Page 10 of Sweeter Than Fiction

Pulling out two glasses, I fill each of them and hand one to Don.

“Thank you,” he says while I try to avoid his sexy eyes gazing into mine. We walk to the couch and have a seat on opposite ends.

After a minute of awkward silence, he asks, “So, do you want to talk about what happened?”

My eyes move down to my wine glass. “Maybe once this gets a little more empty.”

He smiles his perfectly gorgeous white smile. Why does he have to be so attractive? With his dark brown hair that’s always the right amount of messy and his blue eyes I want to get lost in. And his stubble that makes him all rugged.

Usually, I get super weird and awkward around guys I think are cute. But I think Don is so far out of my league that I don’t feel like I’m at risk of messing anything up. The idea of him and I dating is so far out of the realm of possibilities that I have nothing to be nervous or freak out about.

Don looks around my apartment. “This is a nice place.”

“I’m sure it’s exactly like yours,” I reply a little more sarcastically than I intend.

He doesn’t seem to notice, though. “I mean I like the way you decorated.”

“Oh, thanks.” I look around at all my mismatched furniture. Most of it I found at thrift stores or estate sales. My entire home is a hodge podge of random furniture and tchotchkes. There’s no rhyme or reason to it. It’s weird and random.

Just like me.

“What’s your place like?” I ask.

“I haven’t done much decorating or anything. Never been any good at it.”

“Don’t you do something in construction?”

He smiles. “Yes. Hey, I can build things until the cows come home. Anything beyond that is a bit out of my wheelhouse.”

“Fair enough.”

Whiskers chooses this as a perfect opportunity to jump up on the couch between the two of us.

“Uhhh, hi,” Don says, looking as though he’s never seen a cat before.

“Sorry. Whiskers has no boundaries.” I gently pick up the cat and set him back on the floor.

“It’s alright. Didn’t mean to be weird. I just never had a cat and haven’t been around them much.”

“Really? I actually have two. Snowball is around here somewhere, but I doubt he will come out. He’s an asshole.”

Another silence falls between us, and it occurs to me exactly how strange this whole situation is. My tall, dark, and handsome neighbor whom I occasionally make small talk with is now in my apartment discussing decorating and cats.

This is nice. I think? And I don’t really want to ruin it, but I have to say something.

“Don, not that I’m complaining, but why are you here? Is this some sort of weird pity thing? Because as sad as I may seem right now, I can tell you that I don’t want any of that.”

He stops me, “Abby, I’m not here because I pity you.”

“Then, what is it? I’ve seen the type of girls you usually hang out with—and heard them. I’m not anything like them.”

“Abby, I’m here because I feel like an ass for making you upset earlier.”

I sigh. “It wasn’t you who made me upset.”

“Maybe not. But I certainly didn’t help the situation.”

I let out a quiet chuckle. “Well, no. I guess you really didn’t help either. But you showing up with wine does help.”

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