chapter NINETEEN
A ninja turtle, four Elsas, and an astronaut knock on your door. What do you do? You give them candy.
I’m glad Mattie gave me a heads up on the amount of kids that would be knocking on the door tonight.
I put orange Halloween lights in my apartment window and have been standing at the building’s door with a giant bowl greeting the trick-or-treaters. I got tired of walking back and forth from my apartment so I thought it was better to just stand post at the front of the building.
“Happy Halloween!” the kids chant as they walk away. Another group approaches and we start all over. This time there are only two Elsas, a Cinderella, and a Darth Vader.
“If I ever have kids they are never allowed to dress like Elsa.” Mattie startles me when he creeps up behind me.
I place my hand over my heart and catch my breath. “Geez, give a girl a warning.” Looking down, the trick-or-treaters are staring up at me with their open trick or treat bags.
Mattie snakes an arm around me and grabs a Reese’s Pieces from the bowl. “Damn, woman, you give out good candy. I thought you couldn’t give out anything with nuts to kids anymore?”
“What do you know about kids? You’re still one yourself?” I scoff.
Mattie holds up his hand showing his middle, ring, and pinky fingers. “Three sisters. Seven, ten, and fifteen. All from my dad’s second marriage and trust me, they live in a nut-free world.”
He pops the Reese’s in his mouth and moans as if he just tasted the most tender piece of filet mignon. He swallows and points a finger at me. “And don’t call me a kid. I’m the same age as you.”
I give him a laugh. “No. You’re in school. I run a school. You’re a boy. I’m a girl. In maturity years that’s like a decade.”
Mattie puts an arm on my shoulder and pats it lightly, “Yes, ma’am.”
I offer a wry smile at his sarcastic remark. When he steps in front of me I appraise his costume for tonight. “Beetlejuice?”
“Robin Thicke. You should see my girl’s costume. She’s a goat.”
The look on my face is filled with confusion because I have absolutely no idea what he is talking about. Mattie lets out a belly laugh that carries him to the corner and out of sight.
I back away to close my door when something catches my eye. A light reflects off a piece of chrome from across the street and I step forward to look again. There is a shiny motorcycle parked on the opposite side of the street. Standing beside it is a piece of gold, brighter than the setting sun.
That gold is a man, and one I would never in a million years have pictured standing on my street corner.
I tilt my head and look back at him wondering why in the world Alexander Asher is here.
He’s wearing black jeans and a black leather jacket.
It’s a look so different from the two I’ve seen on him.
Far more relaxed than the suit and tie, yet more intense than in Carpi.
His hair is styled back but with a messier look, which must be from wearing a helmet.
I look down at my own attire. I’m wearing jeans and an orange V-neck sweater in honor of the holiday.
There is no reason I can think of for why he would be here. We haven’t spoken a word to each other in weeks, aside from when I caught him spying on me at the park. When I got home, I sat in the chesterfield contemplating what the hell it meant. I came up with nothing.
And now I’m completely confused as to why he’s standing across the street looking at me. With no clue as to what it is he wants, I turn around and go back to my apartment, leaving the front door to the building open and the door to my apartment slightly ajar.
I take a spot in the kitchen and turn down the volume on my speakers and wonder if he’ll follow me inside. Do I want him to come in?
Kind of.
Damn it!
I’m picking at the polish on my nails when I hear footsteps and the sound of the front door of the building closing.
Those footsteps get louder as they draw near and I know he’s coming in.
My door slowly opens as Asher pushes it with the pads of his fingers.
I watch as his eyes dart around the room taking in the space.
He turns his head to the living room and the bookcase along the wall. Something on the shelf catches his eye so he walks in, taking slow, tentative steps into the room. He has on boots, which is better than the loafers. They’re heavy and make a low thud as he walks.
Stopping in front of the bookcase, he picks up a picture of Luke and me, taken on his eighteenth birthday.
Luke’s red hair is shaggy and an absolute mess.
It was right before he started wearing it short to “appease the ladies.” I am wearing a grin from ear to ear, hugging his torso and looking in to the camera with eyes so bright, I haven’t seen them in my reflection in months.
Asher picks up the photo and examines it, probably looking at the girl in it like she’s a complete stranger.
The corner of his mouth tilts up and then he puts the photo back in its place.
He looks at a few more pictures I have, including one of my parents and another of Leah and Adam at their engagement party and my sweaters that are folded on display on some shelves of the bookcase, before walking over to the couch and rifles through the magazines I have on the end table.
Taking in the artwork, the sparse furnishings and the reading nook, he looks to be examining my home. It takes him all of three minutes. When he has made a full three-sixty around the room, he looks over at me in the kitchen, standing here like a frightened turkey.
“This is where you live?” he asks.
I blink a few times, assessing the question. My eyes shift from side to side in confusion. When I don’t give him an answer, he looks down the hall and zeros in on the door to my bedroom.
“Don’t even think of going back there.” My words are sharp. Bad enough he’s standing here judging my home. There is no way I am allowing him to invade my bedroom.
Asher looks to his left and smirks. “Emma, your room is no more than ten feet from where I’m standing. You’re not hiding anything back there.” He is looking around the place like it’s beneath him. “I can walk across this entire apartment in ten steps.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “What do you want from me?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, those gorgeous golden gems travel up and down my body, as if it’s the first time he’s really noticed me since we reconnected. His chest rises and Adams apple juts out with a swallow.
“You look good.” His voice is sincere and not condescending but it’s the way he’s standing, so dominant, that makes me wary of his intentions.
“Thank you?” I want to kick myself for answering in such a way.
His eyes bear down on mine, the two of us in an intense standoff of silence.
He looks like he is going to say something .
. . profound? Instead, he closes his mouth and walks over to the window in the front and investigates the lock.
The window frame has been painted over, quite possibly fifty times in as many years, so the metal latch is painted shut.
I watch as Asher tries to raise the window but to no avail.
“You shouldn’t be on the ground floor.” He motions to the iron bars on the outside of the window. “Those need to be updated.”
My mouth is agape at his rudeness. “Did you come here to criticize where I live?”
Asher closes the curtains to make sure they provide enough privacy. He nods his head in approval and then opens them again.
I tap my foot in annoyance as he walks over to the front door and fiddles with the lock. I let out a loud huff. He must hear it because he turns around and faces me. I make a face as to say, “Satisfied?”
Asher walks toward me, his presence filling up the room, stopping on the opposite side of the small island of the kitchen. As he approaches, I can smell the leather of his jacket. Its not the same as salt and sea, but it’ll do.
We stand in silence; I vow I will not be the first to break it. He came here. He has to be the one to say something.
His chin tilts to the side as his ear leans in to hear the faint sound coming from my speaker.
Before I can stop him, he reaches over and raises the volume and his brow rises in interest. The cello version of “Wonderwall” by Oasis is playing, confirmation for him that I have been listening in to his lessons.
I fold my arms across my chest, my foot resumes tapping, an act he finds amusing as the corner of his mouth curls up ever so slightly and than vanishes instantly.
“Who’s the guy?” He asks with a nod of his head toward the door. He’s referring to Mattie.
“None of your business.”
His square jaw protrudes with the clench of his jowls. I look away from him, gathering my bearings. I should let him think Mattie is someone to me. Make him suffer thinking I’m with someone else.
Who am I kidding? He doesn’t care.
I turn my head back to Asher, who is smoldering. It’s as if he thinks this is some kind of game.
A game I have no intention of playing.
“He’s my neighbor,” I say, clipping my words through my teeth. “And what does it matter to you? You already had me. Conquest accomplished. Wasn’t that the goal?” My throat burns as the words come out. I intended to say them to hurt him. Instead, they’re killing me.
His eyes are ablaze with indignation. I don’t think this is what he came here for but this is certainly where it’s going. “What exactly do you think my goal was?”
I bite back any emotion attempting to rise from me as I continue. I managed three weeks of decorum around him. I managed to be in the same building and not say a word when the hurt was sitting on my chest like a lead weight.
Turns out I can’t fight it anymore.
“Find a girl, trick her into pretending you’re some brooding boathand who needs saving, fuck her, and leave. Wasn’t that the goal . . . Alexander?”