The Man Next Door

Tossing the shirt and jeans she’d worn into the hamper, she stood in bra and panties in front of her closet, her hand hovering over the hangers. It annoyed her to realize how long it was taking her to make a decision. Why was she acting as if she were dressing for a date? This was just an impromptu cup of cocoa with a neighbor, nothing more.

Donning an old pair of jeans and a rather baggy navy sweater, she slipped her feet into warm, fuzzy pink slippers and tied her hair up in a careless ponytail. She didn’t think she could make the message any more clear that she was making no effort to attract him.

He tapped on her door just as she was preparing to pour the cocoa into two sturdy mugs. She opened the door to him, and noticed immediately that he looked as though he’d had a quick shower in the fifteen minutes since they’d separated. His hair had been damp before; it was even more so now, slicked back from his face in a style that actually looked good on him.

He hadn’t shaved, and that, along with the sideburns he wore, gave him a rugged, tough look that made her heart skip. For a fleeting moment she wished she’d taken a bit more care with her own appearance. And then she shook her head in annoyance, pointing out to herself that he wore jeans, a gray T-shirt and sneakers, as casual as she was herself. She’d have looked ridiculous had she dressed up for this. Not to mention that she had no reason to want to primp for him.

Teague sniffed the air. “I smell hot chocolate.”

She smiled in response to his eagerness. “It’s in the kitchen. I was just about to add the marshmallows.”

“I like lots of marshmallows.”

“Then come add your own.” She led him into the kitchen.

She couldn’t help laughing as she watched Teague stack marshmallows in his cup. “You aren’t going to be able to get to your drink.”

“Watch me,” he said with a grin, carrying the mug to the table. “I don’t suppose you have anything to eat to go with this? I skipped lunch, and I’m kind of hungry.”

He didn’t lack for nerve. She supposed that was a good thing for an FBI agent. “I could make you a sandwich.”

“That would be great, if it isn’t too much trouble.”

“It’s no trouble.” She watched him for a moment before moving toward the fridge. “How can you possibly drink that without getting a marshmallow mustache?”

He chuckled. “Talent. This is really good, Dani. Tastes just like I remember my mom making.”

She sipped her own as she pulled the makings for a turkey and Swiss sandwich from the fridge. “Is your mother still living?”

“No, she died when I was a kid. My dad remarried a few years later. He’s gone now, too, but I’ve stayed in contact with my stepmother.”

“Does she live in this area?”

He shook his head. “She’s in a retirement community in Florida. I get out to see her a couple of times a year. What about you? Is your family around here?”

“No, they all live in Atlanta.”

“I thought that was a Georgia accent I heard from you. Both your parents still living?”

Keeping her back to him, she swallowed hard. “My mother is. My dad died of a heart attack a few years ago.”

He must have heard the pain that she still couldn’t quite hide when she talked about her father.

“I’m sorry. It’s hard to lose them, isn’t it?”

Some people said that sort of thing almost routinely, not knowing what else to say. Because Teague had lost his parents, she took the quiet question the way he’d probably intended it. Literally. “Yes, very hard. Do you want mustard or mayo?”

“Mustard.”

“Lettuce?”

“Yes, please. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“An older sister, newly married, no children yet, and a younger brother, a single college student. You?”

Chuckling at the concise efficiency of her reply, he shook his head. “No siblings.”

She set the sandwich and a handful of baked chips in front of him, noticing that he’d almost emptied his cocoa mug already. “Do you want something else to go with this? Cola? Iced tea?”

“Tea sounds good. Aren’t you eating?”

“Not right now. I had a late lunch with one of my piano students and her mother.”

He swallowed a big bite of the sandwich. “It’s good,” he murmured. “Thank you.”

Setting a glass of iced tea in front of him, she took a seat across the table, her cooling cocoa gripped loosely between her hands. “You’re welcome.”

“This is nice,” he said, smiling companionably at her. “It’s good to have friends in the building.”

Friends. She was beginning to think that really was all he wanted from her. She had to admit that was a rather new concept for her. She wasn’t even sure it was entirely feasible—but she couldn’t help but be intrigued by the possibility.

So what did one talk about with a guy who only wanted to be friends? Searching her mind, she came up with, “How long have you worked for the FBI?”

“Almost eight years. I tried a few different jobs after college before sort of stumbling into this when I was twenty-five.”

“And are you—I don’t know what you call it. A special agent?”

He smiled patiently. “Yes. That’s what we’re called.”

“So you track down bad guys and stuff?”

“Yeah. Something like that.”

“Do you like it?”

He didn’t seem to quite know how to answer what she had thought of as a simple question. “It’s my job,” he said after a pause. “I guess you could say it’s pretty much who I am.”

“So you aren’t tired of it?”

“Not tired of it. Just plain tired, at times,” he replied with a wry twist to his mouth. “The hours have been pretty long lately.”

“I’ve noticed. Don’t you get vacation time?”

“I have some built up. I’m thinking about taking some days off around the holidays this year. Maybe I’ll go see my stepmother. I could use some beach time.”

“Sounds nice. I’ll be going home to Atlanta for Thanksgiving.”

He cocked his head. “Do I detect a hint of reluctance?”