Over the Fence (7 page)

Now she
really
had my attention.
What the hell?

“Why not, Kourtney?”

“I’ll do it. I’ll figure it out. I always do. Really, it’s fine, Nathan. Thanks for doing this.” Her movements sounded fast as she scurried to the door. “I have to go check on things. Thank you for fixing my laptop.” Before I could react to the utter panic in her voice or actions, I heard not only the screen door, but the inside one, shut and lock.

She had, in fact, run away from me.

I gaped at the fence. Her reactions were so odd at times. I pondered the few things I knew about her. She was funny, smart, generous, witty, and could cook like a dream. She obviously had a caring nature, considering she’d started feeding a complete stranger, and had never asked for anything in return. She lived alone, was shy, but once she was fond of you, she was warm and giving—unless you got personal, then she was skittish as hell.

I looked back toward our shared fence.

Why would she have such a panicked reaction at the thought of me coming to her home? Had she been hurt? Was she hiding from something, or someone? Did some asshole hurt her so severely she somehow felt the need to lock herself away from the world?

Those thoughts bothered me. I didn’t like to think of her hurt, or alone. She was too special.

I shook my head.

Where were all these thoughts coming from?

I waited a while, but she never came back. I gave up and went inside to try and have that nap I had been looking forward to. Yet, somehow, I had trouble relaxing and falling asleep. I kept thinking about Kourtney and how skittish she became every time I suggested some sort of face-to-face meeting, however casual.

What could she possibly have to hide that would make her not want to meet me?

We were already friends; at least I thought we were. We talked almost every day. In fact, the highlight of my day had become talking to her over the fence at night, while we ate the dinner she had cooked, and afterward. She was droll and smart, and I enjoyed our conversations. I also enjoyed her food. Even the odd night she didn’t feed me, it was listening to her talk and hearing her laugh that made the day a good one.

I wondered what kind of secrets she was hiding, then snorted. I was one to talk—she wasn’t the only one hiding things, was she?

Eventually, I gave up and decided to go back outside. I stopped to grab a beer and was surprised when I saw how many I had left in the refrigerator. I thought back and realized I hadn’t been drinking anywhere near as many since Kourtney came into my life. My time was filled with conversations and staying busy, rather than sitting around drinking alone. I hadn’t even noticed.

I went outside, opened up my laptop and looked over a few things. I had copied Kourtney’s email address and Yahoo chat info. I got busy and finished setting up the account I had started earlier, so I could send her messages. Somehow, the thought of being able to chat with her on occasion during the day, or the evenings when she wasn’t outside, pleased me.

The whole time I had worked on her computer, I had struggled with my conscience. Time and again my fingers hovered over her directory wanting to see what information I could glean from her laptop, while I told myself not to snoop. It was fairly new with a bright red cover. Aside from the much abused screen I had teased her about, and the many smudges of flour on the keyboard, it was in good shape. I finally gave in and peeked at her documents.

I noticed a lot of medical stuff on her laptop and had bookmarked a few of the sites she seemed to look at a lot. She had a ton of documents saved, mostly recipes, but aside from that there had been very little personal stuff. There were no saved funny items, no personal pictures, or family information; nothing that gave me anymore insight into
her
. She had no Facebook, Twitter, no sort of social media on her laptop at all, aside from the one chat box. The only bookmarked sites she visited regularly, aside from the medical or cooking sort, were ones with pictures of baby animals. She had a lot of those. I knew I should feel bad for looking around her computer, but I wanted to know a little more about her. Her laptop had revealed nothing. Even her friends’ list on chat was small, only six people. Well, seven now, I grinned, wondering if she would notice her new friend,
Gnat
, on the list.

Her door slid open. I remained quiet, listening to her move around. I heard her light the barbeque, and keeping my tone neutral, called over to her. “Hey, Chefgirl.”

“Oh, hey, um, Nat.”

I chuckled quietly at the way she still stumbled over my name. “Are you getting ready to feed the masses?”

“Well, I was only gonna feed you, but if you want me to share—”

I gasped in horror. “Don’t even tease! That’s not even remotely funny!”

Her giggle made me relax into my chair. “Sorry. I know how . . .
possessive
you are about your food. But really—you’re a mass unto yourself.”

I snorted. “You have no idea, on either count; especially when it comes to souvlaki. Is it chicken or pork?”

“Um, I did chicken and lamb.”

I tilted my head back and groaned. “Get to it, woman.”

“Keep your pants on Tomcat, it’s coming.”

“Tease.”

Her laughter drifted back as she entered her house. I needed to keep it light. She was comfortable with that type of conversation.

I wanted her to be comfortable. Somehow, the way she felt had become important to me.

I leaned back from my small table, trying to slow myself down. “Fuck, this is incredible. Have you always liked cooking?”

“Pretty much.”

“Was your mom a good cook?”

“She was a simple cook. I don’t think she liked it. She used a lot of canned stuff.”

“So you learned to cook in self-defense?”

She hesitated, and when she spoke her voice was strained. “I learned how to cook after she died. She was in a car accident when I was young. My dad had no idea how to cook, so I sort of took over.”

“Shit, I’m sorry. I bet he appreciated it, though.”

Her laugh was bitter. “You’d think, right?”

I glanced toward the fence, not liking the sudden tone the conversation had taken. I’d struck a nerve—obviously a painful one. I needed to make her smile.

Clearing my throat, I picked up my fork again. “Well, I fucking appreciate it. This is remarkable.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

We were both silent while we ate and enjoyed our meal. I wanted to keep her talking, though. I liked the cadence of her voice—I liked it more than I realized.

“Are you a doctor?”

“What?”

“Are you a doctor? I noticed you had a lot of medical stuff on your laptop. I wasn’t snooping; I happened to see it as I was on cleaning up some files. There were a lot of big medical terms I didn’t understand.”

“Um, not the way you think. I don’t treat people like a medical doctor. I have a PhD, but I do research.”

“What kind?”

“I’m a cancer researcher.”

I stopped chewing and glanced over to the fence. “That’s impressive, Kourtney.”

“It’s intense and rewarding.”

“I bet you’re brilliant at it.”

“Why would you say that?”

I shrugged, even though she couldn’t see me. “I get the feeling you’re brilliant at whatever you put your mind to.”

There was silence.

I cursed myself internally but quickly added, “Unless it’s computer-based of course. Hence the wonky laptop.” I paused; curiosity making me ask, “How do you manage at work with computer-related medical programs?”

“Oh, I was trained on the software. It’s very structured there. And, I took a basic course in Word and Excel. But that’s all I know. I have no idea about all the other stuff. I find it very confusing,” she explained, then sighed.

“Yeah, I figured that out from the state of your laptop.” I snickered.

Truthfully, it was awful.

I relaxed when I heard her chuckle in return. “I guess it’s a good thing I live next door to the most brilliant IT guy on the face of the planet—right, Tomcat?”

I leaned back in my chair and scowled at the fence. “Listen, Chefgirl. That’s the third time you’ve called me Tomcat today. What did I say about referring to me as a pussy?”

Her giggle made me smirk.

“You had better be picturing some sleek, sexy, mean, hell-on-wheels kind of pussy when you refer to me that way.” I growled menacingly. “Like the fucking King of the Alley Cats.”

Huge, rich peals of laughter rang out over the fence and I was struggling to hold in my own. I loved hearing her happy sound. It made me feel as if I’d done something right.

“Stop laughing! I swear I’ll do something drastic!”

“What are you going to do?” She gasped between peals of laughter. “Stop eating?”

“Well, now you’re talking crazy, woman.” I snorted in disgust. “I was thinking more like . . .” I grinned. “Cooking for you one night and making you eat it.”

“Now, Nat, that’s beyond drastic . . . it’s cruel,” she deadpanned.

I let go and began laughing with her. “Then behave. I’ll do it, Kourtney with a K. And it won’t be pretty.”

She snorted, then tried covering it up, only to snort again. I laughed harder. How adorable.

Smiling, I tucked back into my dinner. She moved around, bumping into something, muttering a curse that made my smile wider. When dishes appeared on the top of the fence, I eagerly stood and went to retrieve them. “What’s this?” I grabbed the two containers and walked back to the table.

“It’s a thank you.” She sounded nervous.

I opened the first lid and grinned. “Cookies? You made me cookies?”

“My laptop is . . . better than new. I wanted to say thanks. I don’t bake very often, but I thought you’d enjoy those.”

Grabbing a cookie, I bit down and moaned as the taste exploded in my mouth. Was there anything she made that wasn’t awesome?

I picked up the second container and found it filled with more souvlaki and vegetables. There was enough I could take lunch for a few days. I fist pumped the air. No cafeteria for me!

“Kourtney, dinner was thanks enough. But this is incredible. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. Are you done with your plate?”

“Yeah, I’ll wash it and return it tomorrow.”

“No, it’s fine; I’m loading the dishwasher. You can hand it over the fence.”

I walked over, climbed the chair, and lifted the plate. I saw her hand come up, reaching for it. For the first time, I strained to catch a small glimpse of her, but because of the angle, only caught sight of fingers. On impulse, I pulled the plate back and instead reached out for Kourtney’s hand with my own. I grasped her fingers in mine and I heard her small gasp. Her palm trembled, but I held on. I was afraid she would pull away, ready to let go if she did, but not wanting her to break our first connection. My large hand easily encompassed her much smaller one, and I squeezed her fingers.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

“Saying hello. And thank you.”

“Can I have my hand back?”

I squeezed her hand again. “Hello, Kourtney.”

I waited patiently.

She sighed. “Hello, Nathan.”

“Are you on the top step?”

“Um, no. I don’t like heights much.”

“Ah. Not a midget then?”

She giggled at my comment. “No. Shorter than most, but not a midget.”

I shook my head in wonder. “So you don’t like heights, yet almost every day you climb up some steps and make sure I have dinner—Is that right? Even though it makes you uncomfortable?”

“I go only as high as I have to in order to reach the top of the fence. It’s not too far.”

I smiled at how she brushed off the question or any indication of her own feelings.

Pressing her fingers one more time, I noticed how right they felt clasped in mine. “Thank you, Kourtney. Thank you for being brave and climbing the ladder, for dinner, the treats, and your company. All of them were exceptional.”

There was a few beats of silence before she spoke. “You’re welcome, Nat.”

I released her hand, feeling a small pang of regret in doing so. I wanted to get her to come up another couple steps and let me see her. From the angle I was standing, I wouldn’t get much more than a glimpse of the top of her head probably, but still I wanted it. I wanted to tell her I’d hold her hand and she’d be safe doing so. I wanted to talk to her some more. However, I knew, it would only upset her if I asked, so I kept quiet.