I hadn’t been digging for information. I was just heading out to do some grocery shopping when I ran into her returning from class. It was a Friday night, and I asked if she had any plans. Cynthia had laughed and shook her head.
“Just a hot date with my bio textbook,” she said. “I don’t really date much.”
“Really?” The question had slipped out of my mouth before I realized it. It was rude to ask, but I was just so much in shock. In my mind, Cynthia was perfect dating material. She was mature and smart and driven and gorgeous. Why weren’t all the college guys lined up to date her?
Her cheeks flushed a bright red, and she had looked at the ground. It was one of the few times I saw her lose her composure. She recovered quickly though with a little laugh.
“I’m just focused on school,” she said. “I’ve never had time for a boyfriend.”
After that day, I was only more intrigued by her every time I saw her coming and going. To think that she was single put strange ideas in my head. I wasn’t just attracted to her. I felt protective of her. She deserved the best, and the more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that most men didn’t deserve Cynthia.
So it was with a sense of relief that I noted her pattern of no dating continued unbroken.
I stand up from my desk and wander over to the window. My home office is towards the back of my house, so I watch her roll over the gravel towards the back door where she locks up her bike.
I hesitate for only half a second. Then I turn on my heel and rush to the kitchen, where a trash bag is waiting by the back door to be taken out. I’m done with work for the day. It could be pure coincidence that I’m taking out the trash now. I just so happen to be checking off that small chore when she gets home.
It’s not a coincidence, and I know it. Being able to avoid self-denial is a grim skill that comes with age.
I’m just stepping out the door when the front of her wheel catches on a rock, and she goes tumbling off her bike and onto the ground. My heart picks up its pace in worry, and I sigh with relief as she pulls herself to her knees. She didn’t fall hard, and she seems more worried that someone else saw, as she turns towards the sidewalk.
My lips curve into a smile. She wears a helmet every time she gets on the bike. It’s bright blue and adorable and so like her to always be safe. She’s a pre-med after all, she’s aware of how injured she could get while on a bike.
I should turn back and go into my house. I should pretend I didn’t see it. But a small wicked part of me entices me to step forward.
“You ok?” I ask. “That was quite a fall.”
Cynthia whirls around, and the bike she had just propped up falls to the ground again. Her mouth is open in surprise, and her eyes go wide as the helmet totters low on her head. I smile and set the trash bag down before walking across the gravel until we’re standing only a few feet apart.
“Oh yeah, I’m fine.” Cynthia brushes at her jacket and gives me a shaky smile. “Just embarrassed by my clumsiness, that’s all.”
I shrug. “It’s not your fault, I need to clean up the driveway of the bigger rocks.”
I take a step even closer and nod down at her knee, my eye catching on her shapely leg beneath her jeans. “You might have a nasty bruise.”
“Oh, it’s fine,” Cynthia says. “I barely feel it.”
She demonstrates by leaning from foot to foot and shaking out her leg.
“Good,” I say. “Although as your landlord, I’m contractually obligated to bring you over disinfectant and band-aids later.”
It’s forward, and I feel the edge of flirtation creeping into my voice, but I can’t help it.
To my surprise and delight, Cynthia looks up at me and a soft smile lights up her face.
“You would accuse me of not owning my own band-aids?” She shakes her head in mock offense. “I’m pre-med, remember?”
I let out a soft chuckle. The both of us are tiptoeing around new territory. I’ve never been even slightly flirty with her, and now that I have started and she’s reciprocating, I want to continue.
“You’re not a doctor yet,” I say. “You might need medical assistance.”
Cynthia bites her bottom lip, and I feel a surge of longing in the pit of my stomach.
“Last I checked, you’re not a doctor either.” She cocks her head, and I am overcome with a desire to reach out and brush my thumb against her lip. I keep my hands firmly placed at my sides.
Flirting is one thing. Taking action is entirely another.
I shrug and give her a smile. “Well, let me know.”
“I will.” She moves to crouch down and grab her bike, but I beat her to it. I prop it up and push the handlebars towards her. When she grabs them from me, one of her hands brushes over mine. I think I hear her breath catch when we touch, but I know I could be imagining it.
“Bye,” Cynthia says. Then she wheels the bike over to the back of the duplex and vanishes inside the door.
I turn and scoop up the trash bag and slowly walk over to the bin.
I need to get myself under control. Every other time I’ve talked to Cynthia, I’ve managed to keep my composure, but today I almost slipped. Everything about her seems to draw me in and tempt me to hold her in my arms.
I shake my head as I return to my quiet house.
For my entire adult life, I’ve taken pride in having a tight
