Page 4 of Things We Hide from the Light
I looked up just as a fancy black backpack rolled down the stairs toward me like a designer tumbleweed. Halfway up the flight, a pair of long, lean legs caught my attention.
They were covered in sleek leggings the color of moss, and the view just kept getting better. The fuzzy gray sweater was cropped and offered a peek at smooth, tan skin over taut muscle while highlighting subtle curves. But it was the face that demanded the most attention. Marble-worthy cheekbones. Big, dark eyes. Full lips pursed in annoyance.
Her hair—so dark it was almost black—was cut in a short, choppy cap and looked like someone had just shoved their fingers through it. My fingers flexed at my sides.
Angelina Solavita, better known as Lina or my brother’s ex-girlfriend from a lifetime ago, was a looker. And she was in my stairwell.
This wasn’t good.
I bent and picked up the bag at my feet.
“Sorry for hurling my luggage at you,” she called as she wrestled a large, wheeled suitcase up the final few steps.
I had no complaints about the view, but I had serious concerns about surviving small talk.
The second floor was home to three apartments: mine, Mrs. Tweedy’s, and a vacant space next to mine.
I had my hands full living across the hall from an elderly widow who didn’t have much respect for privacy and personal space. I wasn’t interested in adding to my distractions at home. Not even when they looked like Lina.
“Moving in?” I called back when she reappeared at the top of the stairs. The words sounded forced, my voice strained.
She flashed me one of those sexy little smiles. “Yeah. What’s for dinner?”
I watched her hit the stairs at a jog, descending with speed and grace.
“I think you can do better than what I have to offer.” I hadn’t been to a grocery store in… Okay, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d ventured into Grover’s Groceries to buy food. I’d been living off takeout when I remembered to eat.
Lina stopped on the last step, putting us eye-to-eye, and gave me a slow once-over. The smile became a full-fledged grin. “Don’t sell yourself short, hotshot.”
She’d called me that for the first time a handful of weeks ago when she’d cleaned up the mess I’d made of my stitches saving my brother’s ass. At the time, I should have been thinking about the avalanche of paperwork I was going to have to deal with thanks to an abduction and the ensuing shoot-out. Instead, I’d sat propped against the wall, distracted by Lina’s calm, competent hands, her clean, fresh scent.
“You flirting with me?” I hadn’t meant to blurt it out, but I was hanging on by sheer will.
At least I hadn’t told her I liked the smell of her laundry detergent.
She arched an eyebrow. “You’re my handsome new neighbor, the chief of police, and my college boyfriend’s brother.”
She leaned in an inch closer, and a single spark of something warm stirred in my belly. I wanted to cling to it, to cup it in my hands until it thawed my icy blood.
“Ireallylove bad ideas. Don’t you?” Her smile was dangerous now.
Old Me would have turned on the charm. Would have enjoyed a good flirt. Would have appreciated the mutual attraction. But I wasn’t that man anymore.
I held up her bag by the strap. Her fingers got tangled around mine when she reached for it. Our gazes met and held. That spark multiplied into a dozen tiny little embers, almost enough for me to remember what it was like to feel something.
Almost.
She was watching me intently. Those whiskey-brown eyes peered into me like I was an open book.
I extricated my fingers from hers. “What did you say you do for a living?” I asked. She’d mentioned it in passing, called it boring, and changed the subject. But she had eyes that missed nothing, and I was curious what job would let her hang out in Nowhere, Virginia, for weeks at a time.
“Insurance,” she said, slinging the backpack over one shoulder.
Neither one of us retreated. Me because those embers were the only good thing I’d felt in weeks.
“What kind of insurance?”
“Why? Are you in the market for a new policy?” she teased as she started to pull away.
