She walked away from the door and stood in front of her oven, shaking her head. When she’d set the timer, she had been in such a rush and managed to have the temperature much higher than intended. A mistake that she never made… until yesterday morning.
Sighing heavily, she thought about her new neighbor, the one Margaretha had said would be working on the house. And living here. Right across the hall. And he’d seen her practically naked.
Grimacing, she tried to push that mortifying thought from her head. He thinks the worst of me. That’s so like my older brothers. Always jumping to conclusions when it comes to me!
She glanced toward her sliding glass door. His balcony was on the back of the property also, which meant every time she was out there, she’d be on edge, wondering if he was going to come out, also. And when she left her apartment each day, she’d wonder if he was going to be in the hallway.
Argh… stop! Watching the coffee drip into the carafe, she wondered what to fix for breakfast. Standing and staring into the refrigerator, her attention was diverted by a knock on the door. Peeking out, she gasped at the sight of her neighbor. His head was down, but she had no trouble recognizing his broad shoulders and muscular chest pulling at the material of his T-shirt. She glanced down at her attire, glad that she was at least clothed even though the worn and faded leggings and slouchy T-shirt were hardly flattering.
Throwing open the door, she settled her face into the blankest expression possible, faltering only when he lifted his head and his blue eyes met hers. His hair was slightly damp, the length curling at top of his T-shirt, and the desire was strong to reach up to see if it was as soft as it looked… and that wasn’t the only desire running through her. Clearing her throat, she tilted her head to the side. “Yes? Can I help you?”
“Um… we didn’t get a chance to properly meet yesterday,” he began.
“Oh, really? I thought on the several occasions we’ve run into each other, we’ve had a chance to already get to know each other.” His brow lifted in confusion, and she continued, “You’re a grouchy, growly, grumpy Mr. Gruff. You make assumptions about strangers and then proceed to voice your opinion to that stranger. Instead of thanking someone for the idea of a gift, even if that gift turned out to be burned, you make another grumpy comment. So, Mr. Gruff, I’d say I already know you fairly well.”
He dropped his chin and appeared to study his boots for a moment, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. Caitlyn pressed her lips together, and her irritation slowly ebbed. She felt her indignation was appropriate, and yet, her parents had always taught her to take the high road.
Her sigh joined his in the silence now lying awkwardly between them. He lifted his head, his eyes holding an emotion she couldn’t define.
“I’m sorry.” “I’m sorry.”
They spoke at the same time, and his lips lifted on one side. What had seemed like a sneer the other day now appeared more as a quirk. A cute quirk. An endearing quirk. The distinction might be small, but a quirk was definitely more acceptable in her book.
“Look, I’m not usually such a raving lunatic,” she said, one hand on the door and the other fiddling with the frayed hem of her shirt.
“And I’m not usually such a judgmental dick.”
A snort emitted before she blushed and slapped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I didn’t expect that.” Cocking her head to the side, she asked, “So, why the apology? What brought that on?”
“I talked to Margaretha,” he admitted.
Nodding her head slowly, she sighed. “And she filled you in, I’m sure.”
His hand lifted, and as his arm muscles flexed to squeeze the back of his neck, her gaze stayed snagged on the way his T-shirt stretched impossibly tight over his biceps.
“Yeah, she did. She corrected the assumptions I’d made.”
She sighed. “You know, if I was in an abusive relationship, your condemnation would probably have had little effect on me other than to make me continue to feel bad about myself.”
Now it was his time to sigh. “You’re right, and I should know that.”
Something flashed through his eyes, and she sucked in a quick breath. But before she could ask, his face cleared while still holding on to regret.
“I saw you in the hospital, beautiful even with a black eye, and hearing the doctor comment about not letting the guy use you as a punching bag, all I could think of was that you needed to get away. Then, seeing you in the restaurant where you obviously were not having a good time, I continued to think the same thing. I really am sorry, Caitlyn.”
“Thank you, and I accept your— Wait, how did you know my name?” Before he had a chance to answer, she chuckled. “Margaretha.”
He smiled and nodded. “She kept calling you, ‘Our Caitlyn.’ I almost thought that might be your name. I’m Griffin, by the way.”
Mesmerized by his smile, she stared. Holy moly, he really is gorgeous. Seeing his head tilt to the side, she realized he’d spoken. “Oh, yes. Um… Griffin?”
“Griffin Capella. My friends call me Griff, not Gruff.”
Eyes widening, her face heated. “Oh. Sorry. That was rude—”
“Nope, under the circumstances, I’d say you were spot on.”
Still standing in the doorway, she was struck with indecision, uncertain if he’d come just to apologize. He lifted his hand, the pink bag in his hand a tell-tale sign of a peace offering she wasn’t about to turn down. “Penelope’s Bakery?”
“Well, you were nice enough to bake muffins, and since I owe you a thank you for the thought as well as an apology, and since I don’t bake, I thought this might be a good substitution.”
Swinging the door open wider, she waved him in. “Penelope’s is a sure way to get into my good graces.”
He handed the bag to her as he entered, and his gaze moved around the room. She glanced around, suddenly wondering what he thought of her décor.
“This is nice, Caitlyn.” He swung his head back around, capturing her gaze, a smile on his lips. “I’m afraid my furniture just takes up space but yours makes it look comfortable.”
“I like color but understated, I suppose.” She shrugged, then smiled. “You should see the downstairs apartment. Terri and Bjorn have decorated in complete bohemian hippie, and yet, it so works for them.”
“I haven’t met them yet.”
“Oh, you will. They’re super-friendly and you won’t be able to resist their sales pitch on why you need candles, incense, potpourri, and even their special blend of tea.”
“Is that why the hallway downstairs always smells so… uh… interesting when I first come in? It’s coming from their place?”
Nodding, she laughed. “They run a small business out of their home, making all those items.”
He chuckled, shook his head, and rolled his eyes. Uncertain about the eye roll, she tilted her head to the side and waited to see if he would explain.
“I’m sorry, it’s just that I assumed somebody was burning candles to try to cover up their pot smoking. I didn’t know if it came from the downstairs apartment or up here.”
She plopped the Penelope’s Bakery bag onto the counter and faced him with her fists planted on her hips. “You do realize you’re making more assumptions again, right?” He opened his mouth, then snapped it closed, dropping his chin for a moment. She winced, shaking her head. “Griff, I’m sorry.”