Chapter One

Evie

I was so absorbed in imagining dialogue for Harper and Thea’s sexy goodbye scene that when I opened the front door of my building it took me a few moments to realize there was a strange woman going up the internal stairs to my condo. After a second of confused anxiety, logic reminded me that to get inside the building, you needed a key, or a serious set of lockpicking skills. If she was a lock-picking thief, she was a gorgeous and well-dressed one.

I knew she was gorgeous because she’d glanced back at me. In those few seconds of us staring at one another, I added to the mental list I’d started about her. She had a great butt, snugly ensconced in a pair of tight, faded blue jeans. It wasn’t a pervy observation, more just a reasonable thing to notice given that great butt was on the stairs just above my eye level. She was clearly coordinated, as evidenced by her expert juggling of a medium-sized cardboard box, a handbag, two canvas tote bags, a paper takeout bag, a bottle of wine, and her keys. And, she had the most adorable expression—part amused, part expectant, and part curious—that just made her more attractive, if that were possible.

Thankfully her gorgeousness wasn’t that scary “you’re so hot I’m too scared to talk to you” kind, more just a regular “you’re so hot I almost forgot to breathe for a moment” kind. It took another few seconds for my brain to move out of admiration territory and into chivalry territory. I pushed the door closed behind me, yanked out my AirPods, and rushed through the small foyer to help with her armloads. “Here, let me grab that for you,” I said breathlessly.

I wasn’t exactly sure what that was, but I figured she’d tell me what she needed me to help with. Assuming she even needed help. Shit. She’d been managing just fine before my clumsy offer. What if she didn’t need help?

My sudden football-rush approach was apparently more alarming than chivalrous, and she dropped the box—thankfully nothing inside sounded shattery as it bounced down two stairs to land at my feet—and we both moved to retrieve it. I won the retrieval contest and the moment I’d stood up again, I found her watching me. Not unexpected given a stranger had just invaded her space. Technically she was the stranger invading my space, though on second thought, she could be my new neighbor.

Her greenish eyes held a hint of amusement, and maybe a little pity. Amused-slash-pitying was a fair reaction. I closed the gap between us, still at the lower-stair disadvantage. “Shit. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m harmless, I promise.”

After offering her the box, I realized she had no way of taking it from me with everything else she was holding. Doing really well on the social interaction and good-impressions scale here. This small respite while we figured out how to deal with the box gave me a moment to take a close-up look at her. I studied her in my not-creepy, I’m-an-artist-who-notices-faces way. Artist aside, I was interested in the woman who I was apparently going to be sharing the second floor with.

Wavy, light-brunette hair streaked with blond, brushing her shoulders. Full, bow-shaped mouth. Sloping, angular jaw with a strong chin. Now that I was closer, I changed my mind about the color of her eyes. Not green, but hazel flecked with brown, wide and curious, with laugh lines at the corners. Yes, she was undeniably attractive. But beyond being gorgeous, she had an interesting face, with a magnificent bone structure that my fingers itched to draw.

Realizing I’d been staring instead of remembering my manners, I tucked the box against my side and the wall and held out my hand. Then retracted it almost immediately when it twigged, again, that her hands were full and mine—along with the rest of me—were probably sweaty after my middle-of-the-day run. I brought that hand back to indicate myself. “Seems I’m your neighbor at number four, right next door. Oh, that rhymed. And I’m not really next door, I’m technically up the hall. Or down the hall, depending on which way you’re going. Actually, I guess I’m across the hall but our doors are at opposite ends, so…” I coughed out a nervous laugh, wishing a meteor would descend from space and squash me, saving me from myself. No such luck—the universe was fresh out of meteors.

Better introduce myself. “I’m Evie. Evangeline. Phillips.” Okay, maybe I was stuck in a mix of hotness reactions and had landed on “so hot I forgot how to talk to you.”

She tucked the takeout bag under her arm and reached down to offer her hand, and a smile that made my knees feel wobbly. “Hallo, I’m—”

Not only hot with a low, mellow voice, but also German. The accent wasn’t thick, but it was definitely there. And it was definitely sexy. I swallowed hard, hoping my mental gymnastics about this woman’s sexy face and sexy voice weren’t obvious.

“—Annika. Annika Mayer.” Her lips worked as if she was mouthing my name before she added, “It’s nice to meet you, Evie-Evangeline.”

Laughing, I corrected her, “Sorry. My name is Evangeline, but most people call me Evie.”

She laughed with me. “Oh, that makes a lot more sense. You have a beautiful name, both versions of it.”

I blinked. Wow. Smooth. Do you give lessons on flirty pickups, Annika Mayer?

“Which version do you prefer?” she asked before I could make my mouth form words that weren’t just blathering in response to her flirtation. It was flirtation, right? But who flirted with someone they’d only just met? Hot, confident women, apparently.

My response squeaked out. “Either or. Whatever. I don’t mind.”

“Good. Then I will think about which one I think suits you.”

I let myself imagine the unspoken and let you know the next time we talk. “Sounds good.” I flailed for small talk that didn’t feel quite so intimate, but ended up with boring and super-obvious and not-flirty (because I was not as adept at flirtation as she was). “You’re new to the building?”

Annika nodded, and thankfully she didn’t say something like “No shit, dumbass.” Instead, she answered cheerfully, “Ja, new to this building. This city. New to this country, too.”

“Right. When did you move in? Aside from recently, that is. And where from?” Obviously, from the place of really hot people.

“Just today. And I moved from München. Munich. That’s in Germany,” she added, with a smile of encouragement as if talking to a small child. Given my impersonation of someone with limited mental capacity and vocabulary, I understood why she felt I needed a little hand-holding.

My return smile was patient and a little smug. I’d seen a lot of Europe, hence my picking her accent. “Oh, yep, I know where it is. I’ve been there. To Munich. And Germany. Obviously, if I’ve been to Munich I’ve been to Germany.” Keep rambling and she might think you have more than one brain cell, Evie. I wouldn’t class myself as smooth around women, but I could usually string a more coherent and intelligent sentence together. But there was something about her that completely frazzled my ability to put thoughts into words. I didn’t know if it was her appearance or her accent or that freckle underneath her lower lip or the way she looked at me, but something was getting under my skin, in a very pleasant way. “I’ve been to other places in Germany too.”

Her mouth had twitched throughout my monologue, but the amusement was quickly overtaken by pleasure when I confirmed I’d been to Germany. “Really? That is amazing. Did you enjoy your visit? Or…visits?” Her voice rose at the end of the question.

“Mhmm, I did. Very much. Munich is a beautiful city. But my enduring memory is of getting kicked out of a beer hall for not drinking beer,” I said ruefully. “Kicked out very politely, obviously.” Heather had laughed and laughed. And only once she’d finished her massive beer, then a second massive beer (of course), had she come to find me a few blocks away where I was sulking in a café.

Annika nodded sagely. “Oh, ja. They’ll do that. So, you don’t like beer?”

“Not really, and I was taking the seat of a person who would pay for beer.” I cleared my throat. “And now that you have part of my life story, I’m going to let you get back to…whatever it is you’re doing. Moving in, it seems.” Time for an exit, and it was not going to be a smooth or suave one at all. I extended a forefinger to point vaguely past her. “I, uh, need to get up the stairs.”

“So do I,” she said, leaning forward, a conspiratorial tone lacing her words.

“Great. After you.” She was ahead of me. Obviously she’d go first. God, what was wrong with me? When had I become an idiotic Captain Obvious?

Annika flashed me another bright smile, adjusted her arm cargo, turned around, and started walking upstairs again. I kept my attention on the stairs in front of me for the walk up to the second floor. Not staring at a stranger’s ass, no siree, not me. She slowed down once she reached the top of stairs and the space widened slightly into the hallway. I had to either commit to walking beside her or lagging behind. Behind was where her ass was, so I settled for to the side and a little behind but not behind enough where I’d seem creepy.

Annika paused by my door, staring expectantly at me. Right. Time to say bye. Pointing over my shoulder, I said unnecessarily, “So, I’m just here, the only other one on this floor, if you need anything.” Cup of sugar, make-out session, you know, just normal friendly neighbor things. “I work from home, so I’m around a lot. Feel free to knock on my door and give me an excuse to procrastinate.”

She laughed—a loud, kind of snorty, unashamed guffaw that seemed almost incongruous with her put-together appearance. At least she thought I was funny, or was polite enough to fake it. “I will remember that. Thank you.”

“Great. Then I guess I’ll talk to you…sometime.”

The genuine warmth in her smile made my stomach flutter. “I hope so,” Annika said smoothly, her voice tinged with an inflection I couldn’t quite place, but that I thought was anticipation. I hoped it was anticipation.

I fought the urge to respond with something inane like “Great” or “Okay then” that would just prolong the back-and-forth into indefinite politeness, and turned away to unlock my door, while Annika continued up the hall to hers. I’d just inserted the key when I realized I was still holding her box. I hastily walked up the hall, feeling like an idiot for adding to her armloads. But offering to take it into her apartment only minutes after meeting her felt more than a little weird. And I’d been weird enough already. “Here. Sorry. Inadvertently stealing your stuff isn’t a great first impression.”

Annika grinned. “No, it isn’t.” She ducked down and managed to slip an arm under the box and balance it on her forearm without endangering the other things she held. The seeming ease of it made me feel slightly better about passing the baton, so to speak. “But you stealing my box would mean I’d see you again soon when I came to request it from you.”

Wow, and smooth again. “That’s true,” I agreed, pleased when I sounded casually musing rather than hyperventilate-y. “Okay, I’ll just, I’ll see you later then. Maybe soon. Without the theft.” With a fingers-twinkling wave, I walked away and slipped through my door before I could dig myself deeper into my hole of bad first impressions. I’d like to think I was charmingly awkward. But Annika Mayer? Now she was downright charming, period.

I dumped my keys, phone, and AirPods on the floating Caesarstone kitchen island and instead of beelining for the shower, I rushed upstairs to my office. After a habitual glance at the storyboarding whiteboard that took up an entire wall of my office, and my desk with my iPad and MacBook, each connected to a forty-inch monitor, I confirmed the main screen still held evidence of my artist’s apathy. I’d hoped that abandoning my lack of work to move my body for an hour might magically fix this block, but it hadn’t. It had given me another idea though, so I supposed it hadn’t been entirely pointless.

I grabbed a sketchbook and the Caran d’Ache Grafwood graphite pencils I preferred for pencil-and-paper sketching. I didn’t think, I just started drawing Annika’s face, still standing up and leaning over my desk. I drew her as I’d seen her, totally unembellished. This was the kind of drawing I loved, the kind of drawing that was why I’d never used my MBA. No thought as to composition, just raw art from memory or recognition, and one of the best things I’d found to overcome creative burnouts. It took a little over fifteen minutes to shade in the lines and shadows fully and when I was done, I held the sketchbook at arm’s length, trying to reconcile the woman I’d just met with what I’d drawn. Yes, this was her. Seeing her rendered in graphite strengthened my original assessment of hot.

At the bottom of the page I wrote Aphrodite/Artemis? My new neighbor had the perfect face for either: the Goddess of Love’s beauty and mischievousness, or the Goddess of the Moon’s (or of the Hunt, or of Chastity—Artemis filled a lot of shoes) strength. I drew a few different expressions like that wry smile, the eyebrows-raised interest, the curious attentiveness. When I’d exhausted my need to get that face on paper, I pondered Annika Mayer and our disastrous first meeting.

Okay, maybe disastrous was a little strong, but I certainly hadn’t showcased my best character traits. I didn’t get out much anymore and it had been a while—okay, a long while—since I’d tried to impress a woman. And I didn’t recall it being so…hard. Annika, on the other hand, was one of those people who was effortlessly friendly and even flirtatious, if I’d been reading the situation correctly. Shit, what if I hadn’t been? What if I’d just been wishful-thinking projecting onto her? I mean, she’d said my name was beautiful. That…wasn’t really flirting, just complimenting my parents’ ability to name their offspring. I flipped the book over, because staring at the drawings just made me feel like an idiot. More of an idiot.

After a quick shower to wash away my run, I made myself a smoothie and drank it while staring out one of the living room windows to the street below. Nothing like people-watching for more motivation to brush away the ol’ “don’t feel like working” cobwebs. Non-creepy people-watching, of course.

By the time I’d finished my smoothie, I’d drawn an animated conversation between two women, a most ridiculously ruggedly handsome man who would make an amazing villain (sorry, Stranger Man), and a cute kid trying to help walk a dog.

I turned the pages back to my drawings of my new neighbor. I’d seen dozens of people, and not one of them was as attractive as Annika Mayer.