Page 12 of At Your Door

When Griffon turns back to face me, something in her gaze feels different. The dark blue of her eyes seems to deepen, and I swear I notice her jaw tighten. Slowly, I feel my legs grow weaker as we stand there in silence, staring at each other until she finally raises an eyebrow.

Reluctantly, I step aside to let her in.

CHAPTER 7

MIA

Griffon has been in my bathroom for almost an hour now. In that time, I did absolutely nothing except clean up my popcorn mess and pace around. I can’t even remember the last time I had time off from work, let alone the last time someone other than El was in my apartment. So, this feels weird for a lot of reasons.

At first, I kept getting up to check on Griffon, only to psych myself out and sit back down. But now, to distract myself, I’ve planted my feet in the kitchen, channeling all my energy into washing dishes.

Surprisingly, she hasn’t come out or tried to talk to me, and I can't decide if I’m relieved or disappointed.

After a while, though, I had to put on headphones because the sounds coming from the bathroom were insanely distracting.

Suddenly, I could hear everything—Griffon's grunts, her tools clanging against the pipes—it was all too much.

It felt like I was watching a movie scene when the plumber comes out of the bathroom shirtless, drenched in sweat, and prepared to say the corniest line.

“Can I fix anything else for you?”

As my mind continues to roam through fully immersive fantasies, I’m quickly snapped back to reality when I hear thesound of my bathroom door closing. Her low footsteps steadily grow closer, but for some reason, I can’t bring myself to drop the dish and turn around. It’s not that I actually think she’s going to be shirtless and covered in sweat... but the thought alone makes me freeze.

“Okay! You’re all set!” Griffon shouts as she enters the kitchen.

Her words made me drop the plate I was washing as I whipped my head around. “What do you mean, you're all set?”

I instantly regret sounding so surprised when I see her raise an eyebrow at me.

“Usually, that means it’s fixed, done, finished. You do know women are capable of fixing things, right?” Griffon teases while setting her toolkit down.

I can finally get a good look at her now, and I’m proud to say my imagination wasn’t too far off. She’s definitely not shirtless, but a few buttons on her utility jumpsuit are undone, revealing a thin white tank underneath. It must’ve been hot in there because her sleeves were rolled up, and I could see the sweat dripping down her chest from across the room. Instead of letting my gaze follow that trail down her shirt, I shake my head and roll my eyes at her comment.

“No, I just meant the toilet’s been sounding like that for years. And you’re telling me you just walked in there and fixed it in under an hour?”

Now, she’s wearing the same self-satisfied look she had when she first caught me off guard at work, her bright smile making it impossible to miss.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, yes.”

When I don't respond, she continues, “Wait, did you think I was in there doing nothing?”

My head whips around, searching for a response, but I can't seem to land on anything.

“No, that’s not what I said! I was ju–”

“No, you didn't. But I can tell that’s what you thought. I can tell you didn’t believe the ‘loud gay girl next door’ would actually be able to fix anything. But that’s okay.” Griffon is already picking her toolkit back up as she finishes.

I don’t even try to disagree or agree. I’m speechless. Even if that’s not what I thought, she caught me completely off guard. There’s no point in saying anything else when she’s inches from my front door.

“U-uh, th-thank you, I guess?” It seems more like a question, but I don't know what else to say.

She doesn’t seem to care much for it, though, as she reaches for my doorknob. However, her eyes catch something, and I can’t see what it is from where I'm standing, but the look on her face tells me it isn’t good.

“Huh. How’s my gift treating you, by the way?” Her smirk grows as I immediately turn away.

Oh, fuck.

Not that damn box, again.

---