Chapter 2
Emma
I stare after him, my mouth hanging open. I don’t know how to react. My recluse of a neighbor looked me up and down and then turned away as if I wasn’t even there. It’s the first time someone treated me in such a strange way, and I have no idea what to make of it.
He disappears behind the corner, and that shakes me out of my shock. I shudder from the cold and open the car door, my fingers numb. I get the bag of cat food I forgot earlier and rush back home, shivering harder and harder. My feet are so cold, I barely feel my toes.
“Hey, baby,” I say to the cat I found hiding under my car when I was shopping. She was miserable and cold, meowing pitifully when I coaxed her out. “Let’s eat, okay? I’ve already put your picture in the Facebook group. I’m sure your owner will message me soon.”
I take out a clean cat bowl and put her food in there, struggling to see through my foggy glasses. She eats happily, and I get busy boiling water for tea. My mystery helper left me a pretty tin of Christmas tea yesterday, and I’m eager to try it.
The tea is spicy, scented with cinnamon and orange peel, and yet, I can’t enjoy it fully. My neighbor’s odd behavior is on my mind.
“Would it kill him to at least say hello?” I ask the cat, shaking my head. “What do you think, kitty? What’s his deal, hm?”
She ignores me, devouring her food with gusto, and I look at my reflection in the window. It’s already dark, but thanks to the snow, the light from the streetlamps is amplified, casting the world in a yellowish glow.
“Maybe he doesn’t speak English,” I muse, cradling my mug in my hands. “He actually seems a bit foreign now that I think about it. That blond hair looks kinda Swedish. Do you think he could be from Sweden? Or Norway? I bet if he grew a beard, he’d look like a Viking. He’s so tall and has such wide shoulders. And that ass…”
I trail off, remembering how he looked jogging away from me, his sleek outfit so tight, it left nothing to imagination.
The cat stops eating and gives me a long, green-eyed look. I shrug and glance away with a soft huff.
“What? It was a nice ass. Not my fault for noticing.”
When I open the fridge, I find the cucumbers and carrots for my guinea pigs and the rabbit already chopped. I take the box out with a small frown. It’s very kind that someone is taking care of my animals for me and making things so much easier, but the longer it lasts, the more curious I am.
For the umpteenth time, I wonder who it is. The fact they can come in isn’t that weird, since a few people I took in at one point or another kept copies of my key.
Linda, who stayed with me the longest, comes to mind. I helped her get back on her feet after she lost her mortgaged house to the bank and landed on the street.
Yet, I know it’s not her. She moved to Boston when I helped her find a job through my brother-in-law.
Who, then? I sigh, shaking my head as I lay out the chopped vegetables so they warm up before I serve supper to my army of critters. One bedroom upstairs is all taken up by my guinea pigs, the rabbit, and my three rats. The room is perfectly pet-proofed so I can let them out of their cages as often as possible. I don’t let cats and dogs in there.
“Stay here, darling,” I say to the cat, gently stroking her lustrous black fur. “And I’ll check in on my babies.”
Some time later, I look out through the pet bedroom window just in time to see my neighbor return from his evening run. It might be just my imagination, but it seems like his body steams with heat when he stops under a streetlamp, bringing his hands high in a feline stretch.
Then he looks up. Our eyes meet. His widen instantly, and he drops his gaze, jogging up to his front door.
I stand there, staring, long after he disappears inside. Lights turn on in his house, and the narrow upstairs window that I know must be his bathroom comes alight. I bite my lip, catching myself as I stare.
I know he’s taking a shower since he must be all sweaty from his run. And I’m staring like a creep.
Missy, my oldest piggy, chatters happily, pressing to my foot. I smile and scoop her up.
“What should we do about Mister Hot Hermit?” I ask. She wheeks excitedly until I let her stand on the windowsill.
She presses her nose to the windowpane and startles away, chirping in outrage at the cold. I scratch her head and force myself to look away from the window.
Before going to bed, I check if the cat’s owner contacted me. No messages for now, and I resolve to take her to the vet on Monday to see if she is microchipped if no one reaches out by then.
“Sleep tight,” I tell her, laying out a clean cat bed in the kitchen by the bowls of food and water.
I check in on all my babies before taking a long, hot shower. In my bedroom, I frown at the naked window that looks decidedly uncozy without a thick curtain. I don’t remember what I did with my curtains, but it doesn’t matter anyway, since I spend so little time here.
As I lay in bed, drifting on the verge of sleep while the yellowish light of the streetlamps pours in through the window, I think about my neighbor. He seems fine, and yet, I can’t shake the feeling he must be lonely. I know from my other neighbors he never talks to anyone. He barely leaves his house, too. Does he work from home? I don’t know, but it seems so sad that he’s stuck inside all day and night, only coming out to get groceries and run.
I fall asleep thinking that maybe I can help him. Maybe I’ll check how to say “hello” in Swedish tomorrow.
A soft sound pulls me out of sleep in the middle of the night. It’s dark, and I’m not sure whether I’m dreaming or awake. The night has a warm, velvety quality, and the sounds I hear aren’t violent or intrusive. It’s more like… Like a pleased sigh. A breath catching. Skin sliding over skin.
My body is so heavy, the bed so comfortable, and I dream about a snowy hill where I went sledding as a kid. Somehow, the sounds I hear slide seamlessly into that dream scene.
I’m on top of the hill, about to rush down, but I’m not a kid anymore. And I’m not alone. A man—a stranger—sits behind me, powerful thighs bracketing my hips. He sighs in my ear, and the sound is so vulnerable, so hot, it makes me shiver.
Another sound drifts in. A stuttered moan followed by a whisper of a panting breath.
I blink heavily, wondering if the shadow I see against the mirrored wardrobe door is a person or the outfit I hung out for Monday.
When I blink again, it’s morning, my bedroom filled with murky winter light. I smile and stretch in bed, brushing away my weird dreams. I already know it’s going to be a lovely day.
It’s Sunday, and I have a reclusive neighbor to pull out of his shell.