My eyes raise to meet his, heart pounding in my chest.
Turning back toward the entrance, I do a quick double take.
This is definitely the right door, the right restaurant.
But this guy can’t possibly be Franko.
Blonde waves and a soul melting gaze.
Must be eighteen or nineteen at the most.
“Franko?” I ask anyway.
“Nope,” he grins. “I have better hair.”
His smile edges on flirty as he holds out a hand.
I reach forward to shake it, but he grabs the handle of my suitcase instead.
Awkward.
“I’m guessing you’re Mark?” he asks.
He said my name.
Oh my God, he said my name.
“I was told to wait down here. When I saw your luggage, I just assumed…”
“Me. That's me, I'm Mark…”
I stumble over the words, unable to form coherent sentences.
“I'm Porter,” he replies. “You timed it well, we're closed on Mondays. But half of us live upstairs. I’ll take you to your room.”
He can take me anywhere he wants.
Lifting the heavy load with ease, he carries it up the stairs.
“This is you on the left.”
He wheels the case through a wooden door with flaked paint.
“And... this is me.”
His hand rests on the door frame next to mine.
“We're neighbours?”
My cheeks are burning.
It’s been years since I met someone my age.
Especially a sexy someone.
This shyness, my coy smile? It’s such a giveaway.
I’m already smitten.
