Chapter Five
Abby
Ican’t believe that Don McDowell is in my apartment. After making a complete ass out of myself at the mailboxes, I had every intention of going to apologize…when I finally finished being a raging nut job. His showing up at my door with wine was not on my Bingo card.
Thank God I straightened up my apartment yesterday.
Taking the bottle of wine from him, I look it over as I walk to the kitchen. “Whoa. Looks fancy. Expensive?”
“No idea. I found it in a gift basket outside one of our neighbor’s doors,” he jokes.
That actually gets a laugh out of me. I’ve been so upset about my date and then in shock at Don’s arrival, that I haven’t even had time to ramp up my anxiety.
Give it time, Abby.
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.”
“I’m glad. Look, I grew up with my mom and sister. I know that women just sometimes need someone to vent to.”
This man and I have been neighbors for over two years now, yet I’ve gotten to know more about him in the past ten minutes than in that entire time.
To look at Don, you’d never think he’s such a sweetheart. He’s too dark and broody to make that assumption.
“Sounds like your mom raised you right,” I say.
“Yeah, she was always great.”
We sit quietly again for a moment before he points to the TV. “So, Gilmore Girls, huh?”
“Yeah, it’s my comfort show.”
“Well, let’s watch.”
Don’t have to tell me twice.
Within the first five minutes, he gives the following commentary.
“Man, they talk fast. That’s the mom, right? Why are they so close? Don’t teenage girls usually hate their moms? Where’s the dad? Is that diner guy the dad because there seems to be some sexual tension there.”
I grab the remote and hit the pause button. “Have you ever seen this before?”
“Nope.”
“Your mom or sister didn’t watch?”
“If they did, I didn’t pay any attention.”
“Okay, let’s start from the beginning,” I tell him as I navigate the menu to go back to episode one.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Oh, yes, I do. It’ll save me from answering a bunch of questions.” I shoot him a smile so he knows I’m just joking.
He’s quieter during the first episode but does ask the occasional question. I don’t mind, though.
As much as I hate to admit it, it’s nice having someone to talk to that isn’t a cat. At least Don talks back.
When we finish the episode, I pause it again and ask, “What do you think?”
“I think they talk extremely fast, but I get the appeal. It’s fun.”
“Do you want to watch another? Or do you have some hot date?”
“No. No hot date. I’d love to watch another—as long as I’m not cramping your style.”
A knock on the door makes me jump a foot off the couch.
“Think your food finally showed up?” He asks.
Damn. Totally forgot I ordered stuff.
As I head to the door, I joke, “Either that or another neighbor is worried about my well-being.”
I bring the Chinese food and a couple of plates to the living room and set everything down on the coffee table.
“Do you like Chinese?” I ask.
“It happens to be one of my five major food groups. I can give you some money if you want. I don’t want to be rude.”
“It’s not rude if I offered,” I explain. “I always order way too much food. Like an ungodly amount of food. I never eat it all.”
“Well, okay. If you say so.”
“How about next time, you answer the door so the delivery guy can stop giving me judging looks.”
He laughs. “Deal.”
Not that I’m betting that there will actually be a next time.
When each of us has our plates full, Don asks, “So, do you want to talk about what happened earlier?”
I debate how much I want to divulge. Typically, I’d just change the subject and divert the attention away from myself. But I’ve almost finished my second glass of wine, so my guard isn’t quite as high as usual. And maybe it wouldn’t hurt to vent to someone.
Especially since Jensn didn’t answer my call when I got home.
Probably fearful I’m going to be mad.
Rightfully so.
Realizing I’ve been quiet for an obscene amount of time, I finally say, “My friend offered to set me up. I reluctantly agreed to go even though I knew it was probably a bad idea. I was right. The date was awful, and the guy should win douche of the century.”
“On behalf of all men, I apologize,” he says between bites. “We really are the worst.”
“This guy was ridiculous. We had nothing in common, and he treated me like crap the whole time. When I refused to let him in my pants, he proceeded to tell me how ugly I was and how no guy would want me.” I pause for a moment. “Now, that I’m saying it out loud, it sounds kind of stupid.”
“Hey, it’s not stupid. That guy sounds like an asshole. No one should talk to you like that.”
Twirling a noodle around my fork, I say, “I think it just caught me off-guard. I haven’t been on a date in a really long time, and I didn’t think it would go quite so badly. I guess you wouldn’t know much about that, though. Most of your dates seem to go pretty well.”
A crease appears on his forehead. “What do you mean?”
“Don, we have very thin walls. I can certainly hear when your evening winds up in a happy ending.”
I swear I see the slightest bit of embarrassment cross his features. “Oh, right. But let me tell you that just because they have happy endings doesn’t mean all those dates were perfect.”
I could ask what he means, but I’ve read enough romance novels to get the picture.
“Ready to watch more Gilmore Girls?” I ask.
“Let the speed talking commence.”
I stop for a brief moment. “Hey, Don.”
“Yeah?”
‘Thanks for coming to check on me.”
His blue eyes meet mine. “You’re welcome.”
As strange as this night has been, right now, I’m just going with it. And with that, I hit play.