“I do.” Niall leans against the counter, sipping from his mug as he studies me. “Any plans today?”
I blow a cool breath across the top of my drink before shrugging. “I need to get caught up on a few things around the house. Maybe do some dusting and vacuuming. Laundry.”
God, I need to shut up.
I’m not doing myself any favors here by showcasing the fact that I’m the world’s most unfascinating woman. I don’t tell him I plan to watch the Marshall house across the street. Carly travels for work on the weekends, and I’m dying to see if the white Range Rover pulls up at any point today.
“What about you?” I ask.
“I don’t know about the rest of the day, but I was planning on taking this outside. Want to join?” He nods toward the locked front door.
I temper my excitement as I offer him a simple, “Sure.” And I stifle a chuckle at the idea of neighbors passing by, hiding their sideways glances and making assumptions about the two of us that couldn’t be more wrong.
“We’re just friends,” I’d tell them. But none of them would have the courage to ask. People get too comfortable living with their own assumptions. I’m convinced most of us prefer to shun the truth for reasons of our own.
A few seconds later, Niall and I are situating ourselves on the swing, trying to keep our coffees from spilling as we get settled, and we sip side by side, among the chirping birds and Saturday midmorning sun, among the passing bicyclists and barking neighborhood dogs.
It’s almost perfect.
If only my mind would stop wandering.
There’s still so much we don’t know about each other despite all the time we’ve spent together these last several months.
I can’t help but think about whether or not Niall has a type, if he’s ever had a girlfriend or been engaged. This sort of curiosity is only natural, I’m convinced. Besides, friends are allowed to pry into one another’s dating and personal lives. It’s not unusual. Human beings are built to love and be loved. We’re not meant to be alone. And he’s such a great catch. I’m dying to know why he’s still “on the market.”
His chiseled features, deep-set clear blue eyes, auburn hair, and calm intelligence would make him a magnificent partner for the right person.
I know for a fact he isn’t dating. When you live with someone, when you see their comings and goings, it’s pretty obvious when they’re not in any kind of relationship—committed or otherwise.
Unless . . .
Unless he is seeing someone, and he only visits their house out of respect for me, since he knows about my wariness of strangers.
That’s so something he would do.
But still, my stubborn inquisitiveness gnaws away at me until I can hardly contain it, questions racing from my mind to my tongue in real time.
Mr. and Mrs. Klingenbeard wander past, both of them craning their necks to take a peek at the two of us sitting here together.
Mrs. K waves. Mr. K smiles.
“They recently retired,” I tell him. “Been married over fifty years. Can you imagine spending that much time with someone?”
He takes a sip. “I think it’s a beautiful thing. Rare too. At least these days.”
“True.” I bite my lip before taking a quick breath. “Do you ever think about marriage?”
Niall almost chokes on his coffee, whipping his attention to me. “Why would you ask that?”
Oh, God. Maybe we’re not quite there yet, and I’ve jumped the proverbial gun . . .
“I know. It’s random. Don’t ask me how my mind works. I couldn’t even begin to tell you.” I play off my question with a quiet laugh before hiding half my face behind my mug.
He switches his coffee to his left hand, resting his right arm around the back of the swing—behind me—as he crosses his legs. I can’t be sure, but I think his fingertips just brushed against my shoulders.
“Yeah, I think about it sometimes. Other times I try not to think about it,” he says. “Guess the separation’s really done a number on me.”
My breath catches, and it couldn’t be more obvious.
He’s separated?
Had he mentioned that once before, and I missed it?
Or did I know, and I’d simply forgotten? I do that lately, forget things.
My heart sinks, and I glance down at the warm mug now nestled between my thighs. I want to know everything about the woman he married, and I want to know why it didn’t work out—or if there’s still a chance. Of course someone like him would’ve found love.
Niall deserves happiness.
He deserves love.
I hope for his sake, they’re able to work things out.
But secretly—selfishly—I hope for my sake that it doesn’t happen too soon. He’s only been in my life a short while, and already I can’t imagine it without him. Obviously I don’t know his wife, but I can’t imagine she would be okay with her husband maintaining a close friendship with another woman.
I don’t want to think about that, though . . .
Not right now.
“I’m sorry, Niall, I—” I begin to say.
“Don’t be.” He offers me a warm smile that fades fast, replaced by a quick flex of his jaw. “Sometimes things happen in life that are beyond our control. We can only do so much.”
I’m not sure if he’s talking about his separation or reciting some line he feeds his terminally ill patients when all treatment avenues have been exhausted, but his tone is laced in bittersweet, and all I want to do is take his hand.
But I don’t.
It isn’t appropriate, and I wouldn’t want him to think I’m some opportunistic sad sap.
Rising, I rest one hand behind my hip and stretch my lower back.
“Think I’m going to get started on that housework now,” I say.
I take three steps to the front door, and then I glance back toward him. “Oh, hey, thanks for checking on me. Had one of those migraines again.”
“What? When?” he asks, eyes narrowed.
“Last night. Or maybe it was two nights ago . . . ,” I say, starting to wonder if it was actually a dream. “You came into my room? Stood in the doorway? Said you got home and the house was dark so you wanted to check on me?”
His lips press flat, and he squints toward the street, lost in thought almost.
“I got home around five Thursday night,” he says. “Saw your migraine meds were sitting out and your door was closed, so I left you alone . . . didn’t want to wake you. Last night I didn’t come home until ten. Figured you were sleeping.”
I laugh, hoping maybe he’s teasing, but Niall’s too serious to be the joking type and too much of a medical professional to kid about something like this.
“I swear I saw you.” I think I’m going to be sick. I know what I saw. I heard his whispers as they traveled across the dark room. The more I think about it, it was too real to be a dream. “You were in the doorway . . .”
His chin juts forward, his brows meeting. “Nope. Not me.”
My hand fastens around the handle on the screen door. “Huh.”
“Could have been a visual disturbance. Those meds can mess with your REM cycle if you take too much.”
I want to believe him.