The Grumpy Neighbor Wants the Size 22 Girl Upstairs, and the Walls Are Thin novel · Chapter 4 of 24

Chapter 4: Such a Pretty Face

Chandler Rudd was in my apartment when I got home from the grocery store.

The door stood open, and I heard a pen clicking.

He was in my living room with his clipboard, tapping my floorboards with the toe of his loafer.

"I let myself in," he said. "Manager's right. Noise inspection."

"You can't just walk into my home."

"I can with twenty-four hours' notice, and I put the notice on your door."

"That was thirty days to fix it."

"And I'm fixing it for you," he said, smiling with every veneer.

I stood there with two grocery bags in my arms.

He looked me up and down, slowly.

"You have such a pretty face," he said. "I've always said so."

I felt the heat climb my neck.

I know that sentence.

Every woman my size knows that sentence.

It ends with a "but" that nobody says out loud.

"These old joists were built for a different century," Chandler went on.

He tapped the floor again.

"This one's sagging a little right here, by the kitchen. Maybe it's the weight."

"What weight?"

"Oh, you know." He waved the pen at me, up and down. "Just saying, big girl. Houses have limits."

I opened my mouth to tell him exactly where he could file that.

A shadow filled the doorway behind me.

"Say it again," said Costa.

He was holding my other two grocery bags.

I hadn't even known he was behind me.

He must have taken them from my hands on the stoop.

I remembered a large warm hand and a growl of "Give me those."

He set the bags down on my floor without looking away from Chandler.

He didn't raise his voice.

He just stood, and the doorway got very small.

"I said it was the joists," Chandler said, and the smile slipped.

"You said weight."

"It's a building comment."

"Get out of her home."

"I'm the manager."

"Then manage from the landing."

Chandler looked at me, then at the six foot four of former firefighter in the doorway, and I watched him do the math.

He tucked the clipboard under his arm.

"Thirty days," he said, to me, brightly. "Enjoy it."

He squeezed past Costa with his shoulders pulled in, and he took the stairs two at a time.

The door swung shut.

The apartment was quiet.

"I could have handled it," I said, and my voice shook.

"I know you could."

"I was about to."

"I know." He cupped my cheek. "I wanted to."

I leaned into his palm.

"Pretty face," I said, and I laughed, but it came out wet. "Nobody's ever said anything but that."

"Your face is the second thing I think about," Costa said. "Guess the first."

I did not have to guess.

He picked up the bags and put the groceries away.

When he finished, he turned and looked at my bedroom door.

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