Page 13 of Breaking Free

He raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Care to explain what you’re talking about?”

“I know the note came from you,” she confidently asserted. “What I wear, or don’t wear, is none of your business. I’ve tried being nice and have gone out of my way to be friendly, but you’re impossible.” She literally and figuratively threw up her hands, “I give up. Stay out of my way, my business, and my life, and I’ll return the favor.”

With that said, she turned on her heel and stomped off.

“What note?” he called after her.

“As if you don’t know,” she shot back without turning, and didn’t stop until she reached her door, keyed in her code, and disappeared inside. Then she leaned against the wall, trembling with anger and a good dose of shock that she’d told off a guy who was twice as big, made of muscle, with the strength to snap her like a twig, and intimidated the crap out of her.

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, bright and early, Piper was no longer fuming but determined to get answers. She knocked on her neighbor’s door. When she didn’t hear a sound from inside,she hesitated before knocking again. Maybe it was too bright and too early.

Suddenly, the door swung open, revealing a disheveled Josie wrapped in a fuzzy pink robe, her eyes heavy with sleep,

“I woke you. I’m so sorry.” She retreated a step, feeling awful. “This can wait. Go back to bed.”

When Piper turned to leave, her friend grabbed her hand to stop her.

“I was already awake, just waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. Come on in.”

As she followed, Piper took in her neighbor’s space. Hunter’s floor plan mirrored hers but in reverse. The decor had a welcoming, lived-in feel, with pictures and art on the walls, where hers were still bare. With its eastern exposure, the kitchen was bathed in sunlight, and the tantalizing scent of coffee filled the air.

“Would you like a cup?” her impromptu hostess offered.

“I’m new here, but for future reference, the answer to that question is always going to be, ‘Yes, please.’”

Laughing, Josie reached up to retrieve a mug from the cupboard. “Do you take it with cream? I have French vanilla or Caramel Macchiato.”

“Either is fine. I like both.”

Piper waited until she placed a steaming mug in front of her and took a seat before blurting out, “He is the most infuriatingly rude, judgmental Neanderthal man I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. What is his problem?”

Startled, Josie blinked at her over the rim of her cup. “Hunter?”

“No, Tristan.”

Her friend set down her cup and clarified, “He was rude to you again?”

“When hasn’t he been?” she asked huffily.

“That’s so odd.” Josie frowned, clearly puzzled. “I mean, he doesn’t say much, and he can be surly, but he’s never been impolite to me. In fact, he special-ordered something from me and was quite pleasant.”

Some of her kink-wear, perhaps? Intrigued, she leaned in. “What kind of special order?”

“Just...um...gloves.” Her halting reply came much too quickly, in Piper’s opinion, and then she practically jumped from her seat. “Are you hungry? I think we have coffee cake,” she announced, opening cupboards. “Or fresh fruit, if you’d rather.”

Josie was flustered, and obviously hiding something, but she’d provided the information Piper sought. She crossed her arms on the table, her head dipping forward, and let out a sigh. “It’s as I suspected. If he’s polite to you, it must just be me he’s disagreeable with.”

“What was it about this time?”

“I had the audacity to knock on his door and deliver some misdirected mail. That’s an unpardonable crime, evidently. Whenever I try to talk to him, he either bites my head off or slams his door in my face.”

“Wow. That’s nothing like the Tristan I know. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes the day you moved in, I wouldn’t believe it. Did something happen between you two I don’t know about?”

“No. I’m just trying to be neighborly to the infuriating grump.” Piper unleashed the questions that had been nagging at her. “What is his background? Did he go through a messy divorce? Maybe I look like his ex. Was she blonde? What about his childhood? Was he sheltered, or perhaps raised by the Amish?”

Surprised mid-sip, she sputtered and coughed before she got out, “Why on earth would you ask that?”

“He has a problem with the way I dress.”

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