I let out a groan when my keys slipped from my fingers and landed at my feet. Because why not? Such was my life.
Movement at the end of the hall momentarily stole my attention.
Wearing a pair of short denim cutoffs and a tank top that showcased the tattoos running up and down her arms, my neighbor Jenna watched me with an amused smile. “You need some help?”
“Nah,” I replied, a bag of oranges painfully dangling from one finger. “I enjoy the struggle. It builds character.”
She barked a laugh and walked over, snagging my keys off the ground. “If struggle builds good character, I should be due for a medal of honor any day now. You should have told me you went grocery shopping. I’d have met you at the curb. Or at the very least given you my list too.” She used my key to open the deadbolt.
“It was an impromptu trip. I decided to make cucumber kimchi tonight.”
Her dark, penciled eyebrows shot up her forehead. “What the hell is that?”
“It’s a Korean dish usually made from salty, fermented vegetables.”
“Uhhhh,” she drawled, curling her lip. “Fermented?”
“Oh, don’t look at me like that. I hear it’s amazing. And I just so happen to know you have quite the affinity for fermented grapes.”
She grinned, wide and white. “Touché.”
With a hard shove, she swung my door open. Sugar came bolting out, but Jenna was ready, dropping into a squat to scoop him up. His little booty wiggled in her arms as he covered her chin with kisses.
I hurried inside my apartment, dumping the bags on the antique dining room table I’d bought at a thrift shop. Rubbing my wrists, I attempted to restore blood flow to my purple fingers. “I’m telling you, that laundry-basket-on-a-rope idea you had for bringing up packages is sounding better and better each time I go to the store now.”
She followed me in and kicked the door shut. “I told you. Just say the word and I’ll install the pulley.”
“I’m sure Old Man Lawton would love that outside his window.”
“Old Man Lawton doesn’t love anything. Including us, so what could it possibly hurt?”
She wasn’t wrong there. Though I did suspect the building manager would have a few things to say about our addition.
She walked over to one of my bags and peered inside. “What in the fresh hell is that?”
“A jackfruit.” I was prepared to experience new things and puzzle out my preferences by way of troubleshooting, but explaining them to someone else wasn’t always easy.
“That mutant monstrosity is a fruit?”
Then again, I was committed to exploring new things and it wasn’t anything to be ashamed of. So, with my head high, I answered, “Yep. I read online that you can use it for everything from smoothies to pulled pork.”
Her eyes flashed wide. “Your obsession with eating your way around the world is the most entertainment I’ve had lately, so you won’t hear me complaining. It really worked out for me last week when I got the leftovers of the salmon croquettes. But I’m giving a hard pass to the pulled pork smoothies.”
I chuckled and grimaced at the same time, imagining the disgusting combination. “It can’t be any worse than those croquettes.”
“Hey now. Those were amazing. You know, once I scraped the burnt areas off the bottom.” She waggled her eyebrows, and her silver hoop piercing danced with the movement. “Did you get enough of the cucumber stuff for two?”
“According to my receipt, I got enough for ten. And since I don’t have to cook anything as much as just stir it together, it might actually be edible.”
“Even better.”
I started digging through the bags. “There’s a bottle of wine buried in here somewhere. Are you working tonight?”
In one fluid jump, she hopped up onto my kitchen counter, Sugar still cradled against her chest. “Wine and cucumber stuff? Are you trying to seduce me, Remi?”
It was such a simple joke. But it made my stomach sour as I thought of the only person I would ever want to seduce.
A man.
My man.
Or at least he had been mine. Almost.
Just because I’d chosen to walk away in a desperate attempt to discover who I truly was didn’t mean I couldn’t miss him. Or at least I hoped it didn’t.
Because I did.
Every minute of every day.
I tried not to think about Bowen. Most days I could get by with only a few fleeting thoughts. Other, more trying days, I had to hide my phone to keep from calling him just to hear his elusive laugh and one of his flat attempts at humor. But his sounds were recorded deep inside my mind. Same as his scent, the sensation of his neatly trimmed beard between my thighs, how his hands knew more about my body than my very own, and the list went on. So did my unsatisfied need for him.
