He is expressionless as he continues to watch me while talking on the phone. I kind of want to slap his face because it’s so obnoxiously good-looking. Inside, though, my vulva is dimming the lights and queuing up “Let’s Get It On” by Marvin Gaye. Calm down, vulva! It’s just some guy on the sidewalk. You’ll never see him or his sweet dog again.
I bend down to rub the dog’s head again, whisper “I love you” to her, and then continue on my way back home.
I have about fifteen minutes before Matt McGovern, Esquire is supposed to show up, so I check my mailbox. I never expect to actually receive anything besides marketing crap, but there’s a squishy mailer stuffed in there, and I stare at it for a few seconds before casting my mind back to five nights ago when I ordered a sexy dress in a Pinot-induced online shopping frenzy. I sometimes have to attend gallery openings and parties with Sebastian (for work, not as a date), and I keep buying sexy dresses online while under the influence, with every intention of wearing them. Then I return them and show up to events in a black cardigan, really expensive jeans, hoop earrings, and red lipstick, because that’s the level of sophistication that I’m comfortable with.
I run up the stairs to the fourth floor, taking two at a time… Okay, I do that for one floor and then walk up the rest of the way. I don’t want to be all sweaty when I’m trying on this dress. Also, I may be having a heart attack.
As soon as I’m inside my apartment, I tear off my coat, top, and bra, rip open the package, and pull out the folded burgundy red dress. I remember thinking that it would go well with my dark auburn hair, but I don’t remember the plunging V neck or the stupid zipper in the back. Sighing, I remove my socks, shoes, and jeans, already knowing that I’ll be returning this sleeveless number on my way to work tomorrow.
I have no idea how much time has passed since finally getting this dress on and staring at myself in the mirror. It took about a month to zip it up in back because it’s so tight, and then I decided I should at least see what it looked like with the right shoes, and then it seemed necessary to find the right lipstick before taking it off and packing it up again, and now my intercom is buzzing and I can just tell from the way the guy presses the buzzer quickly, two times, that he’s impatient. So, I don’t have time to change out of this dress. I grab my keys and tell the buzzy intercom guy that I’ll be right down to let him in.
I remove my heels while taking the stairs and then slip them back on before reaching the front door. Through the glass and decorative iron grate, I can see that the man is tall and probably not fifty-something. When I open the door, I stare up at someone who is as surprised and confused to see me standing here as I am to see him.
It’s laugh-out-loud handsome stone-faced suit guy. He is just as handsome and stone-faced as he was the first time I saw him. I still feel the need to laugh when he gives me a quick, expressionless once-over.
“You’re Bernadette Farmer?”
“Yes. And you’re…” I feel like I should ask for some sort of identification, but he’s so freakishly handsome and serious, I don’t know why he’d bother standing here staring at me if he weren’t Dolly’s nephew. Unless, of course, he’s a serial killer who’s about to murder me. If so, this would be a great outfit to die in.
“Matt McGovern. Dolly Kemp is my aunt.”
He just stands there studying me for what feels like a year. An actual year, starting with winter as his coal dark eyes search my face, his jaw frozen in place; a late-spring thaw as his liquid gaze trickles down the front of me; sudden blazing hot summer as it returns back up over my curves; and see how the leaves now turn from red to gold to brown and then die off instantly when he meets my stare again. Unblinking. Like a cowboy in one of those old westerns my dad and I used to make fun of but I secretly fantasized about banging Gary Cooper in the back of a saloon.
When I was a child, I was trained to see a person or object as a collection of lines, shadows, shapes, and contours, but when I look at this guy it’s like I’m blinded by my physical response to the overall effect of his…everything.
He’s an assault to my retinas.
Or maybe he’s just an asshole.
Either way, I want to slap him.
Also, I may have just had a very quick, tiny orgasm.
Like an orgasm zap. Is that a thing?
Feeling the need to take control of this situation, I thrust my hand out to shake his, but he’s got a huge duffel bag hanging from one shoulder, a cross-body satchel, an overstuffed garment bag, and guitar case in one hand, leash in the other.
“Hi,” he says. He makes no effort to shake my hand, which is fine. That’s when I finally look down and see the beautiful Boston Terrier, who is shifting around on her paws, wagging her whole body, licking her lips, and snuffling and slobbering a little bit. She is so much happier to see me than Matt McGovern is. I don’t recall Dolly mentioning there would be a dog staying in her apartment, but the building is pet-friendly, and I have no complaints.
“And we meet again! Hello, sweet thing!” I sing to the dog as I start to bend forward and then think better of it as I realize I’m already showing about seventy percent more cleavage than I’m generally comfortable with. “Uh. Come on in. I have the keys for you.” I step aside, holding the door open for them.
His eyes stay locked on my exposed cleavage for about one full second before they return to my face, which is probably very pink and feels like it’s contorted and having a mild spasm on one side.
“You’re Dolly’s neighbor?”
“And tenant, yes.”
He nods his head once, adjusts the handles of the duffel bag on his shoulder, and then leads his dog across the threshold. “I thought you’d be a lot older. Like, seventy.”
“I get that a lot. Sorry to disappoint you.”
He stops once inside to survey the foyer. My new canine friend assesses the smells.
“Are you just visiting New York or new in town?”
“Neither.” He doesn’t offer any more information.
“Okay. So this is the foyer. Those are the mailboxes!” I wave my hands like the candelabra in Beauty and the Beast and I’m about to belt out “Be Our Guest.”
“I won’t be here long enough to get mail.”
“Alrighty, then. Marco the super lives in unit 1A over there.”
He just eyes the stairs.
“No elevator, right?”
“Yeah, it’s a pre-war walk-up. Built in 1920.”
“We’re on the fourth floor?”
“Yeah, you’ll be in apartment 4B. It’s three flights of stairs. You get used to it.”
“After you,” he says.
“Do you want me to take…” I hold my hand out, offering to take the leash.
“I got it.”
I watch his lips, waiting for them to form the word “thanks,” but those lips are glued shut. They honestly do look like they’re made for kissing, but I sort of just want to tell him to kiss my ass, throw Dolly’s key on the floor, and run back to my apartment so I can get out of this damn dress.
I mean…New Yorkers have always had a bad reputation for being rude and impatient, but I rarely come across anyone here who’s actually this cold and impolite. I’m not exactly Little Miss Sunshine, but I do pride myself on being a nice person who gives people the benefit of the doubt. He’s probably just stressed about moving. So, I will give this handsome asshole nephew of my landlady another chance.
“May I ask your dog’s name?” Again.
“It’s Daisy.”
“Awww, Daisy!” I coo. “Such a sweet pretty name for such a sweet pretty girl! How old is she?”
“Five.”
“Five! Perfect! Awww, that’s the perfect age! Awwww!”
Daisy looks up at me, spins around, hops, and makes a weird little cartoon alien gopher sound that matches the pitch of my “aww.”
I’m in love.
Matt McGovern clears his throat while focusing on the second-floor landing like getting up there is t
he most important thing in the world right now and wouldn’t it be just great if we could make that happen immediately? He doesn’t jerk his head and whistle sharply to indicate that I should get going, but he may as well.
“Right. Well. I’m sure you’re eager to get to your new apartment.”
“It’s just temporary.”
“Yeah. So you said.” He waits for me to take the lead up the steps. I don’t know if he’s being a gentleman or if he plans to stare at my ass, or both, but I have never been so self-conscious about how I move while walking up stairs. It feels like my hips are swaying too much. I don’t want him to think I’m trying to move seductively, but I sort of have to sway my hips to lift my knees in this tight dress. Oh God—what if he thinks I changed into this dress for him?
“Um. I was just trying on this dress that I ordered online when you buzzed me. I kind of forgot you were coming when I saw the package, so I put it on. I don’t usually dress like this at home. I mean, I just got home from working all day. I don’t usually dress like this for work either. Or ever, really.” I’m babbling. What is it about exceptionally handsome silent assholes that makes people babble? I am usually so comfortable with silence. “I don’t usually get much time to shop, so when there’s a sale online, I go a little nuts. I think I’ll have to return this. It’s not really me.”
“You should keep it,” he mumbles.
“What?” I don’t turn around. My hand stays on the rail and my eyes stay glued to my feet so I don’t fall over.
“Keep it. It’s a nice dress. You look good.” He somehow manages to say those words in such a way as to make it sound like he is in no way giving me a compliment.
“Oh.” I don’t say “thank you” because I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to be thanked, and I’m also quite certain that we already hate each other. This makes me laugh, for some reason. Again. It’s hilarious how much this person seems to offend me. I have never felt this kind of hostility toward someone I’ve just met before. Now I just want to keep talking as much as possible because it obviously annoys him.
“So you’re a lawyer?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Dolly didn’t tell me much about you, other than your name and your esquireship. Is that what it’s called? An esquireship?”
“Nope.”
Two more delightful flights of stairs to go!
“Anyway, there are eight units in the building, two on each floor. There’s a laundry room in the basement. It’s a pretty quiet building. Everyone’s nice but keeps to themselves. Old people, working people, blah blah blah. You won’t be here long enough to get to know them anyway. Mrs. Benson on the third floor has a poodle, but that’s the only other dog in the building. I occasionally hear him barking, but not much.” I lower my voice before continuing. “Mrs. Benson is so sweet, but she has these dinner parties that are a total disaster. You know, she tries to have the kind of Upper West Side intellectual dinner parties you see in movies, but her friends and family just get drunk and argue with each other. So, if she corners you and invites you—well, you’ve been warned.”
“Thanks.”
“What else? I watered Dolly’s plants on the weekend, so if you could water them on Sunday, that would be great. The water pressure in the showers here are pretty good, but they’re never quite as hot as I’d like.”
One more floor!
“Dolly said you’ll probably be out and about most of the time.”
“She did?”
Gasp! A response!
“She said you’re usually either at work or out on the town.”
“Usually, but I don’t have a dog-walker in this neighborhood yet, so I’ll have to come home more.”
“Oh right. Where are you moving from?”
“SoHo.”
“Oh yeah? I’m in SoHo a lot. My boss is in Tribeca, so I’m downtown most of the time. Do you work downtown?”
“Yes.”
“Really? That’s so interesting. Tell me more!”
He doesn’t tell me more. I didn’t expect him to. I finally glance back at him and see something that I don’t expect at all—he’s smiling. He looks totally amused.
I am so startled by the complete transformation of his face that I lose my balance. I swipe at the air, blurt out about five swear words, and feel myself falling backwards in slow-motion. And then I’m leaning back into Matt McGovern’s strong, sturdy body. He has taken a step up and calmly wrapped his arm around my waist, one leg firmly set to the side of mine to keep me in place. He’s still holding on to Daisy’s leash and seems to be in no danger of losing his balance himself.
“I got you,” he says in a deep, quiet voice that actually does make me feel safe.
Until I look up and see him staring down at me with those eyes that aren’t black as coal so much as they’re dark chocolate, but I’m the one who’s melting.
I grab on to the handrail and pull myself upright and steady. “Thanks,” I say. “I just lost my balance.”
“I know.”
“I mean, I’m usually pretty good at walking up stairs.”
“I hear you get used to it.”
“It’s just this stupid dress is so tight. I’m definitely sending it back.”
“Shame.”
“Aaaand fourth floor—ladies’ lingerie!” Oh God. I’ve gone from being the kooky lady who falls backwards to the old guy who makes dumb jokes in elevators. I must be having an allergic reaction to his pheromones. That’s a thing, right?
I point to my front door and then his. “Mine. Yours. I’ll get the lock for you.” I remove Dolly’s spare key from my keychain and unlock the door to 4B, leaving the key in the door. “Don’t forget to grab that when your hands are free. The spare key for the exterior door is in that tray on the console table.”
“Thanks. Appreciate it.”
“Sure thing.” I start making my way over to 4A and the bottle of Pinot Noir that I will be polishing off momentarily.
“Do you usually talk this much?”
I turn back to him and the annoying smirk on his annoying gorgeous face. “No. Not at all.”
“Good.”
“Do you usually talk more than this?”
He places the duffel bag, garment bag, and guitar case on the floor and shrugs. “A bit.”
“Are you usually this big of a dick?”
“Nah, it’s kind of a new thing for me.”
“Well, I think you’ve found your calling.”
He picks Daisy up, pulls the key out of the lock, and goes inside the apartment.
“Okay, enjoy your stay! It was wonderful to meet you—Daisy!”
The door shuts and I’m alone in the hallway, shaking my head and reaching my hand behind me because I can somehow still feel his chest pressed up against my back.
The most interesting thing about the past ten minutes—I didn’t think about my boss once.
2
Matt
Well, that was unexpected.
Wish I could say it’s a welcome surprise. Not like it’s that much of a surprise that Aunt Dolly didn’t mention her neighbor’s an attractive young woman. If she had, I probably would have found myself an Airbnb. Dolly never liked Vanessa. I always wondered why she kept talking about “Bernadette next door” and how I should meet her. Why do I need to meet a seventy-year-old artist nerd, I’d think.
I leave my stuff on the floor in the front hallway, hang my coat in the closet, and loosen my tie. I can’t wait to get out of this suit. I only wore it because I had a lunch meeting with other lawyers today. The rich tech and math geeks I work with usually get uncomfortable when I wear a suit to the office, the general counsel that I report to hates it when I dress better than him, and I’ve gotten so used to my downtown style I think I just act differently when I dress like a typical corporate lawyer. Like a big dick, apparently.
Daisy’s hard at work, sniffing around.
“What do you think, girl? This is where we’ll be staying for a few weeks, maybe.�
�
I’ve only been to visit my aunt here once, and I don’t recall getting the full tour. It’s a good-sized space—bigger than our place. I mean—bigger than the place I’ve been living in with Vanessa for the past three years and paying a hundred percent of the rent for, like a fucking idiot. I follow Daisy down the hall to the living room. Her nosy, judge-y nature aside, Aunt Dolly has always had exceptional taste in almost everything.
The art and furniture in this room is stunning without being intimidating. Sort of like Vanessa. Which is why I never understood how Dolly could be so against my relationship with her. Even now.
Fuck.
I pull my phone out of my back pocket to check my messages. Still nothing from Vanessa. At least I went a good fifteen minutes without checking my texts or her social media accounts. Guess all it took for me to turn into an obsessed teenage girl was getting dumped by the woman of my dreams. No big deal.
It’s only been four days since I’ve seen her.
Four days since I hired guys to move the few large objects that I consider to be mine into a small storage unit.
Two months of her not acting like herself.
Two months since she let me touch her in bed.
One month of her insisting that “it just isn’t working for us anymore.”
One month of me asking if there’s someone else and her saying, “There isn’t an ‘us’ anymore. I just need space. I just need to find myself again.”
She just needs time and space to find herself again, and I’ll give it to her.
She’ll call.
I haven’t failed.
It’s not over yet.
“Right, Daisy?”
Daisy ignores me. She’s too busy investigating smells in my aunt’s bedroom.
“Let’s stay out of this room,” I tell her as I peek inside. It’s basically a big, tasteful boudoir, pretty much what I’d expect of my mom’s long-divorced, sexed-up older sister. “Come on, Daisy. Out. Let’s find our room.”
Our room is the guest room, on the opposite side of the hallway. It’s a pretty small room, painted bright white and just wide enough for a queen-size bed and a bedside table. But it’s the painting on the wall above the bed that makes the room magnificent. A heavy square canvas about four feet wide all around. Abstract, muted blues, white, and gold blending into each other, just a hint of seascape. It kind of looks like marble, but there’s a warmth to it. It seems alive and changeable. I have no idea why I like it so much, I just do.
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