully.

Damien bent down to lift something off the ground. It was my basket, sans muffins. “Here’s your basket back.” He’d thrown in a bottle of white along with some cookies that smelled like they’d just been baked.

“What’s this for?”

“It’s a thank you for the muffins. I’ve eaten like three of them today. They’re delicious.”

“You didn’t have to do anything. The muffins were to thank you for helping at Arts Night.”

“Well, that was nothing. So, I consider the muffins a gift. I don’t accept anything without reciprocating. It’s just how my mother brought me up.”

I took a bite into one of the gooey chocolate chip cookies and spoke with my mouth full. “These are so good. I think you might have unintentionally started a bake off. I can’t cook, but I can make desserts.”

“Oh, it’s on!” he joked. “I try to eat healthy, but pastries, cookies, cake…all baked goods…they’re my weakness.” He stole one of the cookies and took a bite. “Well, I just wanted to give you the info and the cookies.”