He raised his eyes to the ceiling as hail continued to pound the roof. They lived on the top floor of their building, and sometimes it sounded like the weather was coming right through the tiles. “I guess I can’t make you go out for your own in this weather. If you make the eggs, I’ll bring the tortillas.”
“Deal.”
“See you in five.” And he shut the door in her face.
Devon shook her head. She almost rolled her eyes, but it was entirely too painful to move them. So, she went back to her place to start scrambling up the eggs and salsa. Breakfast Taco Sundays were a thing they’d started shortly after Devon had moved in, after the first time she’d knocked on his door to borrow some tortillas and he’d let her have some as long as he was invited to breakfast. They’d hit it off immediately, and Frank remained her one and only friend in this city. The conversation normally revolved around the latest series on Netflix and the occasional breakdown of the previous night’s activities if either of them had happened to brave the singles scene. Or sometimes they watched the latest horror flick (in the morning when the sun was out and the monsters couldn’t get them) and hardly spoke at all, but it was nice to have another body in the room either way.
Five minutes later, on the dot, Frank strutted into her apartment, and he’d even had the decency to throw on some lounge pants. “Don’t worry, Dev, my love. I have exactly what you need.”
“Tortillas?”
“And Ma’s famous hangover recipe.”
Devon’s stomach heaved. “I couldn’t possibly drink that stuff again.”
“That’s what you said last time, but it worked, didn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t know. My body went into evacuation mode as soon as I choked it down.”
“And you felt better, right?”
She had to admit, she had. But she would only ever admit it to herself. Never to Frank. He would tell his mother, and like any good Italian woman, she would immediately take the compliment to mean Devon was the woman who had finally—finally!—managed to capture her only son’s heart. His mother had been set on this outcome since the moment she’d laid eyes on the new neighbor when they’d passed in the hallway a few months before. She liked Devon. Enough that she would even overlook the unfortunate fact that Devon’s family was originally from Kenya and not even a smidge Italian, though she was convinced there had to be at least a dab of it somewhere in Devon’s ancestry due to the lightness of her skin and her love of pasta.
She also conveniently overlooked the fact that her son was extremely gay.
“So, I actually had a date last night,” Frank said as he set the jar of green stuff on the counter.
Devon turned off the stove and grabbed a plate from the cabinet. She glanced over her shoulder as she opened the tortillas. “You did?” she asked with genuine enthusiasm. “How did it go?” Much like her, Frank was a bit of a homebody, and didn’t get out much, despite the fact that he looked like a younger, more masculine, yet at the same time prettier, Richard Gere. She was a recluse, too, but she had good reasons. Frank did not.
He shrugged. “Okay, I guess.” His eyes widened. “Oh! I almost forgot. When he left this morning, there was some guy lurking around your apartment door. I asked if I could help him. He glared at me and left.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Guess I’m not his type.”
Turning with the plate of breakfast tacos in her hand, she frowned at him. “One. I’d say your date was more than okay if he spent the night. And two, who was it?”
“Just a guy I met on the hike and bike trail the other morning when we had that warm day. Thomas? Magnus? Something like that.”
She rolled her eyes. “No, dufus. The guy lurking around my door.”
He shrugged. “Don’t know, my love. Never saw him before. And he wasn’t real chatty.”
She frowned, trying to place who it could’ve been, and headed to the small table tucked into the corner of the kitchen, plate of tacos in hand. Frank placed his hand on the small of her back as she passed him to escort her to the table.
Devon immediately stiffened, her feet tripping over each other. Not because he was touching her; Frank was a very touchy guy. But for some reason, the warmth of his hand on her back plucked at something in her brain.
Frank caught the plate before she dropped it. “Hey! Hey! That’s my breakfast.” Placing it carefully on the table, he frowned at her. “What’s up? You okay?”
“Yeah.” She shook her head slightly. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just…” She wasn’t sure what had just happened. But something about the way he’d just touched her seemed so familiar….
“You should drink The Remedy.”
Whatever had been teasing the edge of her memory, it was gone. Devon made a face. “Ugh. Stop talking about it. I’m not drinking it. I just need some food and some more Advil, then I gotta get ready for work.”
“But it’s Friday. Which is almost Sunday. I thought we could sit around in our underwear and eat unhealthy delivery food we can’t afford and binge on Netflix.”
“You sit around in your underwear. I have the decency to wear clothes. And don’t you have to work?”
“Nope. It’s a skeleton crew day.” He looked so forlorn, she wished she didn’t have to. “I wish I could, but I need the cash. Or I won’t be able to pay for the subscription.”
“We can watch at my place.”
