Page 27 of The Man Next Door
10
The plan is to have a relaxing evening. It’s all perfectly set up;Pretty Woman, one of my favorite movies, popcorn and a tall glass of my favorite pomegranate flavored water.
Richard Gere and Julia Roberts are beautiful but they just can’t hold my attention tonight. My mind is consumed with Noah Parker. Why hasn’t he called me? Does he not like me? I thought we had a good time. Am I too old? Is he an ageist? Maybe he wants a hot young thing he can screw for a few years before he knocks her up with a brood of his children. If he hooked up with me, he’d have to get on the impregnating phase pronto. Tick tock. Tick tock.
I shake my head in disgust. Never mind that this is all in my head. I bounce up from the sofa in a huff and storm out of my loft, wearing grey sweats, a Hello Kitty t-shirt and fuzzy socks.
I knock on his door. Hard. Once. Twice.
I’m just about to knock a third time when the door swings open. Noah is standing in nothing but lounge pants, and he’s ripped, more than I could have imagined, considering his job is not physical in the least. He must work out, I conclude.
He raises a brow, clearly surprised to see me. “Abby.”
I attempt to smile but it’s completely awkward.
He invites me in, and I slowly make my way to the living room, regretting my impulsive actions. What am I supposed to say now? “I… I just wanted to say hello,” I tell him. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”Are you hiding from me?
“I’ve been swamped.” He walks to the kitchen and I follow him. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
I settle my rear on one of the tall stools skirting his kitchen island. “No, I’m good. Just a quick hello, you know.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t called,” he says quietly. “Been busy.”
“What have you been working on?”
He smiles. “Well, here, I’ll show you. Follow me.”
I nip eagerly at his heels as he walks toward his baby grand.
I take a seat on his sectional while he settles himself at his piano. His fingers start to dance over the ivory keys, and shivers run down my spine. The song is beautiful, so soft and also kind of sad. Each note tugs at my heart.
His eyes are closed, his back slightly hunched. He’s beautiful, and truly talented. I could watch him play for hours.
The music comes to an abrupt halt. He jerks his head up. “Just something I’ve been working on.”
“It’s beautiful,” I tell him. “Who is it for?”
He smiles. “No one at the moment. We’ll see.”
I stare up at the framed Nashville poster up on the wall. “You’ve been to Nashville? I’ve always wanted to go.”
“Used to live there.”
“Really?”
“Yep.”
“Why’d you leave?” I ask just before realizing that I might be getting a little nosy.
His smile fades. “I was in a relationship and it went sour. I needed a new start.”
“Why Chicago? Why Wicker Park?”
“Uh… I…” he falters. “I wanted to be closer to home, I guess.” He tears his gaze from mine and looks out the window. “I’m from Chicago originally. Anyway, can I get you something to drink?”
I smile. “No. You already asked me that.”
“Oh sorry.” He stands, closes the distance between us, and sits next to me on the sectional at a respectable distance. “So how about you? You’re originally from Michigan, right? Uh… so you said.”
