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“Hello there, Gunther. Are you going to introduce me to your girlfriend?”
I laugh. “He wishes!”
Gunther turns and shoots me a look that says I just said the wrong thing. “Yes, this is my…my girlfriend, Penelope. Her house burned down, so she’ll be staying with me while we get things sorted out.”
I say nothing but gape at him in confusion. Girlfriend? After he acted so put off by my flirting? He knows this ruse for his neighbor gives me free rein to flirt even more, right?
The woman covers her mouth, instantly forgetting my comment, and gasps. “Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry, dear. You must let me bring you dinner. How awful.”
Gunther gives the older woman a smile that would break anyone’s heart. Not mine, but maybe anyone else’s. “You’re too kind, Mrs. Palmieri. But I’ve got dinner covered.”
He does? Huh. The dude probably eats red meat. Raw.
“But I wouldn’t say no to one of your desserts,” he throws out.
Mrs. Palmieri looks delighted. “Wonderful. I’ll be by tonight with some pie, and I will look through some boxes my daughter left when she moved out. You look like her size.”
I want to tell her that’s unnecessary, but Gunther cues me to keep my mouth shut.
To my surprise, Gunther replies, “That’s very generous. Thank you, Mrs. Palmieri.”
I nod and beam at the nice older woman. “Yeah, so sweet of you. Thank you, Mrs. Palmieri.”
Once again, Gunther shoots me a look.
When he unlocks his door and presses some buttons on an alarm pad, I mutter, “What the heck was I supposed to say?”
“Nothing. The less you say, the less memorable you’ll be when someone comes looking for you and asking questions of the neighbors.”
He doesn’t say “if” someone comes looking for me, but “when.”
I follow him inside and try to ignore the shiver than runs down my spine.
CHAPTER5
Gunther
I lead Sara into the front hallway; our first stop is the kitchen. I nod to a barstool at the breakfast bar. “Have a seat. “
After I toss her phone into the safe tucked away in a nook at the back of a kitchen cabinet, I gather supplies from the fridge to make her a home-cooked meal. Behind me, Sara unzips the animal carrier and murmurs softly to her pet.
A smile forms on my face when thinking about cooking for her; she hasn’t had a home-cooked meal in a while.
When I turn around to grab a cutting board from the cabinet under the island, the rabbit sits on the countertop getting pets from Sara.
“No animals on the granite,” I say.
Sara looks up at me, hurt. She juts out her lip so cutely it should be illegal.
“Can I put her on the floor then?” She picks up Chutney and holds her against her chest.
I grab a spray bottle of cleaning solution out of the closet and spray down the whole area where the rabbit sat.
As I wipe down the countertop, I say, “Ideally, she should be frolicking in the woods, far away from my house.”
Sara gasps. “Chutney, don’t listen to him.” She covers the rabbit’s ears and gives me a dark look.
I get busy chopping, slicing, and dicing. It feels nice to be able to cook for someone. Cooking relaxes me. And it gives me something to occupy my wandering gaze instead of staring at her like a perv.
