Chapter 6: Night-time Guest
Another rap on the door
But this time, George could hear footsteps approaching the door. Moments later, the peephole opened, revealing the bluest pair of eyes he had ever seen. George put on his brightest smile.
"Hey!"
"What do you want?"
Ouch. Harsh. George hadn't expected her to revert to this odd coldness so quickly after that minor friction. He raised the takeout bag in his hand to her eye level.
"Here, I got something for you."
The peephole was snapped shut, and George let out a disappointed sigh. It seemed like he had overestimated Isla just a bit. He turned to make his way to his own apartment. Isla was obviously nothing but rude--
The door opened.
George, who had just taken a step toward his apartment, stopped and turned in surprise to see Isla leaning against her doorframe. She had on some nerdy glasses. Her curly blonde hair was up in a messy bun, and she wore teddy bear patterned pajamas that looked a tad bit too big on her.
Any other woman, and George would have probably been laughing at how adorably cuddly they looked, but Isla... she just looked inviting. That kind of 'I-am-so-exhausted-and-need-some-good-loving' kind of look. The kind that silently urged you to offer a massage or a cuddle...
"Well?"
The silky voice, slightly annoyed, drew him out of his thoughts. Putting on his signature 'prince-charming' smile as his female colleagues had dubbed it, he made his way over to her, shamelessly raking his gaze down her frame and back to her face. He observed how she quickly crossed her arms across her chest, covering her breasts, and he almost laughed. What? Had her nipples pebbled just from a look? If she was that sensitive, then how would she react if he used his mouth to...
"Is this a stop and stare session?"
Her question drew him out of this dirty thoughts filling his head.
"Hey," he finally said in greeting, noting how she straightened and jutted her chin up as if threatened by their height difference. What a proud, proud woman.
"You said you have something for me?" She quipped, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.
George couldn't help but chuckle, "Wait, is that the only reason you opened the door?"
Without blinking, Isla answered, "Why else?"
Another short burst of laughter escaped George. "There is nothing I wouldn't see or hear in this Dallas." Then, in a more serious tone, George declared, "I want to come inside." He responded when he had overcome his mirth.
Blue eyes narrowed at him in suspicion. "If you think--"
He quickly raised his hands in surrender. "I swear, I just want to talk to you."
"It's nine pm." She deadpanned, "I was just about to sleep."
Geez. The girl was a tough nut. "I just hung out with my friends, got this for you." He raised the takeout bag to her.
Isla's jaw almost dropped when she saw the brand name on the bag.
Mark and James aka M&J, had one of the biggest restaurants in Dallas. Biggest and most expensive. It was where Isla was most comfortable eating when she couldn’t prepare a meal. It was shocking to her that George could afford to buy a plate of food there and still be smiling. He had even refused to take any money from her after he had the wall fixed. Who was this guy?
"Sorry to bother you. Maybe we can talk to--"
She cut him off by backing away into her apartment and pushing the door wider. "Come in."
George shook his head, "It's okay," he thrust the bag out to her some more but made no move to step in. "It's yours. Consider it an apology for yesterday."
Her eyes lowered to the outstretched hand, and slowly, almost shyly, one of her hands lifted and covered the one holding the bag. She tugged at his hand, hating the way her cheeks suddenly felt too hot. She couldn't even bring herself to look him in the eye anymore.
"I want you to come inside," Isla mumbled, tugging at the wrist she held gently.
He came inside without another protest, much to Isla's relief. When she shut the door, a sudden realization hit her.
"Um, my home is..." She trailed off, her fingers tightening nervously around the straps of the take-out bag she held. It was too late to make excuses. George was already looking at her messy apartment. There were sheets of paper containing drafts of the second to the last chapter of the book she was struggling to complete strewn all over her settee. On the low glass table was a saucer plate with a half-eaten slice of cake - dessert after her very unappetizing dinner. If Isla had remembered for a second what her room looked like, she wouldn't have invited him in. Now he was going to think she was a pig when she was anything but.
A small awkward clearing of the throat jerked her out of her head. "Nice...place."
She followed his gaze as he took her living room in, hoping that he was at least impressed with how she had arranged the small space. A convertible sectional sofa, an elegant center table that had cost her thousands of dollars. A large premium smart TV hung on the wall to the left, and there was a fancy chrome island behind the settee that fenced a well-furnished kitchen. Isla had done a complete overhaul of the interior of her apartment before she moved in. Just because she chose to live in this ghetto-like neighborhood didn't mean the inside of her house had to be the same too. She had her limits.
He looked back without anything on his face to reveal any further thoughts regarding her apartment., "May I sit?"
"Yea--yeah, of course!" Coloring in embarrassment, Isla pushed off the door she had been leaning against and dropped the somewhat heavy take-out bag on the table, before rushing to clear the sofa for him. She straightened when she had the papers on it scrunched up in her hands, and gestured to the chair while struggling to regain her composure. "Please sit."
George walked over to the sofa and plopped down on it like it was his home. He pinned her where she stood with his gaze. "Hey, it's okay. No one gets to keep his or her house spick and span all the time."
She gave him a shaky smile. "Sorry, writer’s block has been frustrating the hell out of me."
George cocked a brow, "Writer’s block?" His brow cleared the next second, "Oh, you mean that point where your head is all jammed up and you can't write, right?"
His vivid explanation, along with the clever use of homonyms made her lips quirk up in amusement. "Something along those lines." She released a slow breath, determined to ease the tension. "There's something I have to tell you."
George felt his stomach clench from nerves. He wasn't sure he would like whatever Isla wanted to say but he would have to take it like a man.
Carefully keeping his voice monotone, he nodded at her. "Say it."