couldn’t help but notice how smooth they were. His skin was flawless, like he’d never experienced a moment of manual labor in his life, yet he seemed comfortable with this task.
He wore khaki-colored pants and a white linen button-down, dressed up but not in a suit. His hair was dark brown, but lighter streaks glinted from the sunlight streaming in the open front door. It was styled messy, intentionally so, like a model. In fact, everything about him looked intentional. And perfect. From his disheveled bedhead to his expensive, worn leather shoes. I couldn't see his eyes, as he was looking down, looking for glass. I wanted to know what color they were. Blue? Green? Whatever they were, I assumed they were also amazingly perfect.
He looked so young but his movements and gestures were that of a much older man. He was tall but he wasn't very big. No. It was more like he was long and lanky without the awkwardness of a young man. I glanced away, forcing myself to stop all the analyzing.
He searched the floor for any remaining pieces of stray glass. He spotted one hidden in the corner, invisible to my eye, and quickly swept it into the pile. He turned and asked, "May I have the dustpan please?"
Our eyes locked briefly and I saw them. Violet.
Not blue.
Not green.
Violet.
"Um…huh?" I asked, unable to speak coherently, transfixed by his rich amethyst eyes.
Amusement twitched at the edges of his mouth. "The dustpan, may I have it?
"Yes, sorry. I think I'm just a little flustered still," I explained. He gave me a quick nod of understanding.
He quickly swept up the pile of debris and stood. "Ms. Chase, I apologize for startling you. I have a horrible habit of sneaking up on people. It’s unacceptable.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
“I would also like to apologize to you for the other night. My behavior was out of line." He lifted his hands in the air, one occupied by the broom and one with the full dustpan and said, "I'd introduce myself properly with a handshake but unfortunately…"
His voice was still soft, yet there was something missing. He sounded so formal and stiff—slightly robotic. His apology rang with sincerity yet came across as somewhat forced, like words from a script. Nothing about this man made any sense.
"Here, let me take those.” I reached out for the broom and dustpan. "And please call me Amelia. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Palmer.”
He handed them over to me and I put them away. I returned to find him standing in the same place, unmoved, with an intense look of concentration on his face.
"Was there something you needed?" I asked which caused him to look at me with a confused expression. I pressed. "When you came down here? Did you need something from me?"
Recognition flittered across his face, as if he’d only just remembered why he came down in the first place. "Yes, I heard the delivery man come in and I thought I’d take the box upstairs and ask you to unpack it for me."
“I’d be happy to.” I followed him to the parlor. He picked up the large box with ease. It must not have been as heavy as I suspected.
Halfway up the stairs, I heard my name being called from behind. I turned to find Thomas in the hallway. Mr. Palmer was already at the top of the stairs so I quickly ran back down to see what he needed.
"Do you need something?” I asked.
Thomas glanced up the stairs. In a low voice he said, "I wanted to ask you if I could have your number? Maybe I could call you sometime?"
This guy had balls. Asking me on a date in the middle of work hours. I hoped Genevieve was wrong and this was the kind of thing Mr. Palmer wouldn’t catch on to. I was already walking on eggshells.
“Here.” I fished a business card out of my pocket. In a quiet voice I added, “Call me after work, okay?”
From the top of the stairs I heard a loud noise and I waved Thomas off. I ran up the stairs, two at a time, to find Mr. Palmer. He was on the landing waiting
He wore khaki-colored pants and a white linen button-down, dressed up but not in a suit. His hair was dark brown, but lighter streaks glinted from the sunlight streaming in the open front door. It was styled messy, intentionally so, like a model. In fact, everything about him looked intentional. And perfect. From his disheveled bedhead to his expensive, worn leather shoes. I couldn't see his eyes, as he was looking down, looking for glass. I wanted to know what color they were. Blue? Green? Whatever they were, I assumed they were also amazingly perfect.
He looked so young but his movements and gestures were that of a much older man. He was tall but he wasn't very big. No. It was more like he was long and lanky without the awkwardness of a young man. I glanced away, forcing myself to stop all the analyzing.
He searched the floor for any remaining pieces of stray glass. He spotted one hidden in the corner, invisible to my eye, and quickly swept it into the pile. He turned and asked, "May I have the dustpan please?"
Our eyes locked briefly and I saw them. Violet.
Not blue.
Not green.
Violet.
"Um…huh?" I asked, unable to speak coherently, transfixed by his rich amethyst eyes.
Amusement twitched at the edges of his mouth. "The dustpan, may I have it?
"Yes, sorry. I think I'm just a little flustered still," I explained. He gave me a quick nod of understanding.
He quickly swept up the pile of debris and stood. "Ms. Chase, I apologize for startling you. I have a horrible habit of sneaking up on people. It’s unacceptable.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
“I would also like to apologize to you for the other night. My behavior was out of line." He lifted his hands in the air, one occupied by the broom and one with the full dustpan and said, "I'd introduce myself properly with a handshake but unfortunately…"
His voice was still soft, yet there was something missing. He sounded so formal and stiff—slightly robotic. His apology rang with sincerity yet came across as somewhat forced, like words from a script. Nothing about this man made any sense.
"Here, let me take those.” I reached out for the broom and dustpan. "And please call me Amelia. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Palmer.”
He handed them over to me and I put them away. I returned to find him standing in the same place, unmoved, with an intense look of concentration on his face.
"Was there something you needed?" I asked which caused him to look at me with a confused expression. I pressed. "When you came down here? Did you need something from me?"
Recognition flittered across his face, as if he’d only just remembered why he came down in the first place. "Yes, I heard the delivery man come in and I thought I’d take the box upstairs and ask you to unpack it for me."
“I’d be happy to.” I followed him to the parlor. He picked up the large box with ease. It must not have been as heavy as I suspected.
Halfway up the stairs, I heard my name being called from behind. I turned to find Thomas in the hallway. Mr. Palmer was already at the top of the stairs so I quickly ran back down to see what he needed.
"Do you need something?” I asked.
Thomas glanced up the stairs. In a low voice he said, "I wanted to ask you if I could have your number? Maybe I could call you sometime?"
This guy had balls. Asking me on a date in the middle of work hours. I hoped Genevieve was wrong and this was the kind of thing Mr. Palmer wouldn’t catch on to. I was already walking on eggshells.
“Here.” I fished a business card out of my pocket. In a quiet voice I added, “Call me after work, okay?”
From the top of the stairs I heard a loud noise and I waved Thomas off. I ran up the stairs, two at a time, to find Mr. Palmer. He was on the landing waiting
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