Safer Alone (The Safer Duet #1)

by Amy Rose

  “Great, I’ll arrange everything on my end, and I’ll message you confirmation.”

  “Okay, thanks Elliot” I was preparing myself to hang up when he spoke once more.

  “I look forward to seeing you on Thursday, Angela.”

  I giggle out loud, a ridiculous girly giggle that is not something I would usually do. I cut it off as quickly as I can manage. “You too, Elliot, bye.” I hang up.

  Way to go Angela, make an absolute fool out of yourself. I flip back to Thursday and look at Elliot’s name. I notice that I have replaced the circle above the I in Elliot’s name with a heart. I haven’t done that since I was a teenager and I had a crush on Freddie Prinze, Jr. I smile at the little heart; this was a sign from my subconscious that he was affecting me.

  I quickly write an email to Sandra to let her know I would only be here for a half day Friday next week as I had to head out of town for the weekend. I then leave a voicemail for the Thompson family asking them to please give me a call back to discuss their offer. I keep myself busy for the rest of the day with filing.

  Thursday comes and goes, and Friday passes completely uneventfully. I stay in the office the entire day answering emails and meeting with some possible sellers in the office, none of whom are ready to list yet. No word has been received from the Thompson family. I hope they are enjoying their vacation.

  I have no open houses scheduled for Saturday. I rarely have a whole weekend free. I can’t even remember the last time I didn’t have to work on the weekend. Knowing that I don’t have to meet anyone or do anything, I sleep in until 9:00 am. After lying in bed for a little while, enjoying the fact that I don’t need to get up and be anywhere, I decide that I would binge watch something on DVD. I hop out of bed and make my way into the living room, retrieve seasons one, two and three of Deadwood from their resting place in the entertainment unit and place them on the coffee table.

  Deciding against the normal breakfast, I instead make a big bowl of popcorn and grab a bottle of water from the fridge. Depositing both items on the couch, I pick up season one and place the first disc into the DVD machine and press play. Returning to my spot I make myself comfortable, devouring mouthfuls of popcorn and washing the saltiness away with the water. A text alert on my phone sounds. I jump up and find it on my bed, opening up the text message that is sitting in the middle of my screen:

  <: How are the parents? Why don’t you ask them to come with you to the concert? James :)

  I smile. He always remembers what I told him and the fact that he wouldn’t mind my parents tagging along with us if I did go shows the kind of person he is. I consider telling him that my parents didn’t actually make it and I am on my way; instead I chicken out:

  <: Same as always, we are watching Deadwood. They have the sniffles so we’re staying in. Enjoy yourself, though. Ange

  I don’t hear from James again over the weekend, I return to my spot on the couch and keep watching television.

  Sunday comes and along with it, rain. Just as well. My plans consist of exactly what I had done yesterday. This is what I love to do on a weekend: stay home and relax, just me, myself and I. Late in the afternoon a text message appears:

  <: How was your weekend? Elliot

  I am surprised to hear from him at first. Is it really such a good idea to be liaising with one of my purchasers personally? Then again, I will be flying to New York next week to go over design plans for his new home, so it’s best that I keep up contact. Best for business. I figured one text message wouldn’t hurt:

  <: It’s been relaxing, thank you. How about you? Angela

  Once I hit send, I didn’t put my phone down like I normally would. Instead I keep it in my hands staring at the screen, willing him to message me back. It didn’t take long:

  <: Very busy. I didn’t wake you, did I? Elliot

  Confusion washes over me. Did he think I went to bed at 4:30 in the afternoon? I send a response right away:

  <: Wake me? No afternoon naps for me today. Busy good or busy bad? Angela

  He must have been sitting on his phone too as before my phone had a chance to lock itself another message lit up the screen:

  <: Sorry, I forgot about the time difference. I’m 6 hours ahead of you. Busy good. Purchasing a run-down castle. Elliot

  I figured he made an error, New York City was not six hours ahead of Nashville, then again New York certainly didn’t have castles you could buy, where on earth was he?

  <: Are you not in New York? Congratulations on another purchase. Angela

  I waited less than a minute for Elliot to reply:

  <: Nope, I’m in London. It’s not in the bag yet, but I’m hopeful. Elliot

  He was in London, lucky bugger. Certainly, a more exciting weekend then mine. His work must take him overseas, why else would he be in the United Kingdom, purchasing a castle, no less?

  <: Well aren’t you a lucky one. Bring me back a souvenir? :D

  I wasn’t sure why I said that, it was meant to be a joke. Which is why I included a smiley face, I certainly didn’t expect the response I received:

  <: I already got you something. Elliot

  Upon reading those five words I dropped my phone and squealed at the same time, I bent and scooped it back off the floor in front of my feet and read it again, he had purchased me something. Why would he do that? Surely only to thank me for helping with the Belle Meade Homestead.

  <: I was joking but thank you. Angela

  Instantly a response comes back:

  <: You’re welcome. See you Thursday. Elliot.

  I decide against replying, not wanting to prolong our text message session, instead putting my phone back in the bedroom and watching Deadwood for the rest of the afternoon. I hop into bed that night with my mind thinking about what the souvenir could possibly be. A postcard or a magnet? Possibly a key ring or a pen? I drift off to sleep thinking about double decker buses and red telephone booths.

  Monday and Tuesday pass in much of a blur, only really noticing them as each day brings me closer to seeing Elliot again. Since I had heard from him on Sunday, I felt uplifted and excited to see him again. I have wondered how it would be this time to see him, not as strangers, but as acquaintances. The text messages on Sunday advising he had purchased a souvenir for me wasn’t something you would do for someone you hardly knew, so this makes my heart swell. He must consider me something else. A friend possibly? Would the spark that was present when we shared a meal still be there?

  For the first time in several years, I am looking forward to seeing a man again. It terrifies me to no end. However, other parts of me are excited, nervous and anxious. It shocks me that I am having all these feelings for someone I hardly know. It inevitably will all end in tragedy, but for now I’m going to enjoy it, for as long as these feelings last inside.

  When Wednesday finally arrives, I can’t contain my excitement knowing that he will be flying in tomorrow. When I notice a missed call notification on my phone near closing time my heart almost stops Is he no longer coming? I call him back immediately.

  “Angela, thanks for returning my call, I’ve just landed, I’m heading to The Hermitage shortly.” He was here, early! Such great news!

  “You came early. That’s wonderful news. I have your keys with me ready for you to collect.”

  His response is instantaneous “Yeah, I decided to fly in today so I can spend tomorrow at the property. I’ll come by your place and pick the keys up if you don’t mind. You can contact the attorney to confirm all the money went through this morning if you like. I’ll bring some takeout with me. Any preference? Chinese? Italian? I’ll need your address, too.”

  My breath catches, he wants my address. Elliot Sands wants to come to my apartment. It’s not suitable for a millionaire. Think, Angela think. Maybe I can suggest meeting somewhere else, his hotel room maybe? No, that’s not an option. My place it is. “Italian sounds great, have you got a pen handy?”

  “Sure do, shoot.”

  “Okay
, so my address is sixty-seven Main Street, apartment ten. You will need to park out back. Give me a call if you get lost, and I’ll come down and get you.” I couldn’t believe I just invited him to my place. I guess Elliot is coming to my humble apartment. I better get home quickly and tidy up a bit.

  “Okay Miss White, I’ll be there around 6:30 pm. I’ll see you soon.” And he must have clicked end, as the phone line went dead.

  I put my phone back into my handbag and begin the twenty-five minute commute home. I arrive just after 5:30 pm, fish the house keys out of my old handbag, unlock the front door, and walk in. I flick on the lights and the house is lovely and tidy. I duck into the bedroom and make sure the bed is made, and that no dirty laundry was laying around. I kick out of my shoes and return to the living room and light a candle that is situated on the small coffee table. Within fifteen minutes my home smells like vanilla and coconut. I relax as the minutes tick by. Closer to 6:30 pm I notice I am starting to fidget. I nervously pace back and forth across my living room. I turn the television on and then off again within three minutes.

  I walk into the bathroom and tidy myself up and spray my perfume just once, not wanting it to be overpowering. A quick glance at my watch, it is 6:28 pm, I hear three knocks on the door, I walk to the front door, stand there for a moment. Breathe, Angela, breathe. I look through the peephole. It’s him, Elliot Sands. The most handsome man I have ever seen was at my front door. Here goes nothing. One, two, three.

  ~ Chapter Eleven ~

  I open my door and there he is, Elliot Sands, standing there right in front of me, looking so handsome that it hurts. I blink twice, this can’t be real, and yet when I open my eyes once again he is still there, wearing dark blue jeans, a yellow Ralph Lauren polo shirt, and those sunglasses from the showing tucked into his collar. His hair is slightly messy as though he had just pulled his hands through it and his eyes are looking right into mine.

  It is enough to make my heart skip a couple of beats. Even though it is just shy of two weeks, it has felt like months since I last got to stare at his beautiful features up close and personal and not on a computer screen. Looking at him, so picture perfect, makes me question if I looked okay, since I haven’t changed since coming home from work. Peering down, I can see that I am well dressed, wearing a short-sleeve pale blue blouse and a dark grey pinstripe pencil skirt. Professional. He holds out a large bag containing our dinner in his left hand. I could tell that it was Italian by reading the label on the bag, ‘Vinnie’s Italian,’ one of my all-time beloved eateries. One I frequented while living with Liam, as his apartment is located just around the corner. His right hand is holding a bottle of wine. I don’t know much about wine, except this one looked expensive. I will have to look it up on Google later on to find out, as I have no clue as to what it was worth, but I will soon know if it is good or not.

  Remembering I was yet to say anything, it spilled out quickly. “Hi Elliot. Welcome. Please come in.” I waved my hand from the front door into the living room in a welcoming gesture. As he walked past, he stopped and bent slightly to kiss my cheek. The feel of his lips on my skin was like someone fanning a fire. It felt so good.

  “Angela, it’s lovely to see you again” I can’t concentrate on anything but not falling over. How could one kiss on the cheek affect me this way? Even in the early days with Dylan I am certain I never had this reaction to his touch. Ugh, Dylan, get out of my head. I don’t need you clouding my judgment right now. Not when I am in the company of a true gentleman.

  “Thank you for having me over for dinner.” Elliot’s voice brings me back to earth.

  “You’re welcome, though I should be thanking you. By bringing dinner with you, it has saved me having to cook something. Here, let me take those for you.” I reach for the food and wine and he releases both items to me, I take them over to place on the kitchen counter, closest to the dining table. I turn around and stretch to reach two wine glasses from the top shelf in my overhead cupboards and then retrieving the corkscrew from the second drawer, offering both the wine bottle and corkscrew to Elliot. Feigning humor I speak.

  “I’ll let you do this. If you consider letting me try, just know that I might just hit you with the cork.” Holding my hands up in front of my chest, palms facing outwards I continue, “I’m just being honest!” Luckily for me he gives a low chuckle in response.

  “Thanks for the warning. I’m glad you’re letting me open it then. I don’t really fancy getting hit by a cork tonight.”

  I hear the sound of the cork being popped. Elliot is watching me, awaiting my reaction. I plaster a smile on my face. “Good job. We’re both fine, no one got hurt.” I pick up the glasses from the counter and hold them out between us. He carefully pours the smooth magenta liquid into each glass. Once both are generously supplied with wine, he places the bottle back down on the counter, lifting his hand up to pinch the glass from my left hand. When he is holding it comfortably, I break the silence,

  “What shall we toast to tonight?” I smile broadly up at him.

  He ponders for a moment, taking his chin between his forefinger and thumb, appearing to be deep in thought. “I’ve got it.” He looks back at me and continues, “How about we toast to my new project?” I return his smile and we toast together.

  “To new projects.” I have a small sip of the wine. It’s lovely, very flavorful. I will try to look it up online later. I doubt it will be in my usual price range, though. Rich people generally have expensive tastes. Wine is no different; prices range from a few dollars to thousands of dollars a bottle.

  “Speaking of your new home, here are your keys” I scoop them up from the kitchen counter where I had deposited them when I got home earlier, offering them to him. He reaches out with his free hand and accepts them.

  “Thank you.” I nod in response, I see him tuck them into his jean pocket.

  “So how was your day? Did your showing this morning go well?” I was momentarily shocked; how did he know about my showing? I then remembered I told him last night while we were messaging.

  “Good memory,” I point at my mind. “I showed the property on behalf of another of the agents at the office. They haven’t been real well. It went okay, though. Got some positive feedback which is always a good thing. Hopefully they call me with an offer in the coming days.” I smiled. “Thanks for asking.” I can’t remember the last time someone bothered to ask me about my day. It would have been years ago, back in the days spent with Dylan.

  Here I am trying to enjoy myself with a wonderful man and thoughts of Dylan come front and center. I wish I could just turn it all off tonight. I need to concentrate on the man who is here with me now. A man who is looking at me, smiling. Content to be in my company.

  “I’m glad it went well for you. I’ll keep my fingers crossed that you sell another one” he crosses his fingers with his free hand and holds them up for me to see. I stifle a giggle.

  “I’m sure you guys work on a commission structure, so selling a property, even if it is listed by another agent, would be beneficial for you. Would it not?” I am surprised at his knowledge on the subject. Is he wondering what my commission will be on the property he just purchased? I can’t tell him that.

  “Indeed, even though it is not my listing I will benefit financially from the sale of the property, if I find a buyer that is.”

  It was my turn to ask him about his day. I hoped it wasn’t the same answer Dylan used to give me, a shrug of the shoulders…and once again there he was. Frustrated, I push him away with all my might, thinking “leave me alone.”

  “So how was your day? Besides the travel of course?”

  He shifts onto his other leg “It was okay, not as interesting as yours. A couple of conference calls and a few emails. I traveled on a plane to Nashville to pick up the keys to a new purchase…” taking a sip of wine, he pauses for a moment.

  I can read by the expression on his face that he hasn’t finished speaking, so I keep quiet. Only a few seconds later
he continues. “Do you know what I do for a living, Angela?” Would now be a good time to tell him I looked him up with the help of Google and read his profile on Wikipedia? And if so, do I also tell him I clicked on the link from his very first email, the one that showed me that he has a huge building in New York? Probably not wise. I don’t want to appear stalker-like. Besides, neither of those responses were correct for the current question. I decide to be coy and sarcastic instead.

  “My best guess would be, you hire real estate agents to look over home renovation projects?” I shrug and raise my glass to my lips for another sip of wine. In response he rewards me with a full-blown, megawatt smile, showing most of his perfectly white teeth. The biggest smile I have seen so far and then he laughs. I can’t help but join in.

  “You’re funny.” He points at me. “This is actually the first time I have hired anyone outside of my company to oversee a restoration.” He waits a moment to see if I will react to this new piece of information. I decide to ignore this and instead make a matter of fact statement.

  “You’re a CEO of a business bearing your name. That I know from your emails,” I smile at him.

  He nods, “Perceptive, aren’t you? I run my own business, Angela, I have been since I was eighteen. I knew from a young age that I loved older buildings, antiques, so I took that love and turned it into a business. Most of the time it’s a very profitable business. I purchase old buildings which have been neglected and give them back their old-world charm. Then, I sell them to the highest bidder. Unless, of course, I decide to keep them, which I have done in the past. I do the same with antiques, I sell them at my auction house. You may have purchased something from me? For instance, your Singer sewing machine you have over there. I had one that we sold about nine months back.” he was pointing at my grandmother’s sewing machine table.