Page 11 of The Love of Our Lives
And something like recognition.
‘Forgot my keys,’ I say finally.
He thumbs back at the open flat across the hallway. ‘Good thing I came back from the workshop early, or you might have had to do some late evening sunbathing.’
He grins, but I’m still too dazed to respond. I did catch the faint trace of an accent though – American? Canadian?
‘You all right?’ he says after a moment, his grin fading to something more like concern.
I start to nod. ‘Yeah, I’m OK,’ I say, like this is all totally fine, like I haven’t been supplanted into another life somehow. ‘Too much sun today, maybe.’
‘One sec,’ he says, and bounces back into the other flat.
Confused, I just stand there. I hear a tap running, footsteps, and a minute later he reappears with a big glass of water. He holds it out to me, our fingers brushing lightly as I take it from him. Glugging it down, I realise how thirsty I was.
When I look down again, I realise he’s still watching me, with those incredible green eyes.
‘You really were parched, weren’t you?’ he says. ‘I can get you something to eat if you like? I make an excellent pastrami sandwich.’
My mouth opens in confusion.
Pastrami sandwiches. An insanely attractive guy I’ve never met before.
I need this to end now.
‘That’s OK,’ I say, forcing a smile. ‘I just really need to lie down.’
He smiles, but I’m sure a vague look of disappointment crosses his face. ‘No problem at all, Emily.’
That name again.
I turn back to the white door I came out of this morning.
Shit, the key.
There are pot plants all around the door, just like in my room at home, actually: pothos, peacock and fiddle leaf – I didn’t notice them this morning, but then, I’m not sure I noticed anything this morning.
I bend down to lift the biggest one in case there’s a spare underneath.
Nothing.
‘Geranium,’ a voice says, and I turn back. The guy is standing just inside his doorway now, pointing to the right of me. ‘Sorry, I probably shouldn’t know that,’ he says, ‘but I noticed you putting it under that one a couple of weeks ago.’
Looking over to where he’s pointing, I lift the geranium up, and sure enough, there is a silver key, speckled in soil. I pick it up and brush it off before standing up to face him again.
‘Thanks,’ I say.
‘No problem.’ He claps the side of the door with one solid hand, his eyes resting on mine, and I get another undeniable twinge of attraction. It’s odd, because if this really is all a big dream, I usually know the people I conjure up – from school, or work; people I lost touch with when I kept saying no to everything.
But this guy is entirely new.
Almost.
‘I’ll see you later,’ he says.
‘Sure,’ I reply, and before I can say anything else, he’s closed his door with a soft click.
Turning back to the flat, I push the key into the lock, and feel it open. Breathing a sigh of relief, I head inside, take in that alien scent of someone else’s place; that lemon-rose perfume again. Then I head straight to the bedroom. Everything is exactly as I left it – bed covers tangled in the middle of it, the little clock face down on the floor. Going across to the window, I tug the window blinds down so it’s as dark as I can get it, then collapse down on the bed. I pull the unfamiliar covers up again and press my face into the pillow.
