Pocketful of Sand(5)

Maybe he’s got dark secrets that keep the town at bay. A scary skeleton in his closet, a maniacal monster under his bed. That’s probably reason number one, the only one I should need, to stay far, far away from him. And that’s exactly what I’m doing. Mostly because he stays away from me, never offering to come over or speak when we go outside. He just keeps to himself and I do the same.

But still, he pulls me.

So here I am. Watching. Waiting, it seems. On what, I don’t know. But I often get the feeling that something is about to happen. Only it never does.

A loud banging at my front door startles me and I spill coffee down the front of my shirt. I grab a napkin and wipe at it as I run, rushing to the door before whoever it is can wake up Emmy. She’s a late sleeper. Sometimes I think God made her that way to protect her.

I peek through the square of glass at the top of the plain wood door and find Jordan smiling up at me. She looks surprisingly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning, considering how she most likely spent her night.

I snap open the dead bolt and unlock the knob. “Hi, Jordan.”

“Hiya, sweetie,” she says, pushing past me and carrying a brown cardboard box into the living room. From that first morning when I met her, she’s taken to me like her long lost best friend.

She’s never come to my house before, but evidently she’s been inside it at some point prior to my arrival. She plops the box down on the coffee table and then perches on the end of the sofa like we do this every day.

“I always loved this material,” she says, rubbing her hand over the velvety cinnamon-colored upholstery.

“You’ve been here before?”

“A time or two. I dated the guy who lived here before you.”

“Dated?” Jason says from behind me as he walks in carrying another box. “You don’t date.”

“Why the hell don’t I date?”

“You’re like the town bicycle. You give rides. You don’t date.”

“Uh!” Jordan squeaks, insulted. “Are you hearing this?” She seems incensed, but then, just as quickly as she got riled, she waves him off and her smile returns, feathers no longer ruffled. I can’t decide if their mean banter is all teasing or if they have a love/hate relationship. “So, your landlord had some things ordered. Wanted us to bring them over when they arrived.”

“Landlord?” I ask in confusion. “I thought Jason was the landlord.”

“Nah, he’s just a lackey.”

“I’m a property manager, not a lackey,” Jason replies sharply. Then he turns to me. “The owner was going to replace a few things before you moved in, but there was no time. Better late than never, though, right?”

I nod, a little uncomfortable with my space being so abruptly and unexpectedly invaded. “What kinds of things are we talking about?”

“New microwave,” he says, indicating the heavier box he was carrying, “new blinds for the kitchen and a new coffee maker.”

I perk up at the mention of the coffee maker. “That’s nice. I’ve been boiling water every morning.”

“Well, not anymore,” Jason says with a smile.

Jordan gets up and wanders to the kitchen, stopping to stare out the window as I so often do. I wonder if she sees the sandcastle guy. Then I wonder if she knows him.

“Damn,” she says on a sigh. “It’s a shame to cover that view with new blinds,” she says. That’s how I know she sees him. There’s nothing spectacular about the view except him. She turns her big smile back toward me. “Unless that’s why he sent the new blinds.”

“Why who sent the new blinds?”

“The owner,” she answers emphatically. “Cole Danzer. He must’ve noticed they were missing.”

I join her in the kitchen, glancing out to where the gorgeous handyman is measuring a piece of wood.

“How would he know?”

“Well, I guess Cole’s not blind and can see from a hundred feet away,” she declares with a laugh, tipping her head toward the window.

“Wait, so he is the owner?” I ask, admiring the way the muscles in his shoulders shift as he works.

“Yep. Cole Danzer.” There’s a dreamy sigh in her voice that matches her expression.

“Crazy Cole is what we call him,” Jason says as he reaches between us to lay the blinds across the sink.

Jordan gasps. “We?”