Page 71 of Don't Fall

Chapter Nineteen

Tessa

“Do you live here?” a perky looking woman wearing a colorful chef’s smock asks me as soon as I come the stairs, moving within her line of vision.

“Um, sort of. I’m to the right.” I point at the opposite door.

She twists her mouth up, clearly frustrated over something. “Is there any chance you know your neighbor well enough to take a delivery for them? It has to be refrigerated, otherwise I’d just leave it,” she explains.

“I think I probably know him well enough to do that.” Whether he likes me well enough to want me to, is a separate question entirely. One she’s not likely to ask, however, so I reach out my free hand to accept whatever Lane has coming to him.

Except now she’s hesitating, like maybe she’s sensing Lane’s disapproval already. “It’s a him that lives here?”

“Well, he’s the only one staying there right now. It’s not just his place though.”

This only seems to complicate matters for her. Frazzled, she holds the package out for me to see. “My delivery is for Tessa Harrison. Tell me honestly, am I remotely close to getting this to her?”

I laugh, for the first time in ages. “Closer than you think. I’m Tessa.”

Her eyes narrow skeptically. “You are?”

“Yeah, I know that seems weird now, but it’s a complicated story. Just, hold on and I’ll get my ID out.”

She waves her hand dismissing my offer. “That’s fine. You know what, I totally believe you. I have a truck full of things that are probably melting and frankly, I don’t have time to doubt you.” She hands me the box. “Enjoy.” Then she scuttles past me to the stairs and disappears.

“Thanks,” I call after her halfheartedly.

With both hands full between books and my new mystery box, getting inside turns out to be somewhat challenging. I’m so engulfed with my attempts to line the key up just right without putting anything down, I don’t even notice that I’m no longer alone out here.

“Need a hand?”

I spin around so fast at the sound of his voice, I nearly drop half of what I’m holding. “Shit. No!” I scramble to readjust everything. “I’m good, thanks.”

“You’re a real pain in my ass, you know that?” he mutters, walking toward me and taking my bag and books regardless of my telling him no. Then, he takes things a step farther and walks away with them.

“Wait. What are you doing?”

“Going inside,” he says matter of factly as he opens his door and begins to walk in. “Coming?”

“No!” Except I do, because he just took off with all of my stuff.

“Still very contradictory, I see,” he muses in an oddly annoyed fashion.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask, gulping down a ball of nerves that continues to bebop up and down in my throat.

“Because I miss my roommate and I don’t know any other way to get her back.” He walks to my bedroom, tosses my bag inside and closes the door. Then, using more care, he places my books on the kitchen counter before walking toward me to meet me in the middle of the living room.

“What?”

“You heard me. I want you to move back in.”

I shake my head, unable to answer.

“No expectations, Tess. No complications. Just roommates.”

“It’s too late. No one will ever believe that’s all we are now,” I argue.

He shrugs. “People can think what they want. I’m not your professor anymore.”

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