Chapter 7
June
Malcolm follows me to my apartment door, my entire body aware of his presence behind me.
It’s debatable whether inviting him back to my place was a good idea. The way he looked at me last night after I kissed his cheek is still on my mind, but I’m half-convinced I misread the moment.
I was pretty shook up after my confrontation with Tyler. My heightened anxiety must have overreacted and detected danger where there was none.
It is a fact that I get nervous around Malcolm, especially when we’re alone. He’s kind of a stranger, even though he was a fixture in my life when I was younger.
We haven’t seen each other in a decade, therefore we don’t know much about each other. I’m sure the weirdness between us will go away once we spend more time getting to know one another.
In conclusion, yes, inviting him in was a good idea after all.
I might not know him well yet, but I know with two hundred percent certainty that Malcolm is a good guy. He risked his life to save mine, and he also worked to keep our country safe for years. He’s a protector not a predator. There’s nothing to be afraid of.
I unlock my apartment door and enter. Home sweet home. My parents’ house used to be my home but it hasn’t been in years. This is my space. Returning to it feels like a warm, loving hug.
“I’ll be right back,” I say with a quick smile. Malcolm nods.
I head to my bedroom and come to a hard stop.
What the hell?
My curtains are drawn aside, billowing from the breeze coming through the open window.
I live on the ground floor of a centuries-old brick house that was converted into an apartment building with six units. My bedroom window looks out onto a small, grassy patio that anyone can access.
Summer is record-breaking hot this year and I don’t have an AC. I mostly use my fan to cool down, but I often open the window to let in a breeze as well. Once or twice, I’ve forgotten to close it before I leave my apartment, but I’m sure I did on Friday.
I close my eyes and recall the moments leading up to leaving for my trip. Katelyn let me leave work a couple of hours early. I came home and got ready quickly to catch the bus on time and not waste my expensive, non-refundable ticket. But I can’t remember closing the window or even opening it.
Something doesn’t feel right. I move closer and look outside.
Nothing suspicious as far as I can tell.
The window clicks when I pull it shut, the eyelets scraping on the rod as I draw the curtains close.
My tension starts to ease in the quiet until I turn and notice the purple lace on my bed. I snatch it up.
It’s my underwear. A tag still dangles from the fabric because I’ve never worn them. No way I would’ve packed these for the trip. They’re earmarked for a date that might lead to sex, and my dating life is a ghost town.
I dart my gaze around my room until it lands on a third, unsettling discovery: faint brown marks on my ivory bed sheet. I bend to peer at it.
Are those dirt marks?
Looks like it, but… how? When did they get there? These are clean sheets and I haven’t slept on them yet. I put them on because I wanted to flop into fresh linens when I came home. It was the last thing I did before I left for my trip.
My heart pounds, my body stiff as I slowly straighten. I clench my underwear in one hand and my bag straps in the other.
Did someone break into my apartment? Or did they climb through the window I possibly left open like an invitation?
I jerk my gaze to my closed closet door and freeze.
Are they still in here?
The thumping in my chest is louder and faster. I don’t want to do it, but I need to make sure nobody’s hiding in there. I summon bravery with a deep breath, march over to my closet, and yank open the doors. My clothes and shoes are the only occupants.
Thank god.
After I leave my bag in the closet, a quick trip to the bathroom to wash my face calms me down. Finally, I return to the living room.
It’s usually thieves who enter people’s homes uninvited. My TV, laptop, and tablet are things of value they could’ve taken, but they’re still here. Maybe there wasn’t a break-in after all. It’s possible I left the window open and took out those purple underwear by accident as I was packing.
But what about the dirt marks on the bed?
“You OK?” Malcolm asks.
He’s sitting in my loveseat, watching me. Should I tell him about my suspicions? No. I’m fed up of always being a damsel-in-distress around him. Not to mention, he assured me it wasn’t a problem for him to drop me home, but his attitude on the drive said differently.
He barely said a word, and he sped like he couldn’t wait to unburden himself of me. He only agreed to come in here for the food and drink I offered him. That’s what I should give him instead of more of my problems.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I throw him the best care-free smile I can muster as I head to the kitchen. “I’m going to see what’s there for us to eat.”
Unfortunately, my cupboards are sparse and my fridge is disappointing. I can’t feed salad to a sturdy man like Malcolm. I return to the living room with an apologetic smile.
“Looks like I need to do a grocery run. Is it OK if I order a pizza?”
He nods. “Yeah, that sounds good.”
Our order is in the queue a few taps later. I close the pizza store app on my phone, then I don’t know what to do with myself as I hover by the loveseat.
I’m about five feet tall, so it’s usually enough for me. Malcolm has broad shoulders and long legs. His larger body takes up a little more than half of the furniture.
We’ll be close if I sit beside him, but there’s no other choice for seating. Not unless I do something totally awkward like sit on the floor.
Tentatively, I perch on the edge of the other cushion. He holds my stare before he looks away and sweeps his gaze around the room.
“Your mom said the room I’m in used to be yours, but it’s hard to believe it. This apartment is definitely yours, though. Blue walls, orange curtains, red couch, yellow clock. Signature Jujube.”
I chuckle. “I love living in colour, even if they don’t match.”
He smiles. “Even in a room full of colour, you still stand out.”
It’s like yesterday when he called me beautiful. I glow on the inside at his compliment, and my brain struggles to think up a response.
“I bet your favourite days are rainy ones,” he continues.
“How do you know that?”
“It’s usually when the rainbows come out.”
I laugh again. “It’s a little embarrassing that you’re right.
Penny—my ex-roommate—she used to call this apartment the clown house, but she liked adding other colourful stuff too.
” I point at the miniature neon-green dinosaurs lining the top of my bookshelf.
“She painted those for me.” The dinosaurs remind me of Mally and I perk up with a smile. “Oh! Wait here.”
I hurry into my bedroom, ignoring the anxiety that stirs up when I glance at the window. I pluck Mally from his perpetual perch on my dresser, then head back out to the living room.
“Remember him?” I ask, presenting the stuffed giraffe I named after Malcolm. It’s the only toy I brought with me when I moved out. I didn’t have many anyway. Most of them went up in flames.
Malcolm smiles as he takes the giraffe and wiggles it.
“We meet again, my old friend.”
I laugh. “The friend you stole from the claw machine.”
He grins. “Is it really stealing when you’re stealing from a thief?”
We were at an arcade, and I was wasting my allowance, struggling to win a toy from the sneaky claw machine. Malcolm came over and said, “Let me show you how to beat the bastard, Jujube.”
He looked around first, then shook the machine hard while he grabbed the stuffed giraffe with the claw. Mally successfully dropped into the chute.
“I really missed you when you were gone,” I admit. “But I would pretend Mally was you. He protected me from bad dreams.”
He stares at the giraffe, idly moving its long neck. “I’m glad he was there for you when I wasn’t.”
“Well, you’re here for me now.”
He raises his gaze to mine and we’re silent for a moment. My words hang in the air, carrying an extra, inappropriate meaning I didn’t intend. You’re here now. That’s what I should’ve said. It’s the ‘for me’ portion that gets the side-eye.
“Why isn’t Penny your roommate anymore?” he asks, and I’m relieved he changed the subject.
“Her mom is sick and she had to go take care of her.” I pause and lower my gaze to my lap. “She was a good roommate. That’s really hard to find. It’s been tough paying for this place on my own too. I’ve been trying to find something more affordable, but they’re all horrible in some way.”
“I’m looking to buy a house and what I’ve seen so far hasn’t wowed me either.” He rubs his jaw. “Damn. I just remembered I was planning to check out an open house today.”
I make a face. “Sorry I disrupted your plans.”
“I’m not broken up about it. You’re more important to me.” He hesitates. “The people I care about are more important.”
He clarified himself, but my mind is stuck on his previous sentence. You’re more important to me. I liked hearing that. I like the idea of being more important to Malcolm a little too much. I shove the thought out of my mind.