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“How close are we talking?” I don’t know why I ask. I don’t want the answer.

“Two blocks down.” He points west and then jerks his thumb to the left. “One block over.”

“Wow.” Of course he’s basically my neighbor. Why wouldn’t he be? “That’s fun and interesting information that I will absolutely think about processing later.”

I absolutely will not.

Just like my poor little car, I will ignore this until it causes me to backfire, malfunction, and possibly die.

Luke laughs and startles poor Mister Bubbles who was just starting to doze off in his carrier. “There seems to be a lot to process.”

So many unspoken words linger behind that small sentence and now that he knows where I live, I wonder if I’ll ever be able to hear them.

Part of me wants them more than my next breath, but the bigger, wiser part of me hopes he stays away and we never have to discuss what happened—what’s happening—between us ever again.

I use my key to open the door to my building, and Isla, Luke, and Mister Bubbles file in after me.

I’m on the second floor, one of the only requirements my mom had when I was looking for a place of my own.

It’s annoying when I need to carry in groceries, but the added layer of security helps put my mind at ease at night.

Isla takes her time, showing us her number skills by counting all of the stairs.

“Thirteen!” Isla shouts when we make it to the top. “Thirteen stairs!”

“Amazing!” I high-five her before I push open the door to my apartment. “That was such good counting. You’re going to get a lot of practice counting how many treats you give Mister Bubbles. He’s such a good boy, how many do you think he’ll get?”

“Ummm…” Her little lips purse and she narrows her eyes, taking her time to answer such a serious question. “Maybe ten?”

“Only ten?” I make my eyes go wide. “I was thinking like a hundred!”

“A hundred?” She giggles. “A thousand!”

“Now you’re thinking.” I wink, sharing a conspiratorial grin with her just as Luke steps through my door.

“Whoa now.” Panic rises in his normally even-keeled voice. “Let’s just give him one to begin with. We have to get the litter box set up and we don’t want him to have an upset tummy before his bathroom is ready.”

“A cat bathroom?” Like all kindergartners tend to do, Isla erupts into peals of laughter when she hears Luke say the word bathroom. Potty humor is king in kindergarten. I have an entire note on my phone filled with bathroom jokes I know kids will love.

And because I am an honorary kindergartner by trade, I laugh right alongside her.

“You two are ridiculous.” Luke rolls his eyes and sets down the cat carrier, but he can’t hide the smile I see him trying—and failing—to fight.

“Ummm…” Isla’s laughter begins to fade at the same time her eyes go wide and she starts to bounce up and down. “Miss Pierce?”

“Do you see the door with all the flowers on it?” I take my bag from her shoulder and point down the hallway. “The bathroom is right there.”

She nods her head once before she takes off running and leaves me with her dad.

Alone.

In my living room.

The awkwardness Isla so gallantly disguised with her constant chatter rears its ugly head.

Silence falls over us like a heavy fog. The only sounds in the room are Mister Bubbles’s cat snores and the gentle whirring of the ceiling fan I never turn off.

The touch of his hand still burns in my palm, my body fighting so hard to remember what my mind desperately wants to forget.

“So…” Luke puts Mister Bubbles’s crate down and looks around my acid trip of a living room. “You’re a big fan of color?”

I almost laugh at the absurdity of his question. “You could say that.”

You know how some people live by the saying less is more?

Well…fuck those people—respectfully, of course.

In my not-so-humble opinion, more is more, and my maximalist wonderland of an apartment is proof.

The only wall I haven’t painted is the exposed brick wall behind my TV.

It’s the perfect background for the TV stand I found at a yard sale a few years ago and painted teal.

It was the first piece of furniture I refinished, but not close to the last. When I told Frederick what I wanted to do, he cleared out a spot of the yard and designated it my official DIY corner.

I spend more time out there than just about anywhere else.

Hand-painted pots I worked on with my previous kindergartners house my thriving plant collection.

My back wall is painted pink, but you can barely see it between the masses of picture frames I’ve collected over the years.

Artwork my students have drawn for me is proudly displayed between prints and paintings from local artists.

The olive-green velvet couch my mom found at a thrift store is covered with throw pillows—some that I’ve bought and a few that I’ve made—and the shag rug protecting my hardwood floors is the only decor purchase I’ve ever made in white.

And I only ordered white so it wouldn’t distract from the floral peel-and-stick wallpaper I applied to my ceiling.

Keisha calls my place a fun house, and even though I know she’s referencing a carnival, I still take it as a compliment.

My house is fun! It might seem like I have a lot of stuff, but I’m still a firm follower of the KonMari Method.

Everything in my apartment has a space and it all brings me joy.

The moment something doesn’t belong anymore, I donate it in hopes it will make another person happy.

“I don’t know what I was expecting,” he says, pausing and picking up one of my throw pillows, “but it definitely wasn’t this.”

“Were you expecting me to be a boring, beige person?” It’s almost comical how little this person who I can’t seem to get out of my mind or my life knows about me.

He looks me up and down, the heat in his eyes searing a path down my body.

I’m wearing my standard uniform for my days at The Barkery: denim shorts, my floral embroidered Converses, and one of my many graphic tees.

This shirt is pink and has pictures of Dolly Parton all over it and—just like Dolly herself—it’s a freaking delight.

In my six-hundred-and-fifty-square-foot apartment, there’s never much distance between me and my guests, so when Luke takes a step closer, he’s practically on top of me.

My lungs turn to ice, my body frozen solid as I watch his hand move to my face. He grabs a stray curl and twists it around his finger before bending down and caging me between the wall and his body.

“I think you forget.” The heat of his breath grazes the shell of my ear and sends shivers down my spine. “I’ve felt every inch of you. I watched you fall apart beneath me over and over again. I’ve seen you wild, baby. Nothing about you, not one thing, is boring.”

“You said I didn’t have a brain.” I’m trying to cling on to any reason to push him away, but the closer he gets, the harder it gets to care about anything but his mouth on mine. “You didn’t want me teaching Isla.”

“I was pissed. Petunia Lemon…fuck.” He rests his forehead on mine, his jagged breathing the only sign he’s as affected by this as I am. “It ruined my marriage. Jacqueline blew through our entire savings and then filed for divorce when I told her she needed to choose between me or that company.”

“I—” I don’t want to know any of this. “I don’t know what to do with this.”

“That’s okay and I’m not asking you to.” His mouth is almost touching mine. I don’t know if I want to pull him closer or push him away. “You’re smart, Emerson. You’ll see. Just be careful, okay?”

It’s like he’s almost begging me to hear him, to listen to his warning. He sounds so sincere, and something inside of me, something loud and unfamiliar, is screaming for me to trust him.

“I’ll be careful.”

I just don’t know what I need to be more careful of: the man in front of me or the company I’ve already invested so much of my time, money, and energy in.

The sound of the toilet flushing snaps us back into reality. Luke falls back, and my body cries out at the loss of his touch. By the time Isla’s little footsteps race into my living room, Luke is already holding the cat crate by the door and ready to go.

“All better, Bear?” The huskiness in his voice as he whispered in my ear has been replaced by the voice of a devoted dad who would never be caught with his daughter’s teacher against the wall.

“We still have to go get Mister Bubbles his bed and I bet Miss Pierce is tired after her long day with the animals.”

“Okay.” If Isla is sad to go, she doesn’t let it show. She smiles her toothy grin and gives me a big hug. “Bye, Miss Pierce.”

“I’ll see you at school.” I hug her back. “Don’t forget to send me a picture of Mister Bubbles.”

“I won’t!”

I stand in my doorway, watching and waving goodbye once they reach the bottom of the stairs. I twist my dead bolt and decide that the million and one things on my to-do list are going to have to wait.

I head straight into my bathroom and crank on the cold water before stepping out of my clothes and into the shower.

Even though I’m expecting it, the spray of the freezing water is a shock to my system.

My skin turns to fire as it hits me like shards of ice.

My fists clench at my sides as I try to resist the desperate urge to add hot water.

My eyes screwed shut, my breath coming in rapid bursts, I take the pain, not moving until my body has gone numb to the cold…

Until it’s gone numb to Luke.

If only the cold could work on my heart, it would make my life so much simpler.