Mr Right, Next Door!

“Of course. I might not match Chezzerones, but I have a decent variety. Cheese, pepperoni, Hawaiian, chicken, pepper and onion…”

“Holy cow!” His voice sounded from over her shoulder causing her to jump. The guy didn’t believe in personal space, did he? “It’s like looking at the frozen food section at the mini-mart.”

“I like to keep food on hand in case of an emergency is all.”

“What kind of emergency? Armageddon?”

Ignoring the comment, Sophie reached into the freezer. Gooseflesh had begun crawling in the wake of his breath on her bare neck, putting her out of sorts again. She’d feel better once she was alone again.

“Here,” she said, pulling a box from the stack and thrusting it into his hands. “Go Hawaiian.”

He looked down at the box, then back up at her.

“Is there a problem?” she asked him.

“What about cooking?”

She pointed to the side of the box. “Directions are right here. I don’t have my reading glasses, but I’m pretty sure you preheat the oven to four-twenty-five.”

“Okay.” He didn’t budge. Clearly he expected her to cook for him.

Sophie let out a frustrated sigh. It had been way too long a day, and she still had to track down a plumber and finish her paperwork. She didn’t have time to entertain her neighbor. Especially one that had her set off balance since their first meeting.

She opened her mouth to tell him exactly that when a sound interrupted the kitchen’s silence.

It was her stomach growling.

“Fine,” she said, snatching the box back. “I’ll cook. But you’re on your own for dinner company.”

With the pizza safely in the oven, Sophie excused herself and escaped to her bedroom. Hopefully, by freshening up, she could regain the self-control that seemed to be eluding her these past couple days and become more herself. Arguing about pizza? Thinking about what his skin tasted like? Not exactly the most mature of behaviors.

Don’t forget barging up to his apartment like a madwoman.

She meant what she told him in the kitchen. He better not expect company. She had way too much to do.

Case in point. Her smart phone told her she’d missed eleven messages since arriving home. Make that a dozen, she amended as her in-box buzzed again.

There was a box of moist wipes in the bottom drawer of her vanity. She grabbed a handful to give herself a makeshift sponge bath. Not as refreshing as a shower, but she felt a little cleaner. “Score one for being prepared,” she said as she used one to dampen down her hair. She combed out her ponytail and exchanged her running clothes for a jersey-knit maxi dress.

In the middle of touching up her eyeliner, she paused. What are you doing, Sophie? Freshening up or fixing up? She stared at her reflection. Instantly her eyes went to the deepening lines around her eyes and mouth. Two decades of adulthood lay behind those lines. And yet here she was so frazzled by a… a… a boy she was putting on eyeliner to eat frozen pizza.

“Get a grip,” she snapped at herself. For goodness’ sake, she wasn’t some cougar on the prowl. There was absolutely no reason to let her neighbor get to her like this. Setting down the eyeliner, she grabbed a brush instead and combed her hair into a sleek damp bun. Much better, she decided. She looked more like herself again.

During her absence, Grant had moved into the dining room. Soon as she walked in, he looked up, and she swore the corners of his mouth turned downward. “What?” she asked smoothing the sides of her hair.

“You changed.”

Why did he sound as if he meant more than clothes? Really, she chided, she had to stop reading undercurrents in everything. Whatever tone Grant had, real or imagined, was irrelevant. The guy was here because she owed him dinner. Soon as he ate, he would leave and most likely, their paths wouldn’t cross again.