Chapter 2 Nora
Chapter 2 NORA
W hy the hell is that creep staring at my house?
A stranger loitering outside her home was the last thing she needed. The day had not gone great. She’d forgotten her umbrella, so her hair had gone wild in the humidity. And she had a pimple on her chin. But that was the least of it. Nora had spent the better part of her day trying to gather the courage to tell her team—all seven people working under her—that they would be jobless in a few weeks. And, as if she wasn’t already at her wit’s end, she’d crossed paths with Yeong that afternoon, and he’d had the nerve to throw her a “Hey, Nora,” followed by a wink. A fucking wink! Nora wished she was invisible—to other people, to the troubles that plagued her, to the consequences of her own stupidity.
Sleeping with Yeong had been one of the worst mistakes of her life. Nora would never, ever , have another one-night stand. Especially not with a coworker, a disastrous situation that, as she learned, doesn’t necessarily go away after one night. Not at all. Nora constantly crossed paths with him in the corridors. Bumped into him in the cafeteria. Got stuck in elevators with him.
It could all be perfectly fine, if it wasn’t for the fact that she had recently discovered that he had a girlfriend... something he had casually forgotten to mention at the time of their hookup.
There were few things Nora hated more than to be led on.
No, she would never have another one-night stand. It just led to unnecessary complications and trouble.
The chill raindrops came down harder, and she shivered.
When it rains, it pours . Literally.
And now she had to deal with some creep loitering in front of her house.
She couldn’t see much of his face beneath his burgundy umbrella—just a bit of his jaw, shadowed by a short beard. He wore a bomber jacket in a rich cognac color and dark pants paired with brown suede chukka boots. Casual and put-together at the same time. He seemed like a man who cared about how he looked, but not excessively. In fact, he wasn’t a bad-looking creep— Not at all , Nora thought with a bit of self-reproach. Too bad that instead of looking like a ravishing heroine from one of her favorite telenovelas, she looked like a drowned rat.
Oh, dear. Clearly, I’ve been single for too long.
Distracted by his looks, Nora hadn’t figured out how to get home safely.
She put on her best self-sufficient-woman face and approached him assertively. “Excuse me, can I help you?”
“I, uh, no, thanks,” the man said with a British accent, turning to her then quickly looking away.
He had green eyes set into a slightly angular, unconventional face—his cheekbones a little too prominent, his jawline a little too straight, the bridge of his nose a little too high. But together, all his features complemented one another. Something about him reminded Nora of a prism.
The man started to leave, but quickly turned back around, his voice wavering. “Actually, which direction is Palm Street?”
Nora had the distinct impression that he knew exactly in which direction Palm Street was. Still, she pointed to the right, and tried to quiet the unsettling thoughts that flooded her mind. Was he nervous? Was he about to rob her? Not all criminals were disheveled. Maybe he used his looks to attract innocent women.
She wouldn’t fall for his act. She turned on her heel and walked towards her house, groping inside her purse both for her keys and her pepper spray.
“You live here... miss?” His voice gave away his smile, and a shiver ran down Nora’s spine. This conversation was getting weirder by the minute.
Why, do you expect me to invite you in for a cup of coffee, you creep? , Nora wanted to say. Because it was way too obvious—she was clearly going into the house. Instead, she said, “No. This is, uh, my dad’s place. He’s waiting for me for our jujitsu class. We’re both black belts, you see. Excuse me.”
Out of everyone else in the world, why had she mentioned her father?
Nora couldn’t be farther away from a jujitsu—or any other martial art—black belt, for that matter. And the same applied to her dad—whom she hadn’t spoken to in three years, and who didn’t even live in the US. Her lie seemed to work, though, because the stranger looked down at his feet, and his cheeks flushed.
Damn right you should be embarrassed, mister.
“Of course. I’m sorry to disturb you. I should be on my way,” he said in a surprisingly quiet voice.
He started to leave, but abruptly slipped and fell, his hip thumping loudly on the concrete curb and his hand landing on a spoke of the umbrella in a way that looked awfully painful.
Fuck.
Just then, the rain turned into a pour.
Double fuck.
Should Nora run for cover and leave him sprawled in the middle of the street? Her empathy got the better of her, and before she could figure out what to do, she was at his side. “Hey, are you okay?”
It started as a chuckle. Then, after hiding his face behind his hands, the man began to laugh as she watched, curiously. Soon he was laughing hysterically. Was he insane? Was this all part of a con?
He put one hand to his forehead. “I can’t believe this happened again.”
Her fingers tightened around the pepper spray inside her purse. “What are you talking about?”
“I always slip on this pavement. My best friend used to live in this house—” A wince of pain passed across his face as he realized he’d leaned on his injured palm in an attempt to push himself from the ground. He turned his hand upwards and found a bleeding cut about one inch long. As he stared at it, wide-eyed and pale, his smile disappeared. He slowly sat back, dazed, looking even more lost.
“Are you all right?”
He was not all right, that was as clear as day. If he was indeed a scammer, he must be a very good actor. Nora looked around, but there wasn’t a soul in sight she could ask for help. She shouted for Mrs. Brown, her closest neighbor, but got no answer.
I can’t just leave this man. He looks unwell. I’m the only person around.
Squatting by his side, Nora tried to keep her voice as calm as possible. “Should I call someone?”
The man kept staring at his hand. Nora fished for her phone inside her purse, aiming to call 911—which would come in handy both if he needed medical aid and if he turned out to be a criminal—when he repeated in an almost inaudible voice, “My best friend used to live in this house.”
Nora frowned. “Your best friend?”
“Gabe.”
“Gabe?”
“M-Márquez.”
Gabe Márquez. Her landlord. Maybe this man with the gash in his hand wasn’t a creep and wasn’t hitting on her or trying to take advantage of her after all. So instead of calling 911, Nora video-called her landlord. Luckily, her phone was waterproof, and double-luckily, Gabe picked it up at the first ring. Nora showed him the man claiming to be his friend and quickly explained what had happened. “He fell and is now staring at the cut on his hand and—”
Gabe’s voice kicked up a notch. “Is he bleeding?”
Nora glanced at the man’s hand, rain mixing with the blood. “A little bit.”
“Shit, Henning . . . Aiden has vasovagal syncope.”
“He has what ?”
“Blood. He can’t stand the sight of blood. It’s a condition he has. Be careful, he may faint.”
Oh, great. “Should I call an ambulance?”
“No,” the creep—Aiden—said in a quiet, shaky voice. “It’s not necessary.” He moved to stand, and Nora quickly took his arm in case he passed out.
Should I just get him a cab and send him on his way?
“Keep him seated and don’t let him look at the blood,” Gabe answered the question as if he’d read her mind. “Can you do that?”
Could she leave the man on the street in that situation? What if something like that had happened to her mother, her best friend Dipa, or anyone else she knew? Kindness came in cycles. So did karma. “Yes,” she said to Gabe. “Wait. You really know him, right? Do you swear he’s not a creep?”
Gabe furrowed his brow. “I understand your concern, Henning. But Aiden—”
“If I bring him inside, he’s not gonna hurt me or—”
“Hurt you? God, no. He’s not that kind of guy. I’d kill him myself.”
“Okay. I’ll stay with him. And I’ll call you if he gets worse.” She hung up, gently grasped Aiden’s arm, and pulled him towards her front door. “Let’s go inside. Let me take care of this.”
He nodded as if in a trance and followed her, cradling his injured hand.
She closed the door behind him. Without the sound of the rain splashing against sidewalks, cars, and roofs outside, Nora heard the true sound of his voice, deep and low. “I am truly sorry for this inconvenience.”
“Hey, don’t worry,” she said, then hung his duffel bag on the entryway coat rack and let her drenched coat fall to the floor.
Nora helped him take off his soaked jacket, which fell next to hers in a heap, and she couldn’t help but notice how his wet t-shirt clung to his body. She swallowed with difficulty and felt a pang of guilt for the thoughts that crossed her mind while her unexpected guest stood in front of her as pale as a sheet, clearly in shock.
A good-looking creep indeed.
“I’m sorry for the mess,” she said, collecting mail and magazines that littered the table by the entrance, trying to stack them into some semblance of order. Since Nora hadn’t been expecting anyone, she hadn’t tidied up, and it embarrassed her now.
Aiden didn’t seem to hear a word she said, much less notice the mess. He stared at his palm as if looking through it, seemingly on the verge of fainting.
Nora ushered him to the kitchen and made him sit at the small breakfast table while she found her first-aid kit in the cupboard. She had no idea what she was doing but pretended she did as she laid the materials on the table and pulled on her surgical gloves, proceeding to clean his wound. His eyes stayed fixed on her fridge, his lips pursed.
“I... I can’t stand the sight of blood.”
She tried not to smile at the obviousness of his statement. “I can see that.”
“It’s daft, isn’t it?” Aiden turned his head to face her.
“Just a little.” This time, she couldn’t keep a chuckle in. “For women, it would be, at least.”
He frowned. “For women?”
“Do I have to give you the talk? Fine. Every month, the uterus—”
He snorted a nervous laugh. “I’m a bloody idiot.”
“Maybe just an idiot. Let’s leave the bloody out of this, shall we?”
Aiden grinned, his eyes shining with amusement, and his hand relaxed under hers.
It occurred to her that something about him seemed oddly familiar. Had they met before? No, certainly not. She’d remember it.