Page 4 of Feel It All

Theneighbor—neighbors?Iamnot really sure—should be all moved in now. I should go over and introduce myself, but I hope I can make it inside to freshen up before I go over there. Oh, and maybe I should take some pastries from the store for a welcome present. My unease about meeting the new neighbors came back on the drive over. I guess that’s anxiety for you. No real rhyme or reason, just the feeling of walls closing in around you. My apartment is my safe place, and it’s my own fault for thinking I would always have it like it is. I live in the most adorable tiny duplex; it has a very modern farmhouse style, a white exterior with rich wood accents. The best part is it has a beautiful flower bed in the middle of the entryways and opposing sides.

When I pull into our driveway, I see them outside in front of their door. A tall, dark-haired man whose features I can’t make out for the blonde women whose curves I saw as soon as I rounded the corner onto my side of the driveway. Mentally, I am kicking myself for not putting any effort into my appearance today. Not that I am insecure in myself—I rock—but if I am going to meet them for first time, I wish I just looked a little more put together. So, I take my time getting everything out of my car. Maybe if they won’t notice me, or if I carry in everything at once I can hide behind my junk and they won’t give me a second glace.

Yeah, right. Wishful thinking, Win.

And I am so not eavesdropping while I am stalling…I hear the man say, “I’m sorry but can we do this another time?”

“Please Graham? I just want to come inside for a little bit. Maybe get some breakfast together.”

“Claire, I have been here one day, and I work night shift tonight. I have been up all night and I just want to sleep. Can I just call you later?”

And at that she scoffs; I am picking up the awkward tension all the way from my car. So they aren’t living together? It sounds like he wants her to leave but “no” doesn’t seem to be in her vocabulary from how their conversation continues.

Let it go, Win. Not your problem.

This is a prime opportunity to sneak into my apartment unseen and meet him later, but do I do that? No. I stay pretending to get my stuff together at the car listening to their conversation.

“Claire, if you could just, please…”

And before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “Graham, thank goodness I ran into you. I desperately need your help again.” This is a prime example of saying whatever comes to your mind.

Now that I am no longer hiding behind my car, I can finally take him in…and holy hell. Even though it looks like Claire just forced him out of bed, he is still breathtaking. With dark brown wavy hair, six feet tall at least. I notice that his gray sweatpants and white tee both have “ACPD” on them. I should be thinking about how annoying it’s going to be having one of Dad’s cops right next door, but all I can think about is how he will look in his uniform. I come back from that daydream and they both stare at me like I have three heads. This plan very well may blow up in my face, but I cannot help but pick up the vibe that he wants her to leave. So, he should just follow along and we will be fine.

“My AC went out on me again this morning. Whatever you did yesterday fixed it for a couple of hours. The landlord is coming by this afternoon, but it gets so hot during the day. Do you mind coming over and doing it again, please?” I try to stress the come over part so that he hopefully gets the hint.

It’s like I can see the wheels turning. Finally, he understands what I am doing, and perks up, “Oh yeah, um, I can do that. Really quick though, then I have to get some sleep.”

He turns to Claire, “I will call you later.”

And with that, he races over to my side without giving her a chance for a rebuttal. We shuffle in my apartment, and I do give myself a gold star for picking up my place the other day. It’s like the Lord knew I would use it but did not give me the heads up to look cute while doing it too. Damn, that girl was pretty, and I am trying to not dwell on my post-sister sleepover attire of maroon yoga pants and one of my dad’s oversized beer t-shirts. I lean to look out the window and see Claire shoving her designer purse in her car.

“Is she gone?” Graham asks over my shoulder. It takes me a minute to process that he is talking to me. His voice is smooth and smoky at the same time. I just want to hear him speak again.

“Um, yeah, just drove off. Ha, who knew I was such a good actor?” A “humph” is all I get in return.

Okay…keep it cool, Win. This is one of your dad’s employees.

“I am Winry, by the way. I’m sorry if I misread the situation, but it just seemed like you wanted her to leave, and she didn’t seem too keen on the word ‘no.’ I just kind of started talking and…”

“No, I did want her to leave. Sorry, I am exhausted. I’m Graham.”

He holds out his hand out for me to shake and it is almost laughable how tiny my hands look in his. I do not mean to stare at them, nor do I mean to hold on slightly longer than necessary.

Shit. Get it together.

Gah, he was attractive. Up close, I could see his features better. He had dark chestnut brown eyes, with a strong jaw, obviously. He was clean shaven and his hair, man I wanted to run my fingers through it. He towered over my 5′2″ stature, had to at least be a foot taller than me.

“Right,” I jump back. “It seemed to work, so I will let you get some sleep.” We held eye contact for a moment, studying each other. Why did it feel so comfortable? I hated eye contact. It usually made me want to crawl in a hole, but right now I could not drag my eyes away from his. Graham broke away first. He ran his hand through his dark waves and looked down at the ground. Was he nervous?

“Yeah, thank you for rescuing me. I guess I’ll see you around, Winry.”

I opened the door for him and 100% checked his ass out on his way over to his place. I have no shame, especially when it looks good enough to bite into in those sweatpants. Man, just imagine it in a police uniform.

I was dying to ask if Claire was his girlfriend. I was playing devil’s advocate in my head about it. I mean he wanted her to leave, but then said he would call her. No, let it go. One thing I know for sure is he isn’t mine, technically he is more my dad’s than mine. He is just my neighbor—hot neighbor, though. Nope. Let’s not focus on that.

I make my way back inside. It is one of my rare days off from Crossroads. Last month, we hired a college student part-time, Abigal, to help the cover some of the shifts so Ivy and I are not working ourselves to death. We still try though. Neither of us really likes being away. It’s our baby; we can’t help it.

I go through my normal routine of tidying up around the house and watering the plants. I usually keep my place pretty neat; it is decorated in creams, tans, and dark greens. I have plants everywhere. Growing up, I had the worst brown thumb; I even killed two cacti once. Do not ask me how, I swear they just gave up on me. Despite the many tragedies through the years, I have finally achieved my green thumb. I make my way to the back porch to water my outdoor plants when I am attacked by a black bundle of fur.

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