My grin is bright as I look back over to the black and white dog with patchy fur and cloudy, bugged-out eyes. He watches us with interest, although, his tail doesn’t wag, and he doesn’t bark. He just observes. “He’s really cute.”
“He’s fucking ancient.”
“But cute,” I chuckle, approaching the mutt that looks to be some kind of Border Collie mix. The dog’s attention follows me as I close in, crouching down and gliding my fingers between his ears. “You look like a good boy.”
Charlie and I had been thinking about getting a dog. We both worked long hours at the time, so it didn’t seem fair to adopt a pet when we wouldn’t be home very often, but the companionship had always been something I craved. I considered it again after Charlie passed, but then my grief became my companion—and that wasn’t fair either.
There was too much competition.
But now… now might be a good time to consider it again.
Walden doesn’t do much but sniff my outstretched fingers, but I can tell he’s a sweet soul. A loyal friend.
As I rise to my feet, I notice Parker staring at me from the entryway, taking in the scene. I smile at him. “You didn’t strike me as a dog person,” I admit, sweeping a hand through my hair and moving towards him.
“Because I’m such a people person?”
His response pulls another laugh from my lips as I inch my way closer. Parker’s stance seems to stiffen when I’m only a foot away, and I wonder why that is. I wonder why he’s so closed-off and resistant to physical contact, to true intimacy.
Stretching my smile, I reach out to take his hand, brushing my thumb over his knuckles. He glances down at the gesture, frowning, and I feel him try to pull back, so I strengthen my hold. “Can I get a tour?”
“What?” he wonders distractedly, still staring at our joined hands.
“Of your house.”
Parker finally lifts his gaze to mine, brows furrowed together like he’s conflicted or in pain, and then he clears his throat. “Uh, yeah… I guess. Not much to see.”
I release his hand, watching as he tenses his fingers, splaying them apart, then making a fist. “Lead the way.”
Hesitation grips him as he glances around the room, avoiding my eyes. A sigh of resignation follows, and he points behind me. “Living room.” His thumb flicks over his shoulder. “Kitchen.” A beat passes, and he gestures to his right. “Small ass hallway that leads to a bathroom and two bedrooms. There’s a linen closet somewhere along the way.”
“Wow.” My grin broadens as I crinkle my nose. “Very descriptive.”
That little ghost of a half-smile reappears, spiking my heartrate. I would do anything to freeze the moment, so it never, ever faded.
Pulling my focus off of Parker, I wring my hands together and dip around him, sauntering into the kitchen. Curiosity claims me as my eyes peruse the modest space, clean but cluttered. My fingertips dance along the laminate top of the island while my feet wind around it, taking it all in.
This is Parker’s life. His space. His home.
I’m realizing that I know absolutely nothing about this man—this man I gave something of value to. This man who I’m inherently drawn to for reasons I can’t even begin to understand.
There’s not much personality or charm given to the space. No knick-knacks lining the counters, no birthday cards or photographs stuck to the white refrigerator, no color pops or decorations. There’s nothing on his walls either. No canvas prints or family pictures.
It’s sterile. Lonely, even.
Does he have any friends? Close family members?
Is he truly all alone?
The idea grips my heart in a tight fist as I continue to scan over the assortment of cereal boxes, a wooden spice rack, stacks of mail…
And a little pink Post-it note stuck to the side of the fridge, wrinkled and creased. Familiar handwriting stares back at me, sending a tremor through me.
“I think you saved my life that night.”
It’s the only personal sentiment sprinkled into his otherwise very basic living space.
When my eyes find Parker watching me from the same place I left him, a burst of emotion climbs up my chest and causes my eyes to water. “You saved my note,” I murmur in a low, broken voice. I had attached this note to his cupcakes after that night in the rain when I had my breakthrough.
I’m not okay, but I’m not ready to give up that one day I will be.
He’d told me he hadn’t even read the note.
Parker’s expression is minted with vulnerability as he stares at me, a little uncomfortable, like he hadn’t expected me to see that. His jaw ticks while his eyes skim over me, then his gaze drops to the floor. Everything about him is rigid and hard.
Everything except that look on his face.
I approach him with slow steps and a swiftly beating heart, closing the gap between us and reaching for his hand again. It’s clenched tight, only loosening slightly when I give it a gentle squeeze. When Parker glances back up at me, I don’t say anything. I simply give his hand a tug and guide him towards the hallway, my insides buzzing when he doesn’t pull away. He follows my lead.
I’m not sure where I’m going, but as I inspect the limited selection of rooms and note that only one of them adorns a bed, I push through the cracked door and step inside, drawing Parker with me.
Nerves seize me when my eyes land on the queen-sized bed, shrouded in the shadows of the dimly lit room. A nightlight on the wall provides a minimal glow, enough to drink in the sparce and uncolored space. White walls, gray bed covers, a little wooden nightstand with a lamp. A dresser on the opposite wall. A laundry basket partially filled with t-shirts and jeans.
And that’s everything. That’s the extent of his bedroom.
Turning to face him, I let go of his hand and pace a few steps backwards, until I reach the foot of the bed. Parker lingers just in front of the doorway, still stiff. Still strained. His gaze flickers with conflict as his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat, eyes spearing me from a few feet away.
Gathering my courage, shaky fingers lift from my side and carefully slip the straps off of each shoulder. He watches me, drinking me in from the shadows with guarded interest, his eyes dipping when the dress slides down, revealing my black lace bra. I tug it further, exposing my ribs, my abdomen, my matching underwear, and then it glides down my legs into a halo of red at my feet. Parker follows its descent, then drags his sights back up my nerve-wracked body, settling on my wide, terrified eyes.
I hold out my hand, encouraging him towards me.
I need him closer. I need to feel him.
His fingers tap along the side of his thigh as his head jerks away from me, a hard sigh escaping. “Fuck, Melody… I told you I’m no good at this.”
A frown furrows as I lower my hand. “I’m not either. You’re the only one I’ve done this with aside from…” I swallow, pursing my lips. “You’re the only one.”
Parker’s attention stays fixed to the other side of the room, his stance restless, prepared to bolt at the slightest threat. Pacing towards him, my movements are cautious and controlled—as if I’m that threat.
“Hey, it’s okay,” I whisper when I approach, taking his tense hands in mine and guiding them to my hips. His fingers unravel and cling to me, digging into my hipbones with something akin to desperation. He’s fighting something I don’t understand. “Parker, look at me.”