the street. He wedged his car in and slouched in the seat,
waiting for her to show up.
She darted around the corner and up
to her front gate. He watched as she punched the security code and opened it.
What he didn't expect was for her to
turn around and crook her finger at him.
He blinked, stunned. Caught . He never got caught, and she'd
done it twice.
She put her hands on her hips, her
posture showing she was put off by waiting. Then she threw her hands in the air
and called out, "You might as well come in."
And then she rolled into the
courtyard.
He knew that if he missed the gate
before it closed, he'd lose his opportunity, and he was dying to see where she
lived. One day his insatiable curiosity was going to get him in trouble.
So he hurried out of the car and got
to it in time.
The gate closed softly behind him. A
long, dimly lit brick-lined walkway led to a garden and a set of stairs. On the
bottom step, Gwen sat unbuckling her skates.
"You know stalking is both creepy
and illegal, don't you?" she said without looking up.
"It's not stalking. It's
surveillance."
She glanced at him as she took off
her other rollerblade. "Did someone hire you to spy on me?"
"No." He walked up to her.
"Professional curiosity."
"You can't help yourself?"
Her eyes looked large and luminous
from this angle, and his gut clenched with want. "It seems not."
"Bummer. You might at least
consider doing it in a car that doesn't stand out so much." She picked up
her skates and started up the stairs. "Come on."
He followed her up a million steps to
the top floor. Plants encroached on the stairwell, and he had to duck in a
couple spots. "I didn't know I'd need a machete."
"I'll lend you one." At the
top, she opened a door and held it open for him. "Welcome to Narnia."
He looked around as he walked in. The
apartment was sparsely furnished, but the few pieces she owned were good
quality. A luxurious wide, low couch, a coffee table of wooden elephants
holding up the glass top. Vibrant unframed canvases on the walls.
Clean and tidy. He shook his head,
not understanding how his first impression of the woman could have been so off.
"This isn't what I expected."
"What did you expect?" she
asked, setting her rollerblades by the door. "Gourd seeds littering the
floor? Used condom wrappers on the table? Red lights and filmy curtains?"
Something like that. "Am I so
predictable?"
She laughed as she padded to the
couch and curled into the corner. "Predictable is the last thing I'd call
you."
"It's not a word I'd use on you
either." He watched her rub her arches and tucked his hands in his pockets
to avoid temptation, staying where he was, which was far away. He noted that the flat smelled fresh
and clean. He took a deep breath, trying to catch a whiff of patchouli or
incense or something, but he only smelled a hint of lavender.
Gwendolyn didn't fit the mold he
expected her to be in, and he didn't like it. Staring at her, he said,
"You're not who you seem."
She stilled for the briefest moment.
It was such a minute change that he wouldn't have caught it if he hadn't been
so engrossed in watching her. "Who am I?" she asked finally.
"I don't know, but I'm going to
figure you out."
Her nose wrinkled with irritation.
"I don't understand why you're doing this. You can't possibly be so bored
in your work that you have to find pet projects."
The trace of French was in her voice
again. He studied her, trying to find it in her, but she didn't look French.
She looked like a fairy—a wood sprite. She certainly acted like one,
believing in pixie dust and magical places. "Where are you from?"
She heaved a sigh. "What does it
matter? You don't like me."
He nodded. "I didn't think so
either."
"What does that mean? You've
changed your mind?" Frowning, she set her feet on the floor, sitting up as
though ready to bolt. "You can't possibly be that desperate."
"Desperate?" He stepped forward
and pulled her up and against him. He knew the moment she felt
waiting for her to show up.
She darted around the corner and up
to her front gate. He watched as she punched the security code and opened it.
What he didn't expect was for her to
turn around and crook her finger at him.
He blinked, stunned. Caught . He never got caught, and she'd
done it twice.
She put her hands on her hips, her
posture showing she was put off by waiting. Then she threw her hands in the air
and called out, "You might as well come in."
And then she rolled into the
courtyard.
He knew that if he missed the gate
before it closed, he'd lose his opportunity, and he was dying to see where she
lived. One day his insatiable curiosity was going to get him in trouble.
So he hurried out of the car and got
to it in time.
The gate closed softly behind him. A
long, dimly lit brick-lined walkway led to a garden and a set of stairs. On the
bottom step, Gwen sat unbuckling her skates.
"You know stalking is both creepy
and illegal, don't you?" she said without looking up.
"It's not stalking. It's
surveillance."
She glanced at him as she took off
her other rollerblade. "Did someone hire you to spy on me?"
"No." He walked up to her.
"Professional curiosity."
"You can't help yourself?"
Her eyes looked large and luminous
from this angle, and his gut clenched with want. "It seems not."
"Bummer. You might at least
consider doing it in a car that doesn't stand out so much." She picked up
her skates and started up the stairs. "Come on."
He followed her up a million steps to
the top floor. Plants encroached on the stairwell, and he had to duck in a
couple spots. "I didn't know I'd need a machete."
"I'll lend you one." At the
top, she opened a door and held it open for him. "Welcome to Narnia."
He looked around as he walked in. The
apartment was sparsely furnished, but the few pieces she owned were good
quality. A luxurious wide, low couch, a coffee table of wooden elephants
holding up the glass top. Vibrant unframed canvases on the walls.
Clean and tidy. He shook his head,
not understanding how his first impression of the woman could have been so off.
"This isn't what I expected."
"What did you expect?" she
asked, setting her rollerblades by the door. "Gourd seeds littering the
floor? Used condom wrappers on the table? Red lights and filmy curtains?"
Something like that. "Am I so
predictable?"
She laughed as she padded to the
couch and curled into the corner. "Predictable is the last thing I'd call
you."
"It's not a word I'd use on you
either." He watched her rub her arches and tucked his hands in his pockets
to avoid temptation, staying where he was, which was far away. He noted that the flat smelled fresh
and clean. He took a deep breath, trying to catch a whiff of patchouli or
incense or something, but he only smelled a hint of lavender.
Gwendolyn didn't fit the mold he
expected her to be in, and he didn't like it. Staring at her, he said,
"You're not who you seem."
She stilled for the briefest moment.
It was such a minute change that he wouldn't have caught it if he hadn't been
so engrossed in watching her. "Who am I?" she asked finally.
"I don't know, but I'm going to
figure you out."
Her nose wrinkled with irritation.
"I don't understand why you're doing this. You can't possibly be so bored
in your work that you have to find pet projects."
The trace of French was in her voice
again. He studied her, trying to find it in her, but she didn't look French.
She looked like a fairy—a wood sprite. She certainly acted like one,
believing in pixie dust and magical places. "Where are you from?"
She heaved a sigh. "What does it
matter? You don't like me."
He nodded. "I didn't think so
either."
"What does that mean? You've
changed your mind?" Frowning, she set her feet on the floor, sitting up as
though ready to bolt. "You can't possibly be that desperate."
"Desperate?" He stepped forward
and pulled her up and against him. He knew the moment she felt
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