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I’m just being a good American.
That’s all, I convince myself, as I slide my credit card into the machine.
Soon after I get home, I unload the tree and write a little note on the red card attached to the tree’s pot.
“If you need ornaments, we have plenty leftover.–Ava”
Then, before losing my nerve, I jot down my cell phone number on the card.It only seems right since he’s already in my contact list.I would have given my number to him last night except that I was afraid I’d look like I was hoping to be something more than just his neighbor.
Because I’m not.
I’m just being neighborly.
Nothing about this insinuates that Harris is the man of my dreams and in an alternate reality, we’re having wild, unbridled sex right now.(That same alternate universe where babysitters are cheap and the clouds rain Hershey’s syrup.)
I wrap my scarf around my neck before heading out my door again, only because it’s really cold and not at all because I’ve been told the scarf brings out the blue in my eyes.
Really, it isn’t.
Last night was way too enjoyable for me.I just don’t have men over for dinner.On the rare occasions that I’ve ventured out on a date, it’s usually with a fellow divorced parent, some as awkward about the dating thing as I am.
Others are way too anxious to get into the sack with me.It’s amazing how men assume you aredesperatewhen you’re a single mom.
Desperate.I stiffen suddenly at the thought.
I hope dropping off a little tree doesn’t look desperate to Harris.Because I’m not.
Well, maybe I am.But the tree has nothing to do with that.
But it couldlookthat way.
I find myself snorting.This guy can get any woman in Annapolis.It would never even cross his mind to think of the mom next door as anyone with date potential.
Stepping into the brisk winter air, a breeze blows in from the Severn and I glance in the direction of the water.Even in the cold, the sight of it warms me somehow.
As I approach the steps to his door, I glance to the windows on the house’s second floor.I don’t think Mrs.Marshall is even home now.She’s usually in Florida at this time of year.Then my eyes migrate downward to the tiny window of the basement apartment, and I picture Harris in there.
It’s early.Maybe he’s in bed.
My mind conjures up an image of him, and I will neither confirm nor deny whether he is clothed in the picture I draw up in my mind.
Steam escapes my body through my open winter coat.
What is the matter with me?I’m just trying to be neighborly.That’s all.
And yet…
I stop just short of the top of the stairs that lead to his door.
Dinner last night wasneighborly.My son invited him.I went along with it.
Now to follow-up by bringing this guy a tree?
Oh my goodness, I suddenly think.Thisreeksof desperation.
My jaw gapes.How can I possibly be so out of practice that I didn’t see this?
I turn quickly on my heel to race back to my house with the tree still in my arms, when my blood chills at the sound of a creaking door behind me.
