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I looked up at the light gray two-story condo that was lined up with others exactly the same but with a slightly different color. Though the condo was two stories, it appeared that it was actually one story of living space that sat on top of the garage.
I wasn’t surprised when I got out of the car that Mr. D’s garage appeared as organized and orderly as it was. Everything seemed to have a home. He had a mountain bike hanging on a rack on the side, and above my head hung two kayaks. There was also a punching bag in the far corner with some hand weights below it. It made sense that Mr. D would be so active considering he was obviously in such good shape. And it also made sense he would be into the outdoors since—other than myself—it seemed everyone in Black Mountain loved nature and outdoor living to some degree.
The garage door closed behind us as we walked up the stairs to the main level. Even though there were no fancy gates surrounding the house, or a keypad to get in, I hadn’t felt this level of safe in a long time. Mr. D didn’t seem like the violent type, but he also gave me the impression he wouldn’t back down in a fight either.
As we walked into the condo, it was exactly as I pictured.
Masculine.
There was a brown leather couch that sat in front of a large-screen television. Next to the couch was a matching reclining chair, and by the wear and tear of the leather, I could see he enjoyed spending time in it. The living room also had a gas fireplace, cathedral ceilings making the room look much larger than it was, and an old chest being used as a coffee table. Mr. D took my books from me and set them on the table, and I dropped my bag beside them before continuing to look around. There was also a sliding glass door that led out to a deck or porch or something, but I couldn’t tell because all I saw was pitch black on the other side of the glass.
I fought the urge to walk over to the large slider and pull the curtain shut. I never left windows open. Never.
But this wasn’t my house, and we were on the second story, so even if someone wanted to peek in…
But there could be a tree out there, or another building, or…
“It’s safe here. There are cameras all around the property, and a paid security guard patrols the area every hour on the hour. Plus, there is no way anyone can be a peeping Tom.” Mr. D motioned for me to follow him out on the porch.
When we stepped out onto the small balcony with two chairs, a small table, and a BBQ, and even a bird feeder hanging, I could see what he meant by saying no one could see us. The balcony looked over a manmade pond that had a fountain in the center. There were no trees to climb blocking the view, and no other buildings to use as a hideout. I could stand outside like this and never be seen by anyone at all.
I could be outside… something I hadn’t done since…
Mr. D walked back into the condo, and I followed. “So, I have two bedrooms, but I use the second room as my office. I don’t have a bed in there.”
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” I offered as quickly as I could. Middle name Burden that I was.
Adjacent to the living room was a small kitchen. It was clean, modern, and manly. Black granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, and not even a hand towel or any clutter at all. But there was one thing out of place.
I looked up at the ceiling and saw pasta noodles stuck all over.
I giggled. “Why is there spaghetti on the ceiling?”
He looked up, smiled, and said, “If you toss up the noodle and it sticks, then the pasta is done. It’s how I cook.”
I laughed again. I was far from a cook, but his method seemed… very bachelor-like.
“I don’t keep much in the fridge, but compared to yours, I’m a supermarket in comparison. Help yourself to anything.” He opened the fridge, pulled out a beer, and then looked at me. “Can I get you anything?” He even raised his beer. “Want one?”
I laughed, surprised that my principal was offering me alcohol. “No I.D. required?” I teased.
He shrugged. “If you’re old enough to die for your country, then you’re definitely old enough to have a damn beer. Plus, weren’t you just telling me over dinner that you’ve tasted wine in world-renowned wineries that you have to practically give a body part to be invited to?”
I laughed but then shook my head. “Thanks, but no. I’m still stuffed from dinner.”
