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“I’ve been here ten years. Originally from just outside Madrid.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest, his biceps stretching the arms of his shirt.
Lord, grant me strength.
“Yet you still have an accent,” I retorted. “One could make the same argument for me.”
“True.” He slowly inched toward me. My pulse kicked up, breathing becoming uneven. “Then I noticed the plates on your car. Georgia.”
“You’ve seen me in my car?”
“A beautiful girl driving a vintage Mustang Shelby Cobra?” He laughed under his breath. “Damn straight I’ve noticed.” He gradually skated his eyes over my frame. “I’ve absolutely noticed.”
I couldn’t help the blush building on my cheeks. A part of me wanted to invite him back to my place, put an end to the dry spell I’d experienced lately.
But he was my neighbor. And I really liked this complex. It only took me twenty minutes to get to the ballpark and was a block from the beach. Plus, there was a bike path nearby where I could run in the morning without worrying about traffic. The last thing I wanted was to get involved with a neighbor.
I should at least live here a month or two before complicating my life more than it needed to be.
“Well…” I cleared my throat, stepping back. “It was nice to meet you, Mateo. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
His pupils dilated. “I hope so, Imogene.”
I gave him a sweet smile, then turned, continuing toward the stairs. All the while, I swayed my hips a little more than normal, sensing the heat of his stare on me until I disappeared up the steps and along the balcony.
Picking up a few packages that had been left on my doorstep, I pulled my keys out of my bag and let myself into my townhome, kicking the door closed behind me. I dropped everything onto the dining table, then grabbed a knife to open the boxes.
As expected, they contained a bunch of stuff I’d ordered only a few days ago, yet had completely forgotten about. More things I needed to make this place a home. Frames for photos. Curtains. Even some kitchen gadgets that seemed like a good idea at the time.
Further proof it wasn’t advisable to drink and online shop.
As I reached the final box, I paused, scrunching my brows at the familiar logo of Mama’s bakery on Oahu. She hadn’t said she was sending me anything. Maybe she wanted to surprise me with some of her macadamia nut cookies I couldn’t get enough of.
I tore open the box, pulling out a smaller one that had the Hawaiian art on it she used to package the cookie gift sets she sold for people to take home as souvenirs.
As I lifted the lid, my mouth watered over the prospect of digging into some of these cookies.
But there were no cookies.
No tasty treats.
No sugary concoctions.
Instead, my eyes fell on a silver necklace with a heart-shaped charm.
I hitched a breath, dropping the box as if it held some sort of contagious disease, the necklace falling onto the kitchen floor beside it.
* * *
