Chapter 3

A week had gone by since Lara had left Zavien Crane’s envelope under his door, and still, she was finding his mail mixed in with hers. She had even left him a second note—only slightly more aggressive than the first—asking him to please update his mailing address.

It was beginning to get more than a little irksome. In fact, every time his name popped up in between hers, she had to take several deep, calming breaths.

Even overpriced iced coffees and fancy dresses couldn’t take her mind off it.

“What do you think of this one?” Delia held up a floor-length gown made of shimmering black fabric—low-cut yet elegant.

“Very on-brand,” Lara said, swirling her coffee around absently.

Delia was her best friend from childhood. As far back as Lara could remember, Delia had been there, with her perfect, glossy blonde hair, big blue eyes, and pretty, pristine dresses. She had even won one of those toddler pageants.

Delia’s mother had the photo up on their fireplace mantle.

“Like, too on-brand?” Delia pursed her lips, pondering the dress. “I don’t want to be boring.”

Lara rolled her eyes and swatted Delia lightly. “When have you ever been boring?”

“True,” Delia agreed with a playful wink. Still, she put the dress back on the rack. “Don’t want any of those fuddy-duddies to keel over. ~These~ aren’t for the fainthearted.” She jostled her ample chest with a flirty pout.

“It’s a wonder they let you just roam around in society. There has to be a law against it.”

“I got a right to bear arms, baby.”

Lara laughed. “You might want to keep your weapons concealed to appease all the wives,” she reminded her.

Delia was always off to some gala or another. She handled PR for her father’s company and also represented him at charity events. Lara wouldn’t have been able to count the sheer number of fancy cocktail dresses and ball gowns in Delia’s closet.

It wasn’t only the money and her beauty that made her so alluring, though.

Despite all roads leading to the conclusion that Delia was an insufferable bitch—which Lara would affectionately tell her she was—she was actually sort of incredible: snarky and fun yet thoughtful and caring when it really mattered.

And she could charm the checkbook out of anyone’s dusty wallet with ease.

“So, tell me more about the hot neighbor man,” Delia said between ~hmm~s and ~huh~s as she sifted through dresses.

“He’s like a big teddy bear,” Lara gushed, thinking about Travis’s dimpled smile, strong shoulders, and warm brown eyes. “He’s giving me the lowdown on some of the characters in our building. Like Mr. Nakamura, the property manager. Travis said he’s never seen the man make any overt facial expressions.”

Delia shrugged. “Probably too much Botox.”

Lara doubted it, but she had only met the man once, and who was she to judge? “He did say that Crane guy was a decent enough neighbor, but I can’t see how.” Lara frowned.

Delia turned her face to Lara, likely so she could show off how dramatically she was rolling her eyes. “The mail guy again?” she asked with a whine.

Lara pouted despite herself. “Yes. It’s annoying. And inconsiderate.”

“It’s just mail, Lara.” Delia furrowed her brow. “Isn’t his box right next to yours? Can’t you just dump it in there and move on with your life?” she asked pointedly.

“And allow him to continue on like this? He needs to change it.” Lara expressed her passion with her hands, causing her coffee to slosh dangerously in its cup and nearly splash a poofy white cocktail dress.

Nudging Lara to the side, Delia gave the dresses a two-foot clearance. “So throw them away. Then he’ll have no choice but to change it.”

“Isn’t destroying mail a crime?”

Delia hummed, neither confirming nor denying anything.

“Also, who does he think he is, walking around all covered up? Weirdo behavior for sure,” Lara said, lacking any other insults to sling at him.

“Sounds kinda hot to me,” Delia said with a shrug.

“Traitor,” Lara grumbled.

“Okay, no more mailman talk. Have your parents planned to come up yet?”

“Yeah, in a couple of weeks,” Lara said. “I have Friday through Sunday off, so it’ll be perfect. They want to see the apartment, make sure it’s as safe as I’m telling them it is.” She smiled and tilted her head. “You know how they are.”

“You’re their darling, brilliant daughter,” Delia said with a false swoon before dodging Lara’s half-assed swat with a snicker. “They didn’t worry this much when you lived with me.”

After leaving their hometown in the country and moving to Kinsley for college, Lara and Delia had lived together—first in the dorms and then in Delia’s swanky three-bedroom apartment in one of those fancy aparthotels that had a concierge and private elevators.

Until Lara had moved out a few weeks ago.

Sometimes she missed the luxury of floor-to-ceiling windows and a rooftop infinity pool, but it felt good to have her own place. It might not have been as flashy as Delia’s, but it was comfortable and safe, and most importantly, it was all hers.

“What about the wunderkinds?” Delia asked, moving on.

That made Lara smile into her melted iced coffee.

Blake and Jae were two of Lara’s—and by extension, Delia’s—oldest friends. Jae came from the oldest of money, and he very much acted like it. Blake was the opposite: wild and unmannered, an orphan raised by his weird uncle.

They had absolutely nothing in common, were constantly butting heads and arguing, and, naturally, were completely and disgustingly in love.

“They stopped by two days after I moved in. Blake brought me a couple of appliances as a housewarming gift,” Lara said.

“Let me guess, a waffle press and an electric kettle?” Delia asked.

“Exactly.”

The two of them shared a laugh at that.

Blake gave all his friends the same two housewarming gifts—a waffle press, hoping someone would make him fresh waffles, and a kettle for when no one did, forcing him to resort to instant noodles.

“How ’bout this one?” Delia asked, flourishing a lush red gown with a plunging neckline.

Lara hummed as she feigned serious consideration. “It’s perfect,” she said with a triumphant grin.

“Really?” Delia beamed and then twisted the dress to look at it again.

“Mm-hmm. You can just have people stick their donations under your boob tape.” Lara traced her finger along the low, silky neckline.

Delia slapped her hand away before shoving the dress back on its rail. “Prudish bitch,” she grumbled and moved on to a different rack.

Lara trailed behind her in laughter.

***

In a very unsurprising turn of events, Delia had convinced Lara to treat herself to a few items at the mall. She was happily ruminating on her purchases—a flirty summer dress, a new pair of sandals, and a skirt that was probably way too short—when she spotted him.

Zavien Crane.

Wearing his recognizable navy cap and black mask, he left his apartment and strode down the hall with his eyes downcast.

He clearly didn’t want to engage with anyone he passed, but why? What was he hiding? Was he deformed? Scarred? Or were his scars deeper, on the inside?

As the questions swirled in her mind, all Lara knew for sure was that something about him intimidated her, and her steps faltered.

Should she confront him, or should she take Delia’s advice and drop the issue? A man like him, someone who blatantly disregarded the basic norms of society, was clearly unhinged. Was it worth confronting such a man?

It took her all of half a second to decide it absolutely was.

Her mama didn’t raise no chickenshit.

Rather than getting in his face the way her most reckless impulses urged her to, she called out to him in her sweetest, most pleasant voice, “Excuse me.”

He didn’t react.

“Excuse me,” she said again more forcefully, this time stepping right up to him and blocking his path.

Jerking to a halt, he lifted his cap, revealing dark-gray eyes and silver eyebrows, one of which arched up in question. He removed an earbud as he scrutinized her. “Can I help you?” His voice was low and smooth, quiet but commanding.

He was taller than she had realized, more imposing now that he was standing right in front of her. The unique coloring of his eyes and eyebrows held her in a trance as heat radiated from his body, carrying with it a fresh, soapy scent.

This sudden influx of sensory input left her momentarily speechless, and his eyebrow continued to rise the longer she stood in front of him in silence.

Thankfully, the ding of the elevator brought her back to the moment.

“Y-yes. Are you Zavien Crane?” she asked, knowing full well who he was.

“You’re not here to subpoena me, are you?” His tone was serious, but his unwavering gaze and the way his dark eyes twinkled made her think he wasn’t all too worried about legal action.

“No, I live in 32H.” She gestured toward her apartment behind him, jostling her bags of goodies in the process.

He glanced down at the bags with a hum. “Nice to meet you. If you’ll excuse me.” He moved to step around her, raising the earbud back to his ear.

She caught him by his elbow to stop him. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about your mail. I don’t suppose you’ve seen my notes?”

“The little pink Post-its?” His gaze traveled up to her hair. “That makes sense.”

Annoyance warmed her cheeks. “Did you happen to read them?” Her growing irritation came out in her tone, and she reminded herself to keep it in check.

“Were those actual words? I thought maybe a child somewhere was learning the alphabet.” He tsk-tsked and shook his head. “Your penmanship is abysmal.”

She growled up at him and resisted the urge to stomp her foot. “I don’t need a lesson on calligraphy; I need you to update your address so that your mail doesn’t keep ending up in my mailbox,” she said, forcing her voice to remain even and calm.

If she happened to speak through gritted teeth, then so be it.

“Okay.” He shrugged.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” he repeated himself slowly, as if she were a child.

She glared, and when he remained cool and unbothered under her scrutiny, she harrumphed and marched toward her apartment.

***

The next day, Lara and Travis walked up to their apartments together after work; their shifts had lined up again, which had been a nice surprise.

The small brown package she spotted outside her door, on the other hand, was something she wasn’t too sure about.

“What’s that?” Travis asked and followed her to the box.

“No idea. It isn’t mine.” She stooped low to pick it up, frowning as she turned it over in her hands until she found the addressee.

As she read the name above her address, she let out an angry growl. “Fucking Zavien.”