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I feel horrible that Lisa’s running late. I try calling her to see where she is, but she doesn’t answer. I cringe and turn back to Walt and Mason.
“I’m sorry. I know this is a waste of time. Maybe we could just have another resident buzz us into the building and you could get a feel for it that way?” I ask, trying to be a team player.
He pockets his phone and shakes his head. “I won’t cosign on a lease for an apartment I haven’t seen.”
Well then…
I rock back on my heels and look down the street again, willing Lisa to appear out of thin air. Ten minutes go by like this. Ten minutes spent with Mason and Walt, while they continue working and I continue to be largely ignored. Then a cab pulls up and Lisa throws the back door open before it even comes to a complete stop.
“Sorry, sorry. You know how it is. Traffic was backed up on Broadway for miles,” she says, already procuring the keys to the unit from her purse. She barely stops to nod at the guys, but when she does, she does a double take to look back at Walt, her eyes going wide with interest. I smile to myself—because, well, you have to find humor somewhere—and then fall in step behind her.
I’m grateful that Walt doesn’t chastise her about her tardiness. In fact, he doesn’t mention it at all. To do that, he’d have to speak, and I’m now realizing he is apparently repelled by speech. He’d rather lurk in silence like some great monster.
It’s annoying because it means I end up talking more to overcompensate. I talk his ear off on the way up to the apartment.
“Lisa says this neighborhood is up and coming. Crime rates were bad in the 90s, but they’ve slowly declined since then. And it’s a short commute to the subway, which is nice, because I’ll definitely need to use it. Oh, and rent includes utilities. Isn’t that great? I won’t have to worry about covering that bill as well.”
He’s walking behind me up the stairs so that I have to turn back to see him. His gaze is down on the steps, not on me, so short of outright demanding to know whether he’s been listening to me, I’m left totally hanging.
“Lisa, are there not any units available on the lower floors?” he asks as we round the stairwell up to the fifth floor.
Maybe he’s taken notice of my labored breathing. Goody.
“I’m afraid not. I think the tenants on the first three floors have been there for decades, and I doubt they have any plans of moving. A unit opened up on the fifth floor last month, but it rented quickly.”
He hums as if slightly disappointed by that answer, and I wince, realizing he could easily put a stop to this whole thing if he wanted to. I really need him to cosign on this apartment, which means I really need him to like it.
“Wait until you see the huge window in the living room!” I say, exuding enthusiasm on levels not seen outside a Super Bowl halftime show. I might as well throw confetti in the air when we step into the apartment with the way my hands wave everywhere, pointing out various amenities. “Just look at the size of this place!”
Ignoring me, Walt turns to Lisa. “Does it have central heating and air?”
“No, but look at this great window unit,” I reply, beating Lisa to the punch.
He hums under his breath then wanders into the kitchen, his features inscrutable. There, he points out that there’s no dishwasher, which seems minor once he points out a previously undetected mold problem near the refrigerator.
“I can scrub that mold right out!” I promise, the pitch of my voice rising more by the minute.
Mason, meanwhile, hovers near the door like he’s scared the apartment will somehow contaminate him. Walt wanders back into the living room and starts to head for the bedroom. My eyes widen in alarm as I imagine all the things he’ll find fault with in there. I scurry across the apartment and slide in front of the door just as his hand reaches out to turn the knob. His fingers brush my hip as I flash him a wide smile.
“Close your eyes.”
His brows furrow in confusion. “What?”
“C’mon, close your eyes. Humor me.”
He steps back and looks away, clearing his throat. Boy do I annoy him. I really think he has to hold himself back around me to a degree he’s not used to. I wonder how much longer he’ll manage to tamp down his real opinion of me underneath that gentlemanly façade.
“Walt. Humor me,” I say again, trying to coax him into cooperating.
His jaw flexes as he locks it tight, and then miraculously, he does what I say, closing his eyes so his thick eyelashes flutter across his cheekbones. For a moment, I forget what I was supposed to be doing and just stare at him like that, knowing he can’t see me, taking my full fill. His cheekbones are so pronounced. His nose is perfectly straight. From this angle, he reminds me of a great Romanesque statue, and my fingers ache to draw him.
