Melody
He’s beenoutside all afternoon. I press my face closer to my bedroom window to catch a better glimpse. His tattooed muscles flex as he trims the bushes outside of his house. Sweat trickles down between the grooves of his tanned, corded torso. When he stands up straight, he runs a hand through his dark hair, affording me a stellar view of his six-pack. I have to fan myself just so that I don’t pass out.
As if sensing my stare, he looks up toward my window. For the briefest second, I’m met with the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen. I pull away as quickly as I can, pressing my back against my bedroom wall.
My heart races in my chest. Did he see me? I stand there for a few moments, catching my breath until I’m certain he’s gone back to what he’s doing. A tiny smile plays on my lips. Watching my tattoo artist neighbor, Creed Asher, do yard work is the highlight of my week. If that doesn’t tell you how dull my life is, then I’m not sure what will.
I sidestep the window, heading to the kitchen for a cup of tea. Esme, my calico kitty, nuzzles up to my shins as soon as I fill the kettle with water. I pick her up and plant a series of quick smooches on her fuzzy forehead before setting her back down again.
I’m on a strict deadline, but I can’t kick this constant fantasy of Creed knocking on my door to borrow a cup of milk. He’d still be sweaty from outside, and I’d let him in—in more ways than one. I shake the thought from my head as burning heat flushes my cheeks.
This is so not me.
I grab my tea and head to the living room where my open laptop awaits. I tap my finger against my chin, willing a fully formed plot line to pop into my head. It doesn’t work.
Writing Cozy Mysteries has always been my dream, so when my first book sold to a big publishing house, I thought I had it made in the shade. When the series became a bestseller, the publisher requested nineteen more books and I agreed.
I sigh and take a long sip of my tea, then another, and another. Twenty minutes later, and all I’m left with is an overwhelming urge to use the bathroom. Esme’s whining at the back door, so I open it up for her on my way. She loves to peer out the screen door, dreaming of mauling birds and squirrels. On the outside, cats are fuzzy and cute, but on the inside, they’re predators who will tear a bitch up.
I wash up and glance at myself in the mirror. My hair’s disheveled, I’m bare-faced, and I think I’ve worn this sweatshirt three days in a row. With my book advance running out and zero words to hand in for my deadline next week, I’ve definitely seen better days.
I give my reflection a sharp nod, promising I will not stand up until I’ve at least outlined the first chapter. But when I head back through the kitchen, I notice the screen door flapping against the frame. My body seizes; Esme is nowhere to be found.
“Oh no.” I rush over, and to my horror, I find that the screen door’s latch wasn’t hooked. Esme is an indoor cat, and when I got her from the cat café, she was declawed—I didn’t do it, nor do I condone it—which means my baby can’t defend herself.
I throw open the screen door and hobble out into the sun. After being inside for the last three days pretending to write my next bestseller, the light burns my eyes like I’ve been trapped in a bunker. When my vision adjusts, it’s as bad as I thought. There’s no cat in sight. She could be anywhere.
“Esme?” I call out, my head on a swivel. Icy panic rushes through my veins. I check under the bushes, under the deck, even up in the tree, but there’s no kitty to be found. My feet move without my brain telling them to, desperate to see that squishy little face jump out from behind its hiding place. I make my way around to the side of the house.
Esme saved my life. After my mother passed away, I was so lonely. I didn’t know what to do. My best friend suggested I get a pet. The minute I saw that silly little face of hers, I knew Esme was my furry soulmate. I push back a wave of emotion rising in my throat.
No, I will not panic, and I will not stop until that cat is back in my arms.
“Here kitty!” I try to keep my voice calm as I continue my search. “Shit,” I whisper to myself.
“Does this guy belong to you?” A husky voice calls from over the privacy fence. Heavy footsteps thud against the ground, making their way to the gate. I rush over as the metal latch unhooks. When the gate flies open, relief washes over me like heavy rainfall.
“Esme!” I clasp my hand against my chest. “You’re okay.”
Then, the whole picture clicks into place. Esme is more than okay. Coddled in the thick, tattooed arms of Creed, Esme nuzzles into his—now t-shirt clad—chest and lets out a subdued meow.
“Yes,” I finally manage to say as I move toward Creed. “But he is actually a she.”
“Aw, that’s why she likes me so much.” Creed presses his nose against the back of Esme’s head, then passes her off to me. When I don’t respond, he raises one dark eyebrow. “That was a joke.”
“Something tells me it wasn’t.” Oops, did I say that out loud? I clear my throat, rushing to recover. “Thank you so much for holding onto her. I don’t know what I would’ve done if she’d gotten lost or hit by a car…” Now that I’m holding her again, my brain spins out of control with worse-case scenarios.
“Hey,” Creed presses his hand onto my shoulder, waking me from my visions of doom. “She’s safe and sound.” The weight of his thick hand sends shivers down my body. Up close, I see his eyes are as much blue as they are green. I’ve never seen anything like them.
“Thank you,” I manage to say. “I’m Melody Parks.” With my free hand, I push my glasses up my nose.
“I know who you are.”
“You do?”
“Yeah,” he says, narrowing his eyes. “You’re my neighbor.”
“Oh,” I say, not knowing exactly what I was expecting. Did I think he was going to tell me that he watches me all the time, that he can’t take his eyes off of me?