Fool for Love (Believe #2) (8 page)

“I’m surprised you know who he is,” I murmur, distracted. I bend down to find a cutting board.

“My mother…” She hesitates but I don’t dare take another look at her. I’m afraid if I do, she’ll clam up on me. I hear her inhale deeply and I straighten my back. I place the cutting board in front of me before turning away from her. It takes me a few minutes to get all the vegetables washed and cleaned up, and during that time, Suzy remains quiet.

Interesting.

I guess it’s not really my business, but I’d like to get to know the woman who I’ll be sharing my home with for the next little while.

“Is this a touchy subject?” I blurt out, keeping my focus on the familiar rhythm of the knife as I slice the vegetables.

“Oh, no. I guess not,” she answers. The vulnerable hint to her voice doesn’t go unnoticed.

“So?” I persist. “I don’t want to pry, but it would be nice to not be living with a total stranger.” Finally, I look up and smirk at her. She snorts, and nods once.

“Fair enough. Well, my mother used to listen to Andrea Bocelli constantly while I was a teenager. I don’t know why, but I just came to love listening to him sing. I guess I have her to thank for that.”

“I’ve never met a woman of your age who enjoys opera,” I muse, secretly happy that she has surprised me again.

“Well, I’m not that keen on opera as such, but Bocelli is just…” She sighs. I chance a quick glance at her before fetching a bowl from the cupboard above the sink.

“Please, continue,” I urge her, grabbing the extra virgin olive oil and some seasoning.

“I can’t explain it properly.” She looks to the ceiling and shrugs. “His voice is just…comforting, while passionate at the same time. I’m always surprised by the feelings his singing brings out in me when I hear him. It’s as if his voice is able to draw out a part of me that I never knew existed, and I feel surprised yet relieved whenever that happens.”

I stop and lean on the bar, captivated by her account. I didn’t expect her to open up to me like that already. I open my mouth to tell her that it’s almost an exact mirror of how I feel when I turn to this singer, but I catch myself. I’m not one to open up to strangers – and definitely not women. I’m a bit rattled that
this
woman, who I have only known for twelve hours, has made me forget my rules already.

Fucking fool. I never forget my rules – and that’s rule number one.

Abruptly, I turn to the food once more, not voicing what my mind is practically screaming at me to say; but as if of their own accord, I can’t stop my eyes from glancing at her briefly.

Her face falls ever so slightly, no doubt disappointed with my lack of response, but I pretend to not see it.

“I told you I couldn’t explain it well,” she murmurs before she takes a sip of her wine.

Shrugging as if it’s no big deal, I try to smile at her. I know I’m failing, though.

“It’s alright. I just wasn’t expecting to hear something so deep coming from a young woman like you. I’m surprised.”

“I don’t think you’re able to have formed a true opinion about who I am, Garrett,” she counters. It gives me pause.

“Maybe not. But I’m good at reading people, and there isn’t much that surprises me anymore.”

“That’s so depressing,” she huffs. I stop once more, blinking.

“Come again?” I ask, thoroughly confused.

She points at me. “First of all, let me ask you something. How old are you?”

I grit my teeth, not expecting that. “Thirty-eight.”

She nods and leans her head into her hand resting on the bar.

“Okay, then. If you’re only thirty-eight – which is considered quite
young
in this day and age, mind you – I find it sad and, yes, depressing if you don’t stumble every once in a while; that you don’t surprise easily. Where is the fun in that?”

I straighten my back, automatically going on the defensive. “Fun? I have fun.”

She lifts an eyebrow, clearly not believing me.

“I do,” I insist.

“If you say so. Anyway, my point is that if you’re unable to keep an open mind, and if you always judge a book by its cover, so to speak, I find it sad. That’s all.”

I grit my teeth harder, unwilling but unable to ignore her uncanny assessment of me.

“I don’t judge people. I’m just saying that people are predictable. The world is not made up of rainbows and unicorns covered in glitter; in fact, it’s a cruel, heartless void. Sometimes, living just plain sucks.”

She doesn’t seem to have a clever comeback to that one. After breaking our stare, she picks up the paper still lying between us – the offending ad about pole dancers covered in pink screaming at me – and folds it neatly.

“Since you’re cooking, I’ll set the table,” she says, ending the subject firmly.

I nod once before I continue preparing dinner. We spend the rest of the time in silence, but I catch her glancing at me as she sets the table every now and then. I wasn’t lying when I contradicted her statement about being scrawny. She’s just a bit too thin, in my opinion. Her tight jeans frame her pert ass, and I can see the beginning of a tattoo with some sort feathers on her left shoulder blade – but the rest is covered up by her purple top.

Her words replay in my mind over and over again.

While I know she doesn’t have a clue about my past, and the person I used to be, I feel uneasy. Her assessment struck a chord in me that I don’t understand.

While I keep reminding myself that this girl is off-limits, I can’t help but wonder if I’ll be able to resist her for the next few months.

I was lying when I told her that I’m not surprised by anything anymore. The more she speaks, the more I’m intrigued by her; she seems older than she is, but still innocent.

If there’s one thing I have learned over the years, it’s to listen to my instincts when they begin to talk.

This time, they’re not merely talking.

They’re screaming.

The question is, will I be able to follow them this time?

I
TRIED TO LIGHTEN
the mood over dinner, talking about home and stuff.

Somehow, though, Garrett had chosen to clam up on me completely. He was not being forthcoming when I asked him a question, and only answered in grunts or nods of his head, eating his dinner – which, naturally, was divine! I gave up in the end.

I’d hoped that we could begin this weird arrangement as more than acquaintances, but it was pretty evident that wasn’t to be the case.

After dinner, Garrett mumbled something about meeting some friends at a bar nearby and simply left without another word.

So now I sit here on the couch, watching some mindless show, not paying the least bit of attention to it. My mind is consumed with thoughts about this strange man. I pride myself in being a good judge of character, yet maybe I’m wrong this time. I don’t understand myself, but that’s nothing new; what possessed me to be so philosophical earlier, practically
telling
him that I thought his life was depressing?

Ugh…bad move, Suze.

If Safiro wasn’t working tonight, I’d text him and ask him if it’d be alright to come over, but I know he’s probably going to get down and dirty with his new boy toy, too. I don’t want him to cancel his plans, and I don’t want to be a third wheel.

What’s a girl to do when she finds herself all alone on a Sunday evening?

She calls her BFF back home, of course.

“Suzy!” Emma shouts as soon as I hear her pick up the phone.

“Emma!” I yell back, laughing. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m fine, thanks. I’m at the shop right now, actually. Daniel is at a special lecture at university.”

My heart warms when I hear the news.

“So it’s going well now that you’ve taken over the shop?” I ask her as I settle back on the couch, getting more comfortable.

“It is, yes. Much better than I thought it would,” Emma replies.

“I told you you could do it. So did Daniel,” I tease her.

She chuckles. “I know, I know. He reminds me constantly about how fabulous he is.”

We laugh in unison, and I feel in a much better mood already. Since Emma met Daniel, she’s become a more light-hearted person, and I love seeing the transformation that’s occurred the past year.

“Enough about me,” she says, breaking my sentimental thoughts. “How’re you enjoying The Big Apple? Found your Prince yet?”

“Eeerm…No to the latter, and kind-of-yes to the first.”

“Wait, what? Why only
‘kind-of-yes’
?” Emma’s tone is worried now. “What’s happened?”

I bite my lip, suddenly unsure if I should tell Emma about the strange development with my living arrangements, but then mentally slap myself.

You don’t keep secrets from your BFF. Ever.

“Well, the strangest thing happened this afternoon,” I start and then take a sip of my wine.

“Tell me,” she urges as I hesitate.

“The owner of the apartment came home three months early.”

“What? Oh, gosh. Tell me more, please.”

I continue to tell her everything that’s happened since Garrett got back, including him finding me in bed with Morgan. Once I’ve revealed the strange conversation I had with him while cooking dinner, I have butterflies fluttering madly around in my stomach. A-bloody-gain.

Emma stays silent for a long time, and I wait impatiently for her to start speaking again.

“Holy fuck,” she whispers.

I snort. “Yeah, you could say that again.”

“What kind of man forgets that his place is let out to someone?” Her outburst makes me sigh, and I lean my head back on the armrest, staring at the ceiling.

“I have no idea. He’s turning out to be quite the enigma. I can’t get a handle on him at all.”

“He’s not asked you to find another flat, has he?” she asks, clearly alarmed.

I rush to reassure her. “Oh no, we’ve sorted that bit out, but still…it’s weird.”

“In what way?” I can hear the puzzlement in her voice, and I sigh.

“I don’t know, it just…
is
.”

“Suzy, you’re not worried that he’ll try something with you, are you?”

“Not at all. I feel strangely safe with him. I kind of wish he would, though.”

“What?!” she shrieks. “But you just said he’s weird. I need more details, please.”