Suddenly One Summer
Page 11
Charmed by the kitsch of the place, she ordered a large coffee and grabbed a seat at the table underneath the Raiders of the Lost Ark poster. She checked the morning news and her e-mail on her phone, in no rush to get back to her place.
So, her first night in her new loft hadn’t gone exactly as planned. Granted, she’d probably cobbled together around six hours of sleep, which was more than any other night this past month. But she hoped that last night had been an aberration, and not a sign of what she could expect from her neighbor in unit 4F during the course of this summer.
If not, she and this “F. Dixon” person were going to have some serious words.
Fueled by caffeine, she left The Wormhole and headed back to her place. After riding the elevator up to the fourth floor, she got halfway down the hallway when the door to the condo next to hers opened.
Ooh . . . the mysterious F. Dixon, she presumed.
A thirtysomething woman with shoulder-length brown hair stepped out, wearing a black skirt, sleeveless aqua top, and black strappy heels.
Fiona Dixon? Faith Dixon? Victoria silently mused over the possibilities. Eager to establish a good rapport with the person with whom she would be sharing a bedroom wall for the next three months, she smiled as she approached.
“Hi there. I’m Victoria—your new neighbor.” She gestured to her own front door. “I just moved in yesterday.”
“Um, hi.” Looking flustered, the woman in the aqua shirt blushed. “Actually, I don’t live here. But hey—congrats on moving in.”
Victoria chuckled as they passed each other in the hallway. “Thanks.” Feeling a little awkward—Note to self: don’t ambush innocent bystanders in the hallway—she grabbed her keys out of her purse. When she got to her front door, she looked up and caught the woman glancing over her shoulder, at F. Dixon’s place.
The woman smiled, looking decidedly pleased.
Ah, understood. Victoria had the feeling, from the looks of that smile, that someone had just spent a very enjoyable night with the owner of unit 4F, presumably the man with the deep voice.
After the woman in the aqua shirt got on the elevator, Victoria contemplated knocking on F. Dixon’s door to introduce herself. But then she decided it would be a little strange to drop by right after his overnight guest had left. So instead, she unlocked the door to her own loft and put her caffeine-fueled energy to good use by tackling the remaining unpacked boxes.
That took her all the way until lunchtime, when she broke to grab a quick sandwich at a deli down the block. When she got back to her loft, she took a look around for any unpacked boxes that she’d missed, and then happened to notice how quiet the place was right then.
A slow smile crept across her face.
Kicking off her sandals, she armed the security system for her unit and headed into the bedroom. She drew the shades and climbed into bed, feeling rather decadent to be napping on a Saturday afternoon. Undoubtedly, she had plenty of work she should be focused on—her firm would hardly run itself—but after the night, and month, she’d had, she figured she’d earned a little siesta.
She fell asleep almost the instant her head hit the pillow. A wonderful, deep sleep.
That is, until she was woken by the sound of someone sawing through her bedroom wall.
What. The. Hell?
Victoria opened her eyes, expecting to find dust and drywall falling all around her. She rolled over in bed and stared at her wall. On the upside, no one was actually coming through it. But from the sound of things, for some inexplicable reason, the owner of unit 4F had chosen this moment—during her much-needed nap—to saw a hole into his side of the wall.
Of course he had.
Things went silent for a few moments, and then Victoria heard the whirring of an electric drill and someone whistling. She sighed and muttered a few curse words—not that he could hear her, again, over all the noise.
So far, F. Dixon was turning out to be a real pain in the ass.
Five
FORD SMILED WHEN he opened his front door and saw the woman standing before him. “You’re early. Sorry, the place is little messy.”
Brooke Parker, his closest friend since fourth grade, walked in. She looked around, taking in the spare piece of drywall, paint bucket and brushes, and various tools he had spread out around the living room and kitchen area, which he was currently using as a workspace. “Wow. What’s going on here?” She stepped over two large boxes that contained the factory-style oak-and-steel shelves he’d picked up this morning.
“Fixing a hole in my bedroom wall. Then I decided to put up a few bookshelves. Beer?” he offered.
“Sure.”
He headed into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and grabbed a bottle for each of them.
Brooke used a bottle opener to open her beer. “A hole in your bedroom wall, huh? How did that happen?”
“I, uh . . . sort of threw a candle holder at it the other day.”
“Ah.” She took a sip of her beer and then checked out the boxes stacked on his kitchen island. “And the . . . Campaign Faucet set in brushed nickel?” she asked, reading the label.
He shrugged. “Thought I’d update the fixtures in the powder room while I was at it. Maybe put in a new vanity, too.” When she raised an eyebrow—fine, maybe he had gone a little overboard in Restoration Hardware today—he changed the subject. “What’s Morgan up to tonight?”
Looking every inch the happy newlywed right then, she smiled at the mention of her husband, Cade Morgan. “He’s out shopping for crampons with Vaughn and Huxley.”
“Sounds intimate.”
Chuckling, she took a seat in one of the barstools in front of the granite island. “It’s for their Mount Rainier climb. I told you they’re doing that next month, right?”
“You’ve mentioned it.” Several times¸ actually.
“I was thinking about flying out to surprise him after he finishes the climb. Hopefully get a photo of him in all his mountain gear.” Brooke cocked her head when she saw him fighting back a grin. “What?”
“It’s cute, seeing you with your smitten, my-husband-is-so-hot-he-even-climbs-mountains glow.”
“Well, my husband is hot. But don’t ever tell him I said that. Because that man’s ego is already healthy enough.” She frowned, reached underneath her leg, and pulled out a purple, penis-shaped lollipop. Two inches long, and curved upward in a semierect state, it was a surprisingly realistic rendition, complete with veins and two testicles.
So, her first night in her new loft hadn’t gone exactly as planned. Granted, she’d probably cobbled together around six hours of sleep, which was more than any other night this past month. But she hoped that last night had been an aberration, and not a sign of what she could expect from her neighbor in unit 4F during the course of this summer.
If not, she and this “F. Dixon” person were going to have some serious words.
Fueled by caffeine, she left The Wormhole and headed back to her place. After riding the elevator up to the fourth floor, she got halfway down the hallway when the door to the condo next to hers opened.
Ooh . . . the mysterious F. Dixon, she presumed.
A thirtysomething woman with shoulder-length brown hair stepped out, wearing a black skirt, sleeveless aqua top, and black strappy heels.
Fiona Dixon? Faith Dixon? Victoria silently mused over the possibilities. Eager to establish a good rapport with the person with whom she would be sharing a bedroom wall for the next three months, she smiled as she approached.
“Hi there. I’m Victoria—your new neighbor.” She gestured to her own front door. “I just moved in yesterday.”
“Um, hi.” Looking flustered, the woman in the aqua shirt blushed. “Actually, I don’t live here. But hey—congrats on moving in.”
Victoria chuckled as they passed each other in the hallway. “Thanks.” Feeling a little awkward—Note to self: don’t ambush innocent bystanders in the hallway—she grabbed her keys out of her purse. When she got to her front door, she looked up and caught the woman glancing over her shoulder, at F. Dixon’s place.
The woman smiled, looking decidedly pleased.
Ah, understood. Victoria had the feeling, from the looks of that smile, that someone had just spent a very enjoyable night with the owner of unit 4F, presumably the man with the deep voice.
After the woman in the aqua shirt got on the elevator, Victoria contemplated knocking on F. Dixon’s door to introduce herself. But then she decided it would be a little strange to drop by right after his overnight guest had left. So instead, she unlocked the door to her own loft and put her caffeine-fueled energy to good use by tackling the remaining unpacked boxes.
That took her all the way until lunchtime, when she broke to grab a quick sandwich at a deli down the block. When she got back to her loft, she took a look around for any unpacked boxes that she’d missed, and then happened to notice how quiet the place was right then.
A slow smile crept across her face.
Kicking off her sandals, she armed the security system for her unit and headed into the bedroom. She drew the shades and climbed into bed, feeling rather decadent to be napping on a Saturday afternoon. Undoubtedly, she had plenty of work she should be focused on—her firm would hardly run itself—but after the night, and month, she’d had, she figured she’d earned a little siesta.
She fell asleep almost the instant her head hit the pillow. A wonderful, deep sleep.
That is, until she was woken by the sound of someone sawing through her bedroom wall.
What. The. Hell?
Victoria opened her eyes, expecting to find dust and drywall falling all around her. She rolled over in bed and stared at her wall. On the upside, no one was actually coming through it. But from the sound of things, for some inexplicable reason, the owner of unit 4F had chosen this moment—during her much-needed nap—to saw a hole into his side of the wall.
Of course he had.
Things went silent for a few moments, and then Victoria heard the whirring of an electric drill and someone whistling. She sighed and muttered a few curse words—not that he could hear her, again, over all the noise.
So far, F. Dixon was turning out to be a real pain in the ass.
Five
FORD SMILED WHEN he opened his front door and saw the woman standing before him. “You’re early. Sorry, the place is little messy.”
Brooke Parker, his closest friend since fourth grade, walked in. She looked around, taking in the spare piece of drywall, paint bucket and brushes, and various tools he had spread out around the living room and kitchen area, which he was currently using as a workspace. “Wow. What’s going on here?” She stepped over two large boxes that contained the factory-style oak-and-steel shelves he’d picked up this morning.
“Fixing a hole in my bedroom wall. Then I decided to put up a few bookshelves. Beer?” he offered.
“Sure.”
He headed into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and grabbed a bottle for each of them.
Brooke used a bottle opener to open her beer. “A hole in your bedroom wall, huh? How did that happen?”
“I, uh . . . sort of threw a candle holder at it the other day.”
“Ah.” She took a sip of her beer and then checked out the boxes stacked on his kitchen island. “And the . . . Campaign Faucet set in brushed nickel?” she asked, reading the label.
He shrugged. “Thought I’d update the fixtures in the powder room while I was at it. Maybe put in a new vanity, too.” When she raised an eyebrow—fine, maybe he had gone a little overboard in Restoration Hardware today—he changed the subject. “What’s Morgan up to tonight?”
Looking every inch the happy newlywed right then, she smiled at the mention of her husband, Cade Morgan. “He’s out shopping for crampons with Vaughn and Huxley.”
“Sounds intimate.”
Chuckling, she took a seat in one of the barstools in front of the granite island. “It’s for their Mount Rainier climb. I told you they’re doing that next month, right?”
“You’ve mentioned it.” Several times¸ actually.
“I was thinking about flying out to surprise him after he finishes the climb. Hopefully get a photo of him in all his mountain gear.” Brooke cocked her head when she saw him fighting back a grin. “What?”
“It’s cute, seeing you with your smitten, my-husband-is-so-hot-he-even-climbs-mountains glow.”
“Well, my husband is hot. But don’t ever tell him I said that. Because that man’s ego is already healthy enough.” She frowned, reached underneath her leg, and pulled out a purple, penis-shaped lollipop. Two inches long, and curved upward in a semierect state, it was a surprisingly realistic rendition, complete with veins and two testicles.
