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“Man, is it good to see you,” he says. “Sorry again about the cat.”
“Well I’d have warned you if I thought you were going to show up out of the blue. What do you mean you’re staying there under the radar? Your dad said you were living in a trailer on the outskirts of town. What’s the deal?”
“My place is sort of… not great right now. Noise level issue. Got so I wasn’t sleeping, so I decided it was better to crash at the cabin for a while.”
“What kind of noise level issue? I doubt there’s some high-traffic jetway in a little town like this. Does a neighbor play the drums or something?”
“Just… an issue.”
Okay, so he doesn’t want to give me details. That means he’s hiding something.
But, what?
My mind searches for possible answers as I swing my light out along a path that’s cut into the woods. Maybe his mobile home is parked next to a rowdy bar or poker hall. Or some kind of machinery. Or truck stop.
Whatever it is, the noise is bad enough that he can’t live there.
So, he’s basically homeless. That does not bode well for his Right Match questionnaire.
I play my flashlight beam over the dirt path, hoping to spy a flash of gray fur. No such luck.
Parker heads that way. “We might as well walk this trail a little ways. She could’ve followed it.”
He steps over a fallen log across the path’s entrance, then turns and offers me a hand. His palm feels incredibly warm against mine. His grip is strong as he guides me over the thick trunk. Then we stand, facing one another.
The woods around us smells like pine needles and fresh, mountain air. Parker’s features are shrouded in shadows, but I can make out his bright, brown eyes as they dance over me.
He looks me over, in that way that people do when they haven’t seen you in a while.
And I guess now I’m looking him over, too. He’s aged really well. I’m not sure how he managed it, but he seems to be in even better shape now than he was last time I saw him. That’s quite a feat, given that the last time I saw him in person he was in the thick of a career as a professional athlete.
He’s still wearing the t-shirt, like he ran out of the house without giving a second thought to the falling temperatures. It feels like the Arctic out here to me. Then again, it might be my anxiety that’s given me such a chill. I hate when things happen outside of the bounds of my own schedule. I was supposed to see him tomorrow, not tonight.
On top of that I keep imagining a big owl with a ten-foot wingspan swooping down on my unsuspecting cat.
“Aren’t you cold?” I ask, as I stuff my hands in the pockets of my sweatshirt.
“Nah.” His mouth hitches up at the corner, in a quick grin. “My blood runs hot, I guess. I feel fine. You doin’ okay?”
Then, with his eyes on mine, he reaches out and his hand threads around my neck. He gently tugs at the hood that’s attached to my sweatshirt. His fingers brush against my neck as he fits the hood up over my head. Then he pulls both strings, and the gentle tug closes the fleece-lined material over my ears. “There. You’ll be warmer.”
He starts off down the path.
Don’t read into it,I tell myself, as I stare at him. I can still feel a faint trail of warmth where he touched me.He’s a physical guy.He touches people: hugs them, picks them up, knocks into them. I’ve seen him give handshakes thatstartas handshakes, but then within seconds turn into bear hugs.
“What about the tennis center?” I call out, as I hurry down the path to catch up with him. He’s right. My ears are much warmer, tucked inside this layer of fleece.
“What about it?”
“I hear you were fired.”And that makes you both homeless and unemployed.
Again, I think of the questionnaire I’ll have to help him fill out. Being homeless and unemployed is not good, when it comes to dating. Not good at all.
His shoulders ripple as he laughs. “You ask a lot of questions, you know that?” Then his laughter dies down and he slows his pace. After a minute, he stops walking altogether.
Uh oh.He might be onto me.
I stop, too.
