Not My Neighbor by Flora Ferrari

Chapter Four

Blake

It’s not long before I realize that Krystal knows about as much about her ‘dad’s new neighbor’ as I do.

Lucky for me, although none of it makes any difference. I’d have thought of something to get and stay close to Krystal as soon as we met.

Circumstance just helped me along a little.

Helped us both.

So far I know her dad’s away and that she’s single. Which is excellent news, for me.

I tell her I’m flying solo too, but that I am available, which isn’t too over the top for the first half-hour or so of knowing someone.

Is it?

Never would I say something like that to anyone else, but with Krystal, I need her to know.

Asking about the fish her dad’s been feeding is supposed to make me sound more like whoever the hell this guy is, but I decide to keep the questions toned down a little until I do get ‘home’.

Then I can start snooping good and proper, find out who I really am pretending to be.

That’s if he isn’t home already.

I frown at the thought, but figure lady luck’s been on my side all day so far. I don’t feel like anything can go wrong when I have days like this.

Days where everything I touch seems to turn to gold. Or in this case, turning to Krystal.

She makes some small talk, and I can sense she’s steering things away from fish, magazines, and romance.

Asking me about my ‘trip’ to London is fine, I’ve been there so many times I could talk to anyone about it all day.

“I’d like to travel one day,” Krystal sighs dreamily, and I remind her it’s not always glamorous.

“Long haul flights, change in the weather. Not to mention the food. Some places it’s not even safe to drink the water,” I hear myself cautioning her.

A bigger part of me only wanting her to stay here where she belongs. With me.

“You seem to have coped okay,” she observes with a sly grin, letting her eyes stray to my lap again before moving up my body.

“From the jet lag, I mean,” she adds quickly.

“It probably hasn’t hit me yet,” I tell her. Thinking about my good fortune in meeting her over any supposed jet lag I’m supposed to have.

I talk some more about the pros of travel, suddenly realizing travel with Krystal would be exciting.

Hell. Just riding in a tiny car with her is exciting enough for me. She could drive us cross country in this thing, as long as I’m with her.

“You have a passport?” I find myself asking, already planning the possibilities in my mind.

I curl my lip in frustration when she tells me no.

“Well, we’ll have to sort that out,” I murmur, and hearing me she seems to become inwardly excited.

“It’s worth having,” I add, offhand. “You just never know when you might need to travel,” I tell her with an air of mystery but in reality, I’ve already started the process of her application in my mind.

It’s on the to-do list.

Like her.

As soon as possible.

I can’t afford to have Krystal walking around unclaimed like this. It won’t do.

She’ll be mine.

Even though you’re twice her age, impersonating her neighbor and have lied to her since the moment you both met?

Not lying. Re-framing.I tell myself, feeling a little uneasy when she tells me we’re almost there.

As if I should need to know that.

Shouldn’t I know where I live?

Taking the turnoff, Krystal drives us towards what I can see from where we are is one of those new-ish housing developments.

The kind of instant suburbs that crop up, doomed to be inhabited by the working class who wanna feel like they live someplace nice for a change.

It all looks great for the first year or two, but like this one, after a time it starts to look shabby.

Cheap houses sold at three times their value, with local businesses closing or moving closer to where people will actually buy stuff.

“Hasn’t changed a bit,” I say cheerfully, acting like a man who’s glad to finally see the longed for sights of home.

Krystal looks at me in the rearview, raising her brows.

“What?” I ask her.

“It’s changed a lot,” she confides in me, reaffirming my own impressions.

“When I went to college everything looked so new, so fresh. Now it looks like an old neighborhood that needs work.” She observes, taking the turns down streets by memory.

“Maybe it’s just you who changed, College I mean,” I suggest, not wanting to run down her neighborhood.

I mean, my neighborhood too. I live here for a reason, right?

“How’s your new place coming along?” she asks, helping me join the dots in my mind as well as my story of the mystery man I’ve become.

“My new place?” I ask her, wondering if she has much more on the topic.

“Dad said you were only staying in the neighborhood until your new place is built,” she tells me, looking a little somber.

The idea of someone moving on and up while she stays stuck seems to be written in her eyes.

“Oh that,” I exclaim, wanting to set her mind at ease.

“Still at the hole in the ground stage, really,” I reply, noting her mood shift up when I tell her.

“I’ll be here for a while yet,” I remind her. Needing her to know that whether she thinks I’m her real neighbor or knows me for who I really am, I mean it.

I’m not going anywhere without her.

“Here we are,” she announces.

I force a nod of appreciation, but I still don’t know if she’s pulled into ‘my driveway’ or hers.

She unbuckles herself and turns in her seat to face me.

“Glad to be home?” she asks, sounding more excited than I’m acting or could ever pretend to be, so I just think of her.

She’s my home now. She’s everything I want and more. The only person I want to be with, so yeah. I’m glad to be home.

“Thanks for finding me,” I tell her truthfully, noting the change in her expression as she looks bashful. Her eyes moving down.

“Oh! I nearly forgot,” she says, quickly recovering herself and lifting her rear end off her seat, and leaning closer.

Fishing in her pocket for something.

Her hair is so close I can smell its freshness, the sweetness of her whole body too.

My mouth is close enough to kiss her, but before I can decide, she’s produced a key and holds it up between us.

“You’ll need this,” she tells me as I look at her, only wanting her closer to me again.

“The spare key you gave my dad,” she adds, explaining it all as I absently take it. Glad at least I have a way inside.

But which house is mine?

I take a guess, comparing the two which look so similar it’s almost impossible to imagine who would live where.

Both have mail filling the mailboxes, but one has an unkempt-looking front yard.

Like someone who’s been overseas for weeks, or someone who works away a lot and hasn’t got around to it yet?

I can’t blow my cover just yet, but it really is an impossible decision for me to risk making out loud.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me in?” I chuckle instead, “Or do you have other plans?” I ask her, not wanting to see her go so soon either.

She blushes again, gnawing her lower lip.

“Maybe you could ask me in,” she says formally, looking shy again.

“Our place. It’s a bit of a mess,” she admits, making me smile.

“What a great idea. Lead the way,” I instruct her cheerfully, taking my time getting out of the car so I can get another few moments’ view of her from behind.

My god but she’s beautiful.

Just stunning.

She takes the lead, but only by a step, and I follow her to the house next door to where she’s parked.

The neater-looking one.

Lawn guy. I deduce.

Krystal waits by the front door and I slide my key in, relieved when it turns but still unsure exactly how all this is gonna pan out if the real owner is home or decides to come home while I’m here.

One look at Krystal though and it’s the furthest thing from my mind.

I usher her in first, following close behind and leaning on the door to close it I take in the surroundings.

“Wow!” Krystal exclaims, not waiting to be told to make herself at home, she moves quickly from the entrance hall to the living room and through to the kitchen.

“This place is huge inside compared to ours, and so neat,” I hear her voice echoing back to me.

I spot a framed picture of a gangly middle aged man hugging an elderly woman on the wall, quickly snapping it up and putting it in a drawer on my way through to the sound of Krystal’s voice.

If that’s supposed to be me, I’m in trouble.

“How about some coffee?” I suggest, making my way through to the kitchen, finding her examining another similar photograph.

Turning to face me with an almost troubled, questioning look.

“Who’s this?” she asks.