Over the Fence (12 page)

“I don’t know how to answer it!”

“Hit accept.”

“Um . . . hi?”

“Hi,” I murmured into the phone.

“Wow, it’s like stereo. You’re all around me.”

I loved her choice of words. I wanted to be all around her. “Hit end. See? Easy.” I stared at the fence. “So we’re good? No more arguments?”

“I guess this could be very useful, even if I only use it for emergencies.”

“Especially for those. Be sure to keep it charged and take it with you when you leave the house.”

“Can it be bounced around?”

“What?”

“If it was in my pocket and I was running, would it get damaged?”

My breath caught and I had to clear my throat before I spoke. “You, ah, run?”

“Yeah.”

“When?”

“In the morning, usually, before I go to work.”

I swallowed, trying to keep my voice neutral. “
Early
in the morning?”

“Yes.”

I leaned my head on the fence, my mind racing. “You should definitely have it with you. In fact, I want you to promise me you’ll take it with you from now on.
Always
have it with you when you run. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“You promise me?”

“Yes. I promise.”

I sighed in relief. “All right, go get warm and practice your texting skills. I’ll be waiting.”

“What should I text you?”

“Whatever you want. Send me next week’s menus or describe your socks every day, if you want. I’ll read it. It’s all good.”

I lifted my head at the unexpected sound of tapping and I saw her hand stretched toward my side of the fence. Smiling, I reached up and clasped her cold fingers, pleased she had been the one to reach out this time.

“Thank you, Nathan.”

I held her hand tight, not wanting to let go. “Night.”

Reluctantly, I loosened my grip, noticing she took her time withdrawing from my grasp, before climbing down the ladder.

I heard the door close and stood there, lost in my thoughts.

Chefgirl and my voluptuous little runner—could they be the same person? The coincidence was too close for it not to be true. I thought about the strange pull I had experienced to the unknown runner. How it bothered me she was out alone. This morning, I had assumed she lived on the other street, when, in fact, she could have turned down this street and I hadn’t realized it. Maybe the lights being on at Kourtney’s house happened every morning, and this was only the first time I had been awake early enough to see it. The attraction I had felt to the runner now made sense. It had to be her.

I wanted them to be the same person. But how could I be sure?

My musings were interrupted when my phone alerted me to a new text.

My socks are red with yellow triangles on them.

Chuckling, I sent her a return message.

Are they fuzzy?

Yes.

Mine are white—at least they used to be. Now I think they’d be considered gray. They aren’t fuzzy—more leaning toward threadbare.

Here’s a tip—bleach. And get some new ones.

I walked into the house as I replied, enjoying her texts.

Here’s a tip—I’m a guy. Don’t much care.

Do I need to teach you about using a washing machine, Nathan?

I think I need you to teach me a lot of things.

Not sure I have the strength.

I think you do. Keep practicing—you’re doing great.

Yeah, I’ll keep you informed on my sock color.

I will wait with bated breath daily.

Dork. Night.

Night. Remember to take your phone when you run. Promise me, Kourtney.

I will. I promise.

I sighed. Was she my curvy runner?

There was only one way to find out.

I leaned my head onto the dark window. It was five in the morning and I’d already been standing there for half an hour, waiting. I blinked wearily as I watched, wondering if I was wrong. Maybe Kourtney wasn’t the runner; otherwise I would have seen her by now, wouldn’t I? While those thoughts crossed my mind, light spilled over the front lawn.

I moved to the door, opening it fast, staying in the shadows, hoping I wouldn’t be noticed. From next door, I heard the opening and closing of the front door and footsteps as they walked down the driveway. Kourtney appeared at the end of our shared driveway, shaking her arms and warming up prior to starting her run. The dimness of the early morning made it impossible to see her face, but I could make out a long ponytail. She reached up and slipped the hood over her head, confirming my Chefgirl was indeed the voluptuous little runner from the past couple days. My eyes drank in the sight of her curves as she stretched and broke into a jog, disappearing from my view.

Swiftly, I walked to the end of the driveway, watching her as she moved away from me. I scanned the street which was deserted, feeling both relieved at the quiet, but worried at the thought of her out on the empty streets alone.

Sighing, I went back into the house and waited. It was only when I saw her return, I was able to relax. She walked past at a slow pace, her hood still in place, her breath a misty fog around her head. She stopped, and turned toward the window where I was standing. Although I knew she couldn’t see me with the deep tint on the window, I moved back, feeling somewhat guilty for watching her. She stood looking for a minute staring at my house, then disappeared from my sight. I didn’t move for a while, wondering what she had been looking at and wishing I could have seen more of her in the early morning gloom. Had she somehow known I was watching her? Was she looking for me?

“I’m right here, Chefgirl. I’m waiting. Whenever you’re ready, I’m here,” I breathed.

For the next while, my mind raced with my discovery. Kourtney and the little runner were one and the same. My Chefgirl. I didn’t know what to do with the information but the thought of her out there, running in the dark every morning, alone, made me tense. It wasn’t as if I could appear beside her while she warmed up and expect her to be happy I joined her. So, every morning I watched and waited for her to leave and return.

I knew I couldn’t keep doing that, but for the moment, it was the only acceptable course of action I could come up with. She had been busy at work and had come home later than usual, even working on the weekend, and I had missed her company as well as her cooking. The few words we exchanged over the fence, when she would finally arrive, were no longer enough. I missed the soothing sound of her talking and the way her laughter made my chest feel lighter. I missed
her
.

Monday morning, returning to my desk after my usual morning workout, I was surprised to see a message waiting from WhyteElephant on my computer. It was the first time she had reached out and contacted me and I was curious why.

WhyteElephant: Nat—I’m sorry to bother you—are you there?

I shot her back a reply, grinning at how formal she sounded in her message.

Gnat: I am now, Chefgirl. Never a bother. What’s up?

WhyteElephant: I have a problem.

Gnat: How can I help?

WhyteElephant: I have a document I need but it tells me the file is corrupted. What can I do? I really need it.

Gnat: Do you have it backed up somewhere?

WhyteElephant: At home. It’s from my laptop. I put it on the stick thingy you gave me.

I couldn’t resist teasing her.

Gnat: The stick thingy?

WhyteElephant: The UPS stick.

I threw back my head in laughter. Fuck, she was utterly endearing—and totally lost when it came to technology.

Gnat: USB memory key, Chefgirl. UPS does deliveries.

WhyteElephant: Oh. I knew it had a U in it.

Gnat: Good try.

WhyteElephant: Nat? I really need this, it’s very important.

Gnat: OK, stay calm. Remember the small red thing I gave you the other night? The one you use to update me on your daily sock color?

WhyteElephant: Sigh. Yes, Nat. The cell phone. I know the name. I’m not completely useless.

I chuckled at her throwing my words back at me.

Gnat: I’m impressed. Use it.

WhyteElephant: For what?

Gnat: Call me. Pick up the phone, find my number and call me. The way I taught you.

I waited and my cellphone rang a moment later, the quiet strains of “
She
” filling the air. I smiled hearing it.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry, Nat . . . I hate asking anyone here. They all make fun of me about computer stuff.”

I could hear how upset she sounded and I felt a quiet pleasure knowing she would call me for help.

“It’s okay, Kourtney. I’ll try and help. You don’t have another copy at work?”

“Not as recent as this one.”

“Did you try to open it again?”

“Yes. It says file corrupted. I don’t know what I did wrong. I thought I did everything you told me, correctly. The little light was green on the UP . . . the stick.”

I smirked. I needed to teach her about Dropbox.
That
should be interesting.

“When did you create the document?”

“About three weeks ago. It’s a chart and graph I had been working on to go with this presentation I’m writing.”

I was surprised. “When are you giving a presentation?”

“I write it, I don’t give it. And, I need to have it ready in an hour. I don’t have time to go home. I’m screwed, aren’t I?”

My gaze drifted to the memory key on my desk. Leaning forward, I plugged it into my laptop. “Was this on your computer when I fixed it?”

“Yes.”

I sighed in relief. I could help. “Have you made any changes to it since then?”

“No.”

“Good. What is the name of it?”

“
Test Case Study Results 2011
. Why?”

I was quiet as I scrolled through the folder called “Kourtney’s stuff.” I found the file and took a deep breath. I wasn’t sure how this was going to be received.

“I, um, I have a copy.”

“What? How?”

“I was worried something would happen to your computer and I did another backup, which I kept.”

There was silence for a moment. “I didn’t look at anything, Kourtney. I was going to erase it after I made sure you were okay.”

“Can you send it to me?”

“Give me your email.”

I typed in her address as she dictated it to me and attached the file. “I sent it.”

The line was quiet.

“Are you angry with me?”

“Why would I be angry, Nat? Because you thought ahead, knowing my lack of computer savvy? Because you’re thoughtful enough to care that I might need a backup someday?” I heard her exhale a big breath. “Anger isn’t the emotion I’m feeling right now.”

“What is?”

“I’m grateful—so grateful—and thankful I live next door to the world’s most brilliant IT guy.”

I laughed, relieved. “That you do. Is it there yet? I want to make sure you can open it.”

I heard the clicking of her keys. “Yes.”

“You, ah, know how to open a file?”

Her relieved giggle made me smile. “
That
I
can
do. And it worked, Tomcat! Thank you!”

“Okay, Chefgirl . . . glad to have helped. Go finish your speech.”

“I owe you. I’ll make you something special.”

“Pretty sure I owe you more. But if you insist—”

“I do. Thank you, Nat. You have no idea how much you helped me,” she assured me.

“You can text me anytime, Kourtney. I always have my phone with me. You don’t have to use chat.”

“I didn’t want to bother you if you were busy.”

“I’m
never
too busy for you. Call or text me—anytime.”

“Oh,” she breathed out, the surprise in her voice so obvious.

“See you at home, Chefgirl.”

The line was silent for a moment. “At home. Yeah. See you at home.”

I was still grinning when she hung up.