Page 3 of Roommating

Chapter Two

Wednesday morning, I’m on the couch enjoying a cup of coffee before my shift at the library while listening to Harlan Coben and Jasmine Guillory recommend books on the third hour of theTodayshow when the doorbell rings.

As per usual, Rocket loses his mind. He vaults from the couch, where he’s been snuggling at my side, and whips down the narrow foyer to the front door, jumping so high like he thinks he can climb over it into the hallway. “Be right there,” I shout, hoping Adam can hear me over Rocket. I assume it’s Adam since Marcia, who’s in the shower, said he’d be here sometime today. For no reason whatsoever, I’d assumed she meant dinnertime. I place my mug on the coffee table and stride to the front door, gently shooing Rocket out of the way so I can let Adam in.

Instead, I cast my eyes upon some other twentysomething white guy who can’t possibly be Adam because this guy ishot—like, I’m sure I’ve seen him in movie sex scenes with Margot Robbie or Zendayahot. His hair, which is somewhere between medium and dark brown with hints of red, is cut above his ears in the front and a little longer in the back. His eyes, the shade of blue wheat, fall beneath full eyebrows, and a trace of stubble covers his flawless fair skin. Itear my eyes away from his face and take in the rest of him. Gone are the lanky shoulders of his early teenage years, replaced by ones that are broad without being at all Hulk-like. He’s tall—although nearlyeveryoneis tall compared to my measly five feet, one inch—and wearing a light-gray Henley under an unzipped black winter jacket—

“Does Marcia Haber live here?” he asks, interrupting my objectification to remind me he’s a human being, and I’m acting gross. His lips twitch.

My face burns like molten lava. “She does. Are you Adam?” As difficult as it is to reconcile that this man is the grown-up version of the awkward boy in the photo frame, it’s the only logical explanation for why he’s standing outside my door on the day Adam is expected to arrive.

“I am. I caught an early train this morning. Are you—”

Before he can complete the sentence, Rocket dashes through my legs and out into the hallway like a trapped demon out of the opened gates of hell. “Shit. Rocket!”

Our apartment is on one far end of the hallway, and by now a barking Rocket has already reached the other end and is on his way back, most certainly to repeat the lap again and again until he wears himself out sometime next year. After sliding his dark-brown canvas messenger bag down his shoulder and placing it against the door, Adam squats. “Hey, Rocket. Come here, boy.”

Rocket freezes and watches Adam, who slaps his muscular—not that I noticed—thighs in a “come hither” motion.

“Good luck with that,” I mutter. There’s no way.

And yet, there is. Right before my eyes, Rocket sprints over to Adam, who rubs his brown ears while Rocket licks his face. The display reminds me of those YouTube videos of soldiers returningfrom war and reuniting with a beloved dog for the first time in years. Except Rocket is only two and it’s been much longer since Marcia’s seen Adam.

Adam seamlessly guides Rocket inside the apartment, dragging his blue suitcase, one shade darker than his eyes, behind him.

I pick up his messenger bag, which feels like it’s filled with boulders, and follow in awe.

We return to the living room at the same time Marcia exits her bedroom, running her fingers through her damp hair. “Did Rocket get out again?” It takes a moment for her to realize we’re not alone, but when she notices Adam, her face breaks out into the hugest smile I’ve ever seen. And this is saying a lot because Marcia is generally a very smiley person. “Adam!”

“Hi, Grandma.” Adam’s almost shy as he scrapes a hand through his hair.

“Come here!” Marcia doesn’t wait for him to act before heading his way and pulling him into a hug while I take the opportunity to release his heavy messenger bag from my shoulder as gracefully as I can, in case there’s a twelve-piece set of fragile dinnerware in there.

Observing the two, I can practically feel how tightly Marcia is squeezing from here, her arms stretched to reach around him, but before long, Adam sinks into it and hugs back just as hard. I nearly choke up.

When they separate, Marcia gives Adam the once-over of a loving grandmother. “Look at you. You’re all grown up.” She shakes her head, clearly trying not to cry. She proceeds to ask him a bunch of questions without letting him answer: “How was the train? Did you find the apartment okay? Are you hungry?”

I’m about to make a quiet exit to my room to give them some privacy when Marcia says, “Have you met Sabrina yet?”

“Sort of.” Adam faces me. “Hi again,” he says with a teasing glint in his blue eyes.

I guess it was too much to hope he’d forget my initial reaction to seeing him, but I pretendIhave. “Thanks for dog-whispering Rocket before.”

Hearing his name, Rocket darts right over.

“Aw, he’s a good boy.” Adam kneels and grabs the chew toy from Rocket’s mouth, gently tossing it across the room. When Rocket chases after it, he stands. “I actually am hungry. What’s your plan for today, Grandma? Can I take you to breakfast? And if it’s not too cold, maybe you can show me around the neighborhood after?”

Marcia’s face shimmers with joy. “I’m yours all day. Breakfast sounds great, but it’s on me. I have hundreds of meals to make up for.”

Adam grins. “The unemployed and broke grandson cannot argue with that logic.”

“It’s settled then,” Marcia says.

Adam turns to me. “Can you join us?”

My stomach flutters. A hot guy with manners. “I appreciate the invite, but I have work today.” I look between him and Marcia. “And I wouldn’t want to impose on your reunion.”

Marcia beams. “We can all have dinner later. Do you have time to give Adam a quick tour of the apartment before you leave? I need to dry my hair and make myself acceptable for public viewing.”

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