Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
We walk along the quiet street, streetlights casting long shadows across the pavement. The night air is warm and breezy—one of those perfect late September evenings when summer refuses to let go.
"So what do you do for work, Gord?" Julian asks.
"I'm retired now," Gord replies, his voice stronger than his frail frame suggests. "I was a mechanical engineer for forty years. Worked on everything from turbines to conveyor systems."
"That's impressive," I say.
"And you, young man?" Gord glances at Julian.
"I play piano," Julian replies. "Bar gigs, mostly. Weddings sometimes."
My eyebrows shoot up. "Really? How long have you been playing?"
"Since I was ten. My neighbor taught me."
"That's incredible." I picture those hands moving across keys instead of handing gummy bears to frightened little girls. Both images fit somehow.
"What about you?" Julian asks.
"I'm a bartender. At the pool hall on Cumberland."
Recognition flashes across his face. "I've been in there a few times."
I rack my brain, trying to place him among the blur of faces that pass through my shifts. Nothing. How did I miss someone who looks like that?
"When?" I press.
"Maybe three or four times? I usually just grab a beer and watch the games."
"I can't believe I don't remember you."
His smile turns shy. "I blend in pretty well."
"Do you shoot pool?" I ask, curious.
"Not really."
“I play a bit,” I tell him. "My best friend is better than me, though. Her ex owns the place, and she's married to a pro."
He smiles. "That's cool."
A warm breeze rustles the trees overhead, carrying the scent of someone's barbecue. The air feels charged, electric—like anything could happen. I realize I'm actually enjoying myself, which seems absurd considering we just survived a robbery.
My phone is gone. Daniel can't text me, can't ask where I am, can't track my location. The relief surprises me.
"You okay?" Julian asks, catching my expression.
"Yeah, actually. I know this sounds weird, but I kind of like not having my phone right now."
He laughs. "I get that. Sometimes it's nice to just exist without notifications."
I think about my Coke and candy, abandoned on the convenience store floor. Normally I'd be dying for that sugar rush by now, but the adrenaline from tonight has my system buzzing. I don't need artificial highs.
"Here we are," Gord announces as we reach a small brick house with a tidy front garden.
We say our goodbyes, and Gord waves from his doorstep, and then it's just the two of us standing on the sidewalk. The night wraps around us, intimate and warm.
My stomach flips. The air between us crackles with something I shouldn't be feeling. Something that makes my skin flush and my breath catch.
I have a boyfriend. Daniel would lose his mind if he knew I was alone with another man right now. The thought sends a spike of guilt through my chest.
"So you live in Cumberland, too?" Julian asks as we start walking.
"Yeah, over on Maple Street. The old apartment building with the red awning."
"I know the one. I'm just a few from here."
We fall into step together, our bodies almost touching. I'm hyper-aware of every inch of space between us.
"Thank you again," I blurt out. "For being so calm back there. You really helped that little girl. Helped all of us, honestly."
He shrugs. "I just did what anyone would do."
"No, you didn't. That guy was complaining about his phone while Emmy was sobbing. You actually paid attention to what people needed."
His smile is soft, almost bashful. "Well, thanks."
We reach a brownstone building with black shutters and flower boxes in the windows. It's charming in that effortless way some places just are.
"This is me," he says. "Let me just grab my keys."
He disappears inside without inviting me in, and I'm thankful for that. I stand on the sidewalk, wrapping my arms around myself despite the warmth. A small part of me wishes he'd asked me up—for some reason, I'm curious about what his space looks like.
He emerges moments later, jangling keys in his hand, and leads me to a sleek black Kia Telluride parked on the street.
"Nice ride," I say, climbing into the passenger seat.
"Thanks. Got it last year. It’s usually parked in the underground garage, but I occasionally leave it on the street.”
“Wow, you have underground parking?”
“Yep, these are not actual old school brownstones, they’re just made to look like them. They’re a relatively new build. There’s even a top terrace with tables and BBQs, and a hot tub.”
“Cool.”
Sounds expensive, I can’t help but think.
I fidget with my hands as he starts the engine. The silence feels heavy.
"I drive a yellow Mini Cooper," I announce, then immediately cringe. Why did I say that? "It's kind of ridiculous, but I love it."
He grins. "Yellow suits you."
My heart does this stupid little flip.
The drive to my place takes five minutes. When he pulls up to the curb, disappointment settles in my chest like a stone.
"Thank you," I say for what feels like the hundredth time. "For everything."
"No problem."
I don't want to get out. I don't want this night to end, don't want to never see him again.
I sit frozen in the passenger seat, my hand resting on the door handle but unable to pull it. Every part of me wants to stay right here in this moment, suspended in the warmth of his car, the faint scent of his woodsy cologne lingering in the air between us.
The idea of walking through my apartment door alone, of ending whatever this fragile thing is that's been building all night, feels unbearable.
I can't shake the terrible certainty that if I step out now, I'll never see him again—that this will become just another almost-moment, another what-if that haunts me at three in the morning.
When I finally risk a glance at him, his face tells a story that mirrors my own—there's regret written in the slight downturn of his mouth, longing evident in how his dark eyes linger on mine, and something deeper, something unspoken and electric, hanging in the space between us like a question neither of us knows how to ask.
I finally find the common sense to grab the door handle and say goodbye.
He shoots me a sweet smile.
I make my way to the front entrance, my heart beating a mile a minute. I turn and shoot him another glance. He hasn't moved—he's making sure I make it in safely.
God help me if I ever see that guy again.
The building's lobby is quiet as I step inside, the door clicking shut behind me. Relief should flood through me, but instead, my chest feels tight, my thoughts still tangled up in Julian's dark eyes and that soft smile.
I climb the stairs to my second-floor apartment. When I step through the door, the familiar creak echoes loudly in the silence of my apartment. Daniel stands in the middle of the living room, his expression a mix of relief and worry.
"Liza!" he exhales, crossing the room in three brisk strides. "Where have you been? I've been texting and calling. You didn’t answer."
He pulls me into a crushing hug, and my heart stutters with a pang of guilt. Daniel’s arms are comforting, maybe even reassuring. "Where the hell have you been?"
"I—"
"I've been calling you for two hours, Liza. Two hours. Do you have any idea what went through my mind?"
"Daniel, I'm sorry—"
"You can't just disappear like that. You know how I get when I don't hear from you."
Heat flashes through me—not the good kind. "Well, maybe if you'd let me finish a sentence, I could explain."
He blinks, stepping back. "What happened?"
"I was at the convenience store. There was a robbery. They took my purse—my phone and my wallet. I'm sorry," I offer, my tone unintentionally sassy. "I would've texted back, but it turns out armed robbery makes it kind of hard to keep track of your phone."
His face drains of color. "What?"
"Three guys, masks, guns. The whole thing."
"Oh my God." He pulls me into his arms, crushing me against his chest. His grip is fierce, almost painful. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"
"I'm fine. Just shaken up."
"Jesus, Liza." His hands move to my face, tilting it up so he can study me. "You're sure you're not hurt?"
"I'm sure."
He exhales hard, then releases me. His jaw tightens. "We need to call the bank. Cancel everything," he mutters. "Who knows...Joe Schmo with your card right now."
"The police already—"
"No, I mean to your bank. We need to cancel your cards before someone racks up charges. And did you file a police report? Of course you did. Did they say when you'd get your stuff back? Probably never, right? God, what if those guys come after you?"
"Daniel, they're not going to—"
"Dinner's cold." He runs a hand through his hair, looking frazzled. "I made chicken parmesan. I can heat it up."
Guilt twists in my stomach. He's clearly been worried sick, and here I was sitting in another man's car, wishing the night didn't have to end.
"I’m not really hungry," I admit, unwilling to acknowledge the guilt that presses down on me. "But thanks. For making it."
His face falls slightly, but he nods, resigning himself to the change of plans. I feel a stab of something close to remorse, understanding the depth of Daniel’s devotion—maybe a little too deep.
When I first met him, I craved that intensity, saw it as flattering, intoxicating. But now...now it feels like I’m slowly drowning beneath its weight, sucked under by suffocating love.
He pulls me close again, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
I let him hold me, but something feels off.
Suffocating.