Chapter 6
Five minutes later, there was a knock at the front door, and I knew it was the man from next door. I hurried to my bedroom, grabbed a robe from the closet and slipped it on, my fingers trembling as I tied the belt.
I made my way downstairs, and when I got to the door, I stopped, too nervous to open it. Then a thought occurred to me. Maybe if I didn’t answer it, he’d go away.
He knocked again, a lot louder this time.
Then he said, “Are you going to open the door? I know you’re in there.”
I took a deep breath, unlocked the door, and pulled it open.
Up close, the man was even more attractive than he had appeared through the binoculars, but there was something unsettling about the amusement in his blue eyes, as though he knew something I didn’t.
In his hand was a bottle of gin with a blue ribbon tied around the neck.
He smiled as he handed it to me. “I thought I’d bring you a housewarming gift. Welcome to the neighborhood.”
Without thinking, I accepted it. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
We stared at each other for several seconds, then he tilted his head. “So … did you like what you saw?”
I resisted the urge to gasp as I felt my cheeks flush with color. “I …”
He laughed just loud enough to let me know he was enjoying every second of my discomfort.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied.
“No? Then I suppose you have a twin, or perhaps someone else who looks just like you has been watching me almost every evening for the past two weeks.”
I looked down at the bottle in my hands. “I wasn’t …”
He reached out, squeezing me on the shoulder. “Hey, relax. I’m joking. I rather enjoyed it. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
“Why would I?”
“Because we’re neighbors.”
“I don’t even know you.”
“Given the amount of time we’ve shared in recent weeks, albeit from a distance, I think we’re already acquainted.”
“I haven’t watched you every night.”
He raised a brow. “Almost every night.”
My face betrayed me, growing warmer by the second.
“Let’s start over,” he said. “My name is Preston Sinclair. And you are …?”
“Olivia.”
“Olivia, no last name?”
“Nightingale.”
He grinned. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”
“I suppose not.”
“I’ve been planning to introduce myself since the day you moved in. I’ve noticed you’ve been spending a lot of time working on your new place.”
I folded my arms. “And?”
“I figure anyone willing to spend that much time covered in paint and dirt while still managing to look that good was worth meeting.”
I hesitated, searching for something to say. It was easy to see why so many women were drawn to him. He possessed the kind of effortless charm that made people lower their guard.
“Is that your standard line?” I asked.
“I have better ones.”
Against my better judgment, I laughed.
Hoping to shift the conversation elsewhere, I glanced at his house. “How long have you lived here?”
“Oh, let’s see now. I bought the place when I was thirty, so about twenty-five years. Long enough to watch the neighborhood change, that’s for sure.”
If he’d been living there for twenty-five years, it meant he’d been living there when I was a little girl. The odd thing was, I didn’t remember him.
“So,” he said. “I’d like to take you to dinner.”
“What would all your other women think?”
The words escaped my mouth before I could stop them.
He looked around. “I’m sorry ... what other women?”
“The ones you’ve been entertaining almost every night.”
“Oh. Those women. They don’t get a vote.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks for the offer, but no.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don't know you.”
“Wouldn’t going out for dinner help us get to know one another?”
“Maybe. I’m just not looking to date anyone right now.”
“Who said anything about dating?” He thought for a moment. “All right, then. Forget dinner. Why don’t I cook for you instead?”
I leaned against the doorframe. “Why are you so determined to spend time with me?”
“I may know most people in this neighborhood, but I wouldn’t call many of them friends. I’d hope things between you and me could be different. Plus …” He looked toward the houses lining the street. “I can tell you about everyone who lives around here.”
Everyone, including all the people who may have known my father.
Seeming to pick up on the fact that I was giving it consideration, he added, “I almost have you, don’t I? You want to say yes. I can tell. Come on, Olivia. It’ll be fun.”
I looked down at the bottle of gin in my hands.
One dinner.
That was all.
If nothing else, perhaps I’d get to know the people in the neighborhood.
Or something that might explain what happened to my father.
“When were you thinking?”
“Friday.”
“As in tomorrow night?”
He nodded.
I hesitated a few seconds. “All right.”
“There you go. I knew you’d come around.”
He extended his hand.
I stared at it. “You want to shake on it?”
“Humor me.”
With some reluctance, I slipped my hand into his. Instead of shaking it, he gave the slightest tug. Not enough to pull me off balance. Just enough to bring me half a step closer. He leaned in, his voice almost a whisper. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
He released my hand, offering me a wave as he walked back to his house, and I stood in the doorway until he disappeared inside.
It was only after the front door closed behind him that a thought occurred to me. Somehow, the man I’d spent two weeks spying on had managed to leave me feeling as though I’d been the one under observation all along.