By Linda Boulanger (A Key ~ Noon ~ Falling Leaves)
That did it! They’d done it again with their laughter and hugs. It had zipped the spring right out of my step … again. I was sick of it!
He smiled at me and looked away as I walked by. She said hi, her eyes filled with playfulness. She’d been teasing him about something. I nodded, thinking I’d be all happy camperfied too if I had a guy like that. I sighed and turned up the walkway to my place. I was glad our units weren’t side-by-side so I didn’t have to share a stoop with them or listen to their happiness through the walls.
Huh. I hadn’t noticed the railing was loose. I’d have to report that to the landlord … which meant a call to my dad. He owned the building. He’d lived there years before while attending the university just down the street. He’d worked his way through school selling bits and pieces of his artwork and playing curator at the Campus Gallery – where I now worked.
Dad had painted and given art lessons in the very unit that I now called mine. And, when opportunity had knocked, long after he’d gotten his big break, he’d bought the building … and the Gallery. He’d said it was nostalgia. More likely he knew they were great investments and my future.
Hearing them talking by the curb as I tried to get my key to fit brought me back. His laughter floated around me not unlike the leaves that glided down from the changing trees. I felt the goose bumps prickling my skin like they did every time I heard him. I wanted to turn around and take a peek, but I didn’t because I knew what I would see. Him. Her. Together. I wondered if there would ever be anyone like him for me.
I tried to blow my bangs out of my eyes so I could see what I was doing. Darn that key! I fumbled with the bag of groceries, overfilled of course. I couldn’t blame the store. One bag, I’d said, thinking it would be easier. Wrong! The thing was top-heavy and kept trying to topple no matter how I balanced it. Yep. There went my apples. I let out a disgusted groan as my forehead smacked against the door jam.
“Can I help?”
I couldn’t move. It was him. Talking to me! I could see him out of the corner of my eye, standing there, his beautiful face poking out from the neck of his fisherman’s sweater – right where it should be. He was holding my apples.
I should move. I should say something. Oh God! Help me! I could feel the nervous twitch in my stomach. Please don’t let me puke on his shoes!
“Thanks,” I heard myself say instead as I somehow managed to push myself off my front door. “I can’t seem to get my key to work.” I bit my lower lip then tried to twist my mouth into something that resembled a smile. I was either successful or looked ridiculous because he laughed.
“Your name’s Paige, right?” He traded me an apple for my key.
I nodded, overwhelmed by the fact that he knew my name.
“I’m Michael.” He smiled again, the dimples in his cheeks constricting my lungs until I wasn’t sure but I think they forgot how to breathe. He held up my key. “I think your key might fit better in your door than it does mine.” He laughed at my horror as I stepped back to confirm what he’d said.
I groaned, though I was thinking how much I liked his laugh. It was a hearty sound that made me laugh too.
“You have a great smile. You don’t use it nearly enough.”
I blushed. My cheeks turning as red as the apples he returned to my bag right before his fingers rakes across my forehead, pushing back the crop of bangs that still hung in my eyes.
“That’s better. I wasn’t sure if they were green or blue. It’s hard to tell from a distance.”
My face was locked in a perpetual smile. “They’re blue,” I said, “with a hint of green.” It hit me. He’d obviously taken note of my appearance some time before.
He traded the key for my top-heavy bag of groceries and followed me to my door – the right door. Without reserve or an invitation, he slipped inside. He knew exactly where he was going. The layout of every unit was the same.
“Wow!” He’d taken it upon himself to start unloading the bag. “Planning a feast?”
I laughed. I liked to cook and I told him so. I could see the longing in his eyes.
“You should invite a starving artist to dinner sometime.” He was fishing.
“You know one?” I already knew the answer. I’d seen him sitting outside his place with his art supplies every Saturday at noon for the past three months. He laughed. So did I. And then I sobered. “Don’t you think your girlfriend might mind?” My stomach knotted. Hadn’t they been hugging at the curb as I’d walked by?
His laughter filled my kitchen. “Are you talking about Carrie?” he asked through mirth that filled his eyes with tears.
I shrugged and handed him a tissue. I didn’t understand his laughter and I certainly didn’t know her name.
“Carrie’s my sister. We’re rooming together to save money. Her husband’s playing at minor league ball while we both take classes at the university. With his pay, her part-time job, and my art scholarships, we manage the two bedroom pretty well. Can’t beat the location.”
I wanted to agree but my voice had left me. My head refused to move. This was too good to be true. My mistake seemed to be the key to happiness and it felt even better than the noonday sun shinning down as I’d walked along longing, listening to the crackle of fallen leaves beneath my feet on a near-empty sidewalk.
That did it! They’d done it again with their laughter and hugs. It had zipped the spring right out of my step … again. I was sick of it!
He smiled at me and looked away as I walked by. She said hi, her eyes filled with playfulness. She’d been teasing him about something. I nodded, thinking I’d be all happy camperfied too if I had a guy like that. I sighed and turned up the walkway to my place. I was glad our units weren’t side-by-side so I didn’t have to share a stoop with them or listen to their happiness through the walls.
Huh. I hadn’t noticed the railing was loose. I’d have to report that to the landlord … which meant a call to my dad. He owned the building. He’d lived there years before while attending the university just down the street. He’d worked his way through school selling bits and pieces of his artwork and playing curator at the Campus Gallery – where I now worked.
Dad had painted and given art lessons in the very unit that I now called mine. And, when opportunity had knocked, long after he’d gotten his big break, he’d bought the building … and the Gallery. He’d said it was nostalgia. More likely he knew they were great investments and my future.
Hearing them talking by the curb as I tried to get my key to fit brought me back. His laughter floated around me not unlike the leaves that glided down from the changing trees. I felt the goose bumps prickling my skin like they did every time I heard him. I wanted to turn around and take a peek, but I didn’t because I knew what I would see. Him. Her. Together. I wondered if there would ever be anyone like him for me.
I tried to blow my bangs out of my eyes so I could see what I was doing. Darn that key! I fumbled with the bag of groceries, overfilled of course. I couldn’t blame the store. One bag, I’d said, thinking it would be easier. Wrong! The thing was top-heavy and kept trying to topple no matter how I balanced it. Yep. There went my apples. I let out a disgusted groan as my forehead smacked against the door jam.
“Can I help?”
I couldn’t move. It was him. Talking to me! I could see him out of the corner of my eye, standing there, his beautiful face poking out from the neck of his fisherman’s sweater – right where it should be. He was holding my apples.
I should move. I should say something. Oh God! Help me! I could feel the nervous twitch in my stomach. Please don’t let me puke on his shoes!
“Thanks,” I heard myself say instead as I somehow managed to push myself off my front door. “I can’t seem to get my key to work.” I bit my lower lip then tried to twist my mouth into something that resembled a smile. I was either successful or looked ridiculous because he laughed.
“Your name’s Paige, right?” He traded me an apple for my key.
I nodded, overwhelmed by the fact that he knew my name.
“I’m Michael.” He smiled again, the dimples in his cheeks constricting my lungs until I wasn’t sure but I think they forgot how to breathe. He held up my key. “I think your key might fit better in your door than it does mine.” He laughed at my horror as I stepped back to confirm what he’d said.
I groaned, though I was thinking how much I liked his laugh. It was a hearty sound that made me laugh too.
“You have a great smile. You don’t use it nearly enough.”
I blushed. My cheeks turning as red as the apples he returned to my bag right before his fingers rakes across my forehead, pushing back the crop of bangs that still hung in my eyes.
“That’s better. I wasn’t sure if they were green or blue. It’s hard to tell from a distance.”
My face was locked in a perpetual smile. “They’re blue,” I said, “with a hint of green.” It hit me. He’d obviously taken note of my appearance some time before.
He traded the key for my top-heavy bag of groceries and followed me to my door – the right door. Without reserve or an invitation, he slipped inside. He knew exactly where he was going. The layout of every unit was the same.
“Wow!” He’d taken it upon himself to start unloading the bag. “Planning a feast?”
I laughed. I liked to cook and I told him so. I could see the longing in his eyes.
“You should invite a starving artist to dinner sometime.” He was fishing.
“You know one?” I already knew the answer. I’d seen him sitting outside his place with his art supplies every Saturday at noon for the past three months. He laughed. So did I. And then I sobered. “Don’t you think your girlfriend might mind?” My stomach knotted. Hadn’t they been hugging at the curb as I’d walked by?
His laughter filled my kitchen. “Are you talking about Carrie?” he asked through mirth that filled his eyes with tears.
I shrugged and handed him a tissue. I didn’t understand his laughter and I certainly didn’t know her name.
“Carrie’s my sister. We’re rooming together to save money. Her husband’s playing at minor league ball while we both take classes at the university. With his pay, her part-time job, and my art scholarships, we manage the two bedroom pretty well. Can’t beat the location.”
I wanted to agree but my voice had left me. My head refused to move. This was too good to be true. My mistake seemed to be the key to happiness and it felt even better than the noonday sun shinning down as I’d walked along longing, listening to the crackle of fallen leaves beneath my feet on a near-empty sidewalk.
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