Page 12 of The Man Next Door
He cocks a brow in thought. “You’re thinking that you are very lucky to be stacking books on a Wednesday afternoon, right next to the most devilishly handsome man you’ve ever seen.”
I laugh again, and I don’t admit that he’s spot-on.
“Full of yourself much?” I joke.
“Hey, what can I say. I have a mirror.”
I shake my head. “Well, you’re right about the Wednesday afternoon thing. Unemployment does have its benefits. Maybe I don’t want that job after all.”
“What job?”
“Oh, I applied for a position at Warden Social Services. I’m waiting to hear back.”
He smiles down at me. “Well, I really hope you get it. And if you don’t, come over and we’ll drown your sorrows in Sangria. I make an excellent Sangria.”
I smile so hard, my face hurts. “Sounds like a plan. Either way, I win.”
We’ve only spent a total of an hour or so together, and I already feel connected to him. I wonder if he has that effect on everyone. He probably does. Some people are just like that. Before I can think it through and stop myself, I say, “Listen… I’m making an Asian dinner tonight, and I was wondering if you’d like to come over. It’s kind of depressing eating by myself.”
Could I have sounded any more pathetic? I desperately want a do-over. I’m sure I could have extended the invitation without sounding so desperate. Unfortunately, I don’t have a time-travel machine.
A smile slowly curves his lips. “You mean… like a date?”
“Uh… no,” I’m quick to clarify. “More like a friendly neighbors dinner.”I barely know you. You’re way too young for me. Not a date.
“I’d love it. I love Asian food,” he says. “What time?”
Something tells me this guy pretty much loves everything. “Six o’clock-ish?”
“Sounds great.”
My heart skips a beat. “Well, until then, we’ve got a lot of book stacking to do.”
I’m choppinga mango when Izzie suddenly pops into my head, as she often does.
Izzie was a little spitfire, always up to no good. Which was probably the reason I liked her so much. I enjoyed getting into trouble, and I could never feel too guilty because Izzie was always the brainchild behind our shenanigans.
Every day with Izzie was a new adventure.
And I loved spending time with her family. While mine was very dysfunctional; alcoholic dad, dead mom and deadbeat brothers, hers was more traditional. Her mom always had dinner on the table, and her dad always had a smile on his face. And they had a seat at the table specially for me. I often had dinner at Izzie’s because it certainly beat making myself my own; my specialty were canned soup, cereal and crackers and cheese. I really have no clue what my brothers and my dad ate. Sometimes, I’d offer to make them a little something while I was at it.
Izzie’s family, on the other hand, all sat together at the kitchen table for dinner. Izzie beside her big brother Danny, her parents at the heads of the table, and me next to little Abe. The window looked onto the porch and I’d often gaze outside as we ate. We usually had spaghetti, or Shepard’s pie, fried steak and potatoes served with dill pickles and sandwich bread. In the summer, they’d have veggies and fruit from the garden. Sometimes though, her dad wouldn’t be there. He’d be away for weeks at a time in the bush on jobs. She’d grown up with the man of the house being frequently away, and her and her mom and brothers were used to it.
Izzie’s mom, Adele, always told me I was like another daughter to her and that I was welcome at their house anytime. Truth be told, I wished I were hers. Every single day.
My cell shrills, jolting me out of my reverie. I hastily wipe my hands on my apron, and pick it up.
“Sorry, Claudia. Can’t really talk right now… making a big Asian dinner.”
“Ooooh,” she coos. “Can Colton and I come over?”
“Uh… not really,” I say apologetically. “I’m having someone over for dinner.”
“Really?”
“Well, don’t sound so surprised. I know I’m kind of a hermit but—”
“Seriously, who?”
