Wes
You’re my new neighbor.
Those four words leave me utterly stunned. I’mneverstunned.
Did she just say neighbor? How can she possibly know this? I think my jaw might be on the sidewalk, because the first thing I register is Joss’s soft finger under my chin, closing my mouth. She chuckles, likely at my imitation of a largemouth bass.
“I’m sorry. You’re what now? How—I mean, are you sure?”
This is twice in two days that I’ve been reduced to a bumbling idiot around her, but of course this time she seems to take pleasure in it.
Shegives a little self-deprecating laugh, and then reaches up to pull my baseball hat off my head. She holds it gingerly in her hands, like it might bite her.
“I saw my new neighbor walk out of his apartment inthishat this morning. Maybe it’s just a coincidence? Maybe there are two new men in my building with this hat?”
Herbuilding, she says, like she has ownership of the whole complex. But her logic is sound, the likelihood that anyone else in this city has this exact hat is low—I got it fifteen years ago from half a world away.
“I’m not going to lie, I’m impressed with your deductive skills, Columbo. Especially after the long day you had yesterday. I’m pretty sure I didn’t even notice there was another person in the entire building this morning when I was leaving to get my coffee.”
“Which you never got, by the way.” Her words remind me that I’m still very much running on fumes.
“Again with the excellent deductive skills. Maybe that’s why I’m so slow on the uptake this morning.”
She laughs, seeming lighter somehow than she did when we first ran into each other. I don’t know what’s put her more at ease around me, but I like it, especially if we’re going to be neighbors.
“So if you live at Kings Cross Rise and really aremyneighbor”—I emphasize the word in direct correlation to her possessiveness of the building—“that’s your coral surfboard on the balcony?”
She raises her eyebrows up toward her hairline. “It is indeed. Was too tired to get out today though. Do you surf?” she asks, sounding genuinely interested.
It’s a relief to finally be leaving the awkwardness of our first encounters behind us. I feel compelled to tell her the story about how I first learned to surf as a teenager, hoping to keep the momentum going. It’s an embarrassing story, but it has her laughing in earnest as we walk.
“You really rode the wave all the way in,” she says through her laughter, “sitting backward on the board?”
I swear I hear a little snort as she continues to laugh.
Before I know it, we’re back at our building.Our building. I still can’t quite believe that out of all the apartments in all of Sydney, we would end up next door to each other in this one.
Joss stops short outside and looks up toward the sky, taking it in as if she’s wondering the same thing. She turns to face me after a beat, and instead of feeling awkward, we just smile and walk inside.
“Hiya, Frank.” Joss gives him a little wave and Frank, the monosyllabic security guard from yesterday, instantly brightens and offers her a returning wave.
“G’day, Ms. Morgan.”
“Frank, please, for the millionth time, just call me Joss.”
Joss Morgan.The name suits her, and I feel myself inflate learning this small detail of who she is.
Frank chuckles—actually chuckles—and waves her off before asking how her trip was. I’m once again stunned. I can charm the pants off just about anybody, and yet I got nothing from Frank yesterday.
“Frank, have you met our newest tenant, Wes?” she asks, angling toward me and motioning between us with her hand.
“Good morning, Frank, good to see you again.” I offer up my brightest smile, and I’m rewarded with a grunt of acknowledgement.
I think Frank is broken. I look over at Joss to catch her stifling a giggle behind her hand. What she doesn’t know is how determined I am. I will get through to this man if it’s the last thing I do.
“Bye, Frank,” she hollers over her shoulder, grabbing my free hand and pulling me toward the elevator bank.
I can feel her touch radiating all the way up my arm, and like a zap to my heart I’m shaken by how good it feels. She’s still trying not to laugh as we get on the elevator, but I’m stuck staring at where our hands are linked. When she looks down, noticing them too, she quickly lets go. Why does our touching seem to turn us both into teenagers, incapable of adult interaction?
