Page 153 of Texting Dr. Stalker

“I knew, by the way.” He hitched up his satchel. “I saw your torch too. I just…didn’t know you could see me.”

I had no idea what to say. We’d crossed the bridge of neighbours to friends but hadn’t established subjects we were familiar with.

The awkwardness stretched.

Tripping backward, I blurted, “I better go—”

“How’s Peng—?”

We spoke at the same time.

Our eyes caught.

We laughed in a stumbling, endearing kind of way.

“Sorry.” He bowed his chin. “You go.”

“He’s fine.” I smiled. “Being the cutest little terror. Put his paw in my latest batch of lemongrass body butter, so I hope no one finds a cat hair in their cosmetics.”

“Uh-oh.” He grinned while stifling a yawn. “Tell him to practice better health and safety if he’s going to help in the kitchen.”

I laughed softly. “I will.”

Clutching the strap of his satchel, he glanced at the plate I kept squeezing. “Is that some sort of shield for talking to me or…?”

Holding it away from me, I flinched at the neon yellow Post-it and ripped it off before Zander could read X’s note.

Zander narrowed his eyes as I scrunched the paper and stuffed it into my paint-splattered pocket. “Nah, just someone I used to know giving me back what’s mine.”

He nodded slowly, his green gaze darkening. “Sounds pretty final.”

“Oh, it is.” I arched my chin. “Some things don’t last, you know?”

He winced. “Yeah, life sucks that way.”

We shared a stare again, the ghosts of our parents and grandparents thick between us. Funny that although I knew his family history, I hadn’t stopped to think how similar we were in that respect. I was a true orphan in this world. I literally had no one alive who shared my DNA but him…he had two sisters.

“How’re Christina and Jolie?” I asked, doing my best to be a better neighbour and friend. “Do they still live a few suburbs over?”

He half-smiled, tiredness making him sway. “They’re good. Sworn off men, but that doesn’t stop my friend Colin from flirting.”

“I think swearing off men is contagious around here.” I laughed a little too loudly.

He flinched again. “After what Milton did to you, I think you’re wise to avoid my sex.”

I let him think it was Milton I meant.

He yawned and shook his head as if to wake himself up.

You’re keeping the poor guy up. He’s dead on his feet and probably performed countless surgeries.

He didn’t need me keeping him from bed.

A bubble of anxiety had me asking, “Do you have anyone to cook you a meal tonight? You look like you might fall asleep on the stove if you attempt to make anything.”

His eyebrows shot up. Pushing his glasses back into position, he frowned. “Y-You’re asking if I have anyone who takes care of me?”

“Of course.” Taking another step toward him, I noticed how he took one back.

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