Chapter 6 006
“You have to say thank you.”
Amanda’s voice was a tinny command through my phone. I had her on speaker, staring at the succulent on my windowsill. It looked back, serene and unhelpful.
“I don’t have to do anything,” I argued, flopping back on my couch. “It’s a plant. It was just sitting there. It might not even be from him.”
“Oh, please. A mysterious, perfect little plant appears in the no-man’s-land between your two doors hours after Mr. Intensity sees you flustered at a cafe? That’s not a coincidence. That’s a targeted botanical intervention. You said the soil was wet. He probably went to that fancy nursery on Chestnut Street after he left the cafe. That’s a four-block detour, Chloe. That’s intention.”
I groaned, covering my eyes with my arm. She was right, and I hated it. “What do I even say? ‘Thanks for the plant, sorry I ran away from you in public’?”
“Yes! Exactly that! It’s honest. Just… maybe phrase it a little smoother. A text is fine. Simple. Neighborly.”
“I don’t have his number.”
“Then knock on his door.”
My heart gave a nervous thump at the thought. Standing in front of that door again, voluntarily. “I can’t.”
“You have the courage to DM a professional athlete but you can’t say thank you to the man who lives ten feet away?”
“Felix doesn’t look at me like he’s trying to decipher my genetic code,” I muttered.
“See? This is the problem! You’re pathologizing a perfectly normal, smoldering look. Just go. It’ll take thirty seconds. Do it now before you overthink it into a international incident.”
She hung up, leaving me in silence with the plant and my own swirling anxiety. I looked at it. It really was a beautiful choice. It wasn’t a generic flower; it was something that required care, but was resilient. It was… thoughtful.
Amanda was right. Not saying anything was weirder. It was making a bigger deal out of it than it was. It was just a neighborly gesture. A peace offering for the rental mix-up and my weird behavior.
I pushed myself off the couch. I didn’t change out of my comfy sweatpants and old university hoodie. This was not a date. This was a transaction.
I stood in front of my door, took a deep breath, and opened it.
The hallway was empty. Quiet. I walked the three steps to his door, my socks silent on the carpet. I raised my hand, hesitating for a full five seconds before my knuckles made contact with the dark wood.
The sound was too loud in the quiet hall.
I waited. Nothing. Maybe he wasn’t home. A wave of relief, mixed with a stupid pinch of disappointment, washed over me. I could leave. I tried.
Just as I turned to go back to my apartment, I heard the soft click of the lock.
The door opened inward, and there he was.
He wasn’t in a suit. He wore a simple, long-sleeved grey shirt that clung to his chest and arms, and dark joggers. His feet were bare. His dark hair was slightly mussed, like he’d been running his hands through it. He looked less like a CEO and more like… a man. A very large, very focused man who had just been interrupted.
“Chloe,” he said, sounding not annoyed, but surprised. His eyes flickered over me, a quick, comprehensive scan that felt more clinical than flirtatious. “Is everything alright?”
His voice, that deep, British timbre, did things to my nervous system it had no right to do. I suddenly felt wildly underdressed.
“Yes! Fine. Everything’s fine.” I winced at my own chirpy tone. “I just… I came to say thank you. For the plant. It’s on my windowsill. It’s very nice.”
He leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his arms. The movement was casual, but it made the fabric of his shirt strain. He didn’t smile, but his intense expression softened a degree. “You’re welcome. I saw your drawings. It seemed fitting.”
So he was admitting it. “That was really thoughtful,” I said, meaning it. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to.” The simple statement hung in the air. He wasn’t elaborating. He was just stating a fact. His gaze held mine, and for a second, the hallway, the building, the whole city seemed to fall away. There was just his stormy stare and the solid, quiet presence of him.
I had to say something. Anything. “So, you’re a plant guy?”
A faint, real smile touched his lips this time. It transformed his face, making him look younger, less like a statue. “Not particularly. I just appreciate things that are… rooted. That thrive in the right environment.”
Was he talking about the plant? Or was he, in his cryptic way, talking about me being flustered at the cafe? My brain short-circuited again.
“Right. Well. It’ll thrive. I’m good with plants.” I gestured weakly behind me toward my apartment. “So, thanks again.”
I was about to make my escape when he spoke, stopping me. “Chloe.”
“Yes?”
He uncrossed his arms, standing fully upright. The casual pose was gone, replaced by that familiar, unsettling stillness. “The other day. At the coffee shop. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
The apology was so direct, so unexpected, it stole the air from my lungs. He had noticed. Of course he had.
“You didn’t,” I lied automatically.
One dark eyebrow lifted slightly. He didn’t call me on the lie. He just waited, as if my true answer was more important than the polite one.
I sighed, hugging my own arms. “Okay, maybe a little. It’s just… you look at people very directly.”
He considered this, his head tilting. “It’s a habit. A bad one, in this context. I’ll work on it.” He said it like it was a project, a business strategy to implement. “I am… unaccustomed to casual neighborly interaction. Forgive me.”
There it was again. The strange, formal phrasing. Unaccustomed. Forgive me. It was so at odds with his physical presence.
“Nothing to forgive,” I said, and this time I meant it. The plant, the apology… it was all disarming. “And for the record, I’m the one who should apologize. For the whole… assuming you were a serial killer thing when you moved in. My friend Amanda has a very active imagination.”
Now he did smile, a fuller one that crinkled the corners of his eyes. It was breathtaking. “I am familiar with the type. Your caution was understandable. I would prefer a neighbor who is cautious to one who is careless.”
We stood there for another moment, a truce settling in the space between our doors. The silence was comfortable, but charged with something new. Not fear, but a buzzing, curious awareness.
“I should let you get back to your evening,” I said finally.
He nodded. “Goodnight, Chloe.”
“Goodnight, Leo.”