Cynthia was right - their place was a mess, but it was a beautiful mess. The furniture they had lying around may have been out of place for the time being, but it all looked like luxury was the key word. Neat, delicate ornaments poked out of boxes, and their photographs and paintings waiting to be hung up were all housed in lavish, ornate silver frames.
Hoping my nosiness wasn't too transparent, I had to ask. "So, what do you and your husband do?"
"I'm an interior designer."
I had a little lightbulb moment as I looked at the silver horse head ornament that was resting on a green armchair, both of them waiting to be put in their proper places. That totally made sense. I couldn't wait to see how the house looked with everything organised, it'd be beautiful.
Cynthia swung open the dramatic double doors to a lounge that was currently home to two large, empty bookcases and a pricey-looking burgundy couch set. "And my husband, Mark," she continued, "is a talent agent-- ah, and here it is!"
She'd swept us through the room to an open-plan dining room and kitchen combo. The fittings and fixtures were all sleek metal, and I felt a pang of jealousy. Our cramped, stained, unintentionally retro kitchen in no way lived up to this. "I just can't figure out the settings and I'm dying for a coffee," she sighed, picking up the instruction manual that had definitely been huffily discarded on the marbled countertop.
"This looks like the one Mom has," Summer piped up. "Lemme take a look..." she trailed off, pushing at a few of the buttons with hope written all over her face. When nothing happened, she gave Cynthia a sheepish grin and a "Maybe not," before she took the guide from her, flipping it open.
Cynthia chuckled, watching her get to work. Silence settled between the three of us momentarily, with Summer zoning out entirely to bury her nose in the manual, but then Cynthia remembered herself. "Ah - that's what I was saying. Mark is our Nora's agent. She does a spot of modelling from time to time, and he's the one who deals with the agencies for her," she explained, waving a hand dismissively and rolling her eyes. "It's all such a fuss, I don't know why we don't just hire an agent for her. He's already going gray," she said, lowering her tone as if she were confiding in us. The cheeky smile on her face said it probably wasn't an actual secret, however.
I chuckled along with her, but I was still thinking about the whole model thing. "That's so awesome, though," I said. "Does she do, like, adverts or...?" I frowned, leaving the space for Cynthia to fill in.
"A bit of everything, really. Who knows? You might have seen her in something," she smiled, a tinge of pride in her warm expression. "She just did a little print ad for some restaurant chain-- you'll have to ask her about it," she said, shaking her head. "I can't keep track of what she gets up to. I think she's upstairs, you know - I'll go see if she's busy." Cynthia blinked over at Summer, who was at least tuned in enough to nod and smile back at her.
As soon as she was out of the kitchen - and hopefully out of earshot - I couldn't help myself. "Holy shit, Sum. A model? This is gonna be life-ruining," I groaned.
"Uh, wow. Keep it in your pants, dude," Summer scoffed, while pressing another button on the coffee machine and then frowning pensively when it beeped, but did nothing.
I rolled my eyes, but Summer was too engrossed in playing barista to notice. "Not what I meant," I clarified. "Like... how am I supposed to pick up girls if I live next door to a model? Talk about being overshadowed. This is so unfair." I wanted to pout, but Summer wasn't paying enough attention to me for it to be worth hamming it up.
Summer chuckled, despite eliciting two angry beeps from the machine and a weird whirring noise. "You'll just have to blindfold your dates on the way in and out of the house, I guess," she teased.
"Right, they'll love that."
"Hey, I don't know what kinds of girls you go for. They might be into that," Summer said, glancing up at me to flick her eyebrows up suggestively.
I looked away, stifling a laugh before putting a hand over my eyes, feigning exhaustion. "I need you to stop talking," I said, moving my hand to drag it tiredly down my face instead, trying to be dramatically done with her. "This is-- you're just-- too much."
"Thanks," Summer quietly replied, checking out of the conversation, before she suddenly sucked in a loud breath.
"What?"
"I did it. Holy-- I did it, dude, I'm like... a genius," Summer gushed, looking proudly down at the thin ring of light around the most prominent button on the coffee machine. It was glowing green, now, instead of the uncooperative red it'd been before.
Cynthia chose that moment to reappear, clapping her hands proudly. "You did it? It should work now?" Cynthia asked, drawing nearer. "Well -we'll have to celebrate with a cup or two, won't we?" She laughed lightly, reaching into the large cardboard box that was stacked up on the counter before producing four empty cups.
She set about fussing with the newly-fixed machine, busying herself, and that was when I noticed that Summer's attention was on the doorway.
The four cups should have been a giveaway, really.
"Hey," a voice said. "You're our neighbors?"
Cynthia shook her head, turning around and holding a pausing finger up. "Just-- Jess, was it?" She asked, nodding at me like she was kinda sure, but still didn't want to risk getting it wrong. "And this is her friend, um-- Summer!"
The world had just fallen out from under my feet. I looked back at Summer, wanting to say something. The weirdest part was-- well, no, the weirdest part was definitely the girl standing in the doorway, but the look on Summer's face was up there. She looked equal parts dumbstruck and amused, but honestly? The look on my face was probably outshining it. My jaw might as well have hit the floor. I felt sick, somehow, and I knew it wasn't because of the cupcake I'd semi-stolen.
"Sweet. Nice to meet you guys. I'm Nora," the girl said.
Words were failing me, and worse? Words seemed to be failing Summer, too. My hand instinctively reached for hers, something like panic in my stomach. It was happening. It was happening, and I had no idea what to do. I squeezed her hand, hard.
When Summer gave a weird, lazy laugh in response to Nora, I realised she was somehow dealing with this worse than I was - and I was staring, completely out of it, at my new neighbor, so we were both doing pretty terribly, socially. In a blur, words began to rush out of my mouth.
"We have to go," I blurted out, finally tearing my eyes away from Nora's face to stare meaningfully at Summer, instead. She's the girl, I was trying to telepathically say to her. She's the girl from my dreams.
Summer looked dazed, and she didn't seem to be getting my telepathic messages. What was the point of being best friends with someone who couldn't even pick up my brainwaves? Shit. Summer nodded feebly, but then shook her head, ripping her own gaze away from Nora to blink down at me.
"Wait, why? Your dad's not gonna be home for hours," she shrugged. "We should-- ow, dude!"
I'd stomped on her foot.
"Yeah, Dad won't be home for hours, but um. Cleaning - we have a ton of cleaning up to do, so. We have to. Go. Now. Come on, Sum," I said, insistently, tugging at her hand. I knew I was blushing because this was so horribly awkward, but I had no idea how to make a smoother exit. My whole brain was in panic mode, nothing was working up there beyond a big alarm system that kept blaring she's the one at me. Not ideal, upon first meeting your model-hot new neighbor, I know.
"Oh, that's a shame!" Cynthia was chiming in, following me as I practically dragged Summer back to the front door. "You'll have to help me test out the coffee machine another time," she offered, hospitable as she'd been from the off.
"Totally," Nora said, and I felt my insides flip around uncomfortably. Her voice was syrupy and thick, and it was doing super weird things to my heart. "It'd be nice to get to know you guys."
Summer was beaming like she'd been told she'd won the lottery when she answered with a dreamy "For sure," and I let go of her hand as we finally crossed the threshold back outside.
"That'd be, um. Great. Definitely," I said, trying to nod casually but overshooting massively and looking enthusiastic as hell.
There was a long, dreadful pause in which we all grinned at each other dumbly.
"Well," Cynthia prodded. "Good luck with the cleaning, girls!"
I didn't just want the ground to swallow me up. I wanted the sea to rise and pull me under; clouds to dissolve me into their mist; a lightning bolt to strike me down.
I'd met the girl from my dreams. And I'd had no idea what to say.