“WHY ME?” I ASK INTO THE SILENCE. “DON’T YOU HAVE OTHER OPTIONS? People you know?”
He sighs. “Anyone I know, she knows too. They either wouldn’t go for it, or Brooke wouldn’t believe it. But you—you live across the hall. Imagine all the sordid details she’ll conjure up once she sees it’s you.”
I cross my arms, furrow my brow in scrutiny of him. “And why would I do this, exactly?”
“For starters? A free beachfront, all-inclusive seven-day trip to paradise. One I spent most of my savings on.”
Ouch. He really saw a future with this girl. “With a stranger who could easily murder me and hide my body on foreign soil? Or under it. Technically,” I say. I make a mental note to google the island’s extradition laws later.
He squints at me for a moment before responding. “You’re one of those girls who falls asleep watching true crime shows, aren’t you?”
I see no point in providing confirmation. When I don’t respond, he continues, “And second, I’d be forever indebted to you. Think of all the neighborly things I’d be obligated to do for you. Carry groceries, change light bulbs, serve as a pretend boyfriend for any of your needs.”
“That’s incredibly sexist, you know, assuming I need a guy to do those things. And what makes you think I don’t have potentials to do that stuff?”
His mouth takes on a humble frown, his bottom lip pressed tightly into the top one. “You’re right. Sorry. I’ve just never seen a guy coming or going. I never see anyone, really.” He looks around my apartment and I can’t help but think he’s looking for a cat. Or six.
His eyes linger on the row of kerosene lanterns lined along the console table against the back of my couch. It’s become a bit of a hobby, adding new lanterns to the collection.
I shake my head. “I can’t possibly go on this trip with you. I have ten days until this hiring decision is made, and I have cleared my schedule to do nothing but work on a final interview game proposal. And even if I wanted to go, I can’t afford a ticket right now.” I look down at Finn, who’s now lying on the floor between us, his head volleying back and forth as we talk. I’m tempted to use him as an additional excuse, but I know he’d be thrilled to have a week with Tess.
Charlie stops moving, stands before me. “You can use my miles. And what better place to get work done with no distractions than on a beach in paradise?”
“I have my own miles. Even so, I could not fly three thousand miles away and work right here in my apartment, which also has no distractions.”
“Except if Arsonist Betty down the hall starts another fire. And there’s that bakery delivery truck that drives by at six every morning. And what about the barking goldendoodle in 6F?”
“Betty?”
“Mrs. Crandall. Her first name is Betty.”
I realize he knows more about the people in this building than I do, which is embarrassing. I should be much more observant of my neighbors, the evidence of which is standing right in front of me.
“But you never bark, do you, Finny?” Charlie is kneeling again, his lips practically touching Finn’s snout. “How is he so well-behaved?”
I shrug. “Wish I could take credit, but he has always been like this. He’s a rescue, so I don’t know his full story. He’s basically the dog from the movie Up.”
“I was hiding under your porch because I love you?”
“Exactly.” I can’t quite tell if who Charlie is is becoming clearer or more confused in my mind as this conversation continues.
“If I were to go on this trip with you, how do I know you won’t murder me in my sleep?”
Charlie’s now at my kitchen table, flipping through the stack of character drawings from my sketch pad. Zombies with human flesh hanging from their lips. Aliens wielding shimmering swords. Body-armored warlords. He holds up a drawing of a young girl in a floral bib dress holding a chain saw. “It kind of seems like, between the two of us, you are the scarier one.”
“Regardless, I’m not the kind of person who jumps on a plane with a complete stranger on a mystery trip.” I fold my arms across my chest for emphasis just as the goldendoodle from 6F bursts into a barking fit, his muffled yelps invading my apartment as if to voice his support of Charlie’s points.
He shrugs and starts for the door. “Okay, suit yourself. I just thought . . .” He pauses as he approaches, then turns to face me again. His face is close to mine, and my breath catches as I peer up at him, his pale eyes an almost unfathomable color—like the blue of a gas flame. I want to study his family tree in photos to discern how these eyes made their way to him—based on objective genetic interest, of course.
“You thought what?” I ask, maintaining my position.
He looks over my head, breaking our gaze, then shoves his hands into his front jean pockets. He leans in as if what he’s about to say is a secret, though we are in the privacy of my apartment. When he opens his mouth to speak, his lips are so close they practically graze my ear. “I just thought the girl who kissed me last night at the bar would be the kind of girl who’d take a chance or two.” He turns to leave, but not before I catch the hint of a daring smirk across his lips. He exits into the hallway and closes the door behind him, leaving me standing in the middle of my apartment with a light but pleasant ache in my belly.