Prologue - The Beginning

Trouble thy name is Nathan. 

It was six months ago now that I had moved into this apartment, leaving behind a cute townhouse (that I liked) and my ex (that I didn’t). Am I paying more for this one-bedroom cupboard than I was for a spacious 3 bedroom unit? Sure. But this place has the benefit of being close to my favourite French patisserie, and I no longer have to see Eddie’s face every day. 

And that’s where the trouble started. 

You see, I have the misfortune of living in apartment 1B. Which is not a problem on its own. The apartment is lovely. There’s a small balcony overlooking a quiet street, wallpaper that doesn’t make me want to reconsider the wonders of sight, and a clawfoot tub which I’ve renamed ‘my happy place’. 

The issue is that 1B can sometimes be confused by the postman as 18. 

And Nathan Blake lives in apartment 18. 

Ah, Nathan Blake. Late 30s, dark hair, mesmerising blue eyes, and built like an ox missing a plough. 

Also the single most irritating man I’d ever met. 

Blake had the misfortune of being incredibly attractive, knowing it, and thinking he was utterly charming to boot. From what I’d seen, he wielded that knowledge like a weapon at every girl in the vicinity, and despite my best efforts, seemed only amused by the fact that I didn’t fall for him anytime we interacted. 

Day 1 - The First

It started with a little white box. 

Placed outside my door with no name or address. Inside was a handmade chocolate truffle, and a note that said, “I would entreat upon you, to know your wonders, your loveliness unravelled.”

And how could I help the little skip of my heart at those words? At the thought of having a secret admirer? Which was the only explanation, seeing as how I was decidedly, almost morbidly, single. 

It had been weeks since I’d been out on a date and longer than that since I'd had a relationship. In fact, the more I thought about it, the less confident I was that this was meant for me. 

And that’s when realisation set in. 

Nathan.

I slumped against the door, disappointed. Then in dread, because this meant a trip upstairs. 

Curious, I opened the box, admiring the beautifully crafted chocolate inside; perfectly round, smooth dark chocolate with a dusting of gold. 

Once again, I wondered what it must be like to be Nathan Blake; confident, sexy, the centre of attention. Never having to google ‘meals for one’. Never looking longingly at couples holding hands. 

It’s still early, so I can only hope he’s not home. At work, or elsewhere. Who knows how he spends his time. 

Once at his door, I contemplate leaving the box and walking away, but my manners get the better of me. Before I’ve had a chance to talk myself out of it, I raise my hand to his door. Maybe if I knock quietly? So I’ve tried but don’t actually have to see him. 

Of course, he hears the knock. There’s light scuffling on the other side of the door and my pulse races as I listen to it get closer. 

When the door opens, I’m momentarily distracted by the smooth planes of bare skin on show, a dusting of dark hair across his chest and then further down, just above the band of his boxers, leading to - 

Nope.
I tear my eyes away, back to his face, finding that same knowing smirk peering down at me. Ignoring the flush that floods my cheeks, I shove the box towards him and pray he will take it so I can leave. Quickly.

“Morning, neighbour.” His voice is honey and cinnamon. “I wondered how long it would take before I saw you again. Couldn’t stay away, I guess.” 

My teeth grind behind my forced smile. It’s criminal how good his voice sounds, but I refuse to let him see it affect me. “I got your mail again.” 

The chocolate box is still thrust towards him. He doesn’t move to take it. Instead, he leans against the doorway, looking far too comfortable for someone who is barely dressed. There’s an errant curl hovering over his eyebrow that I’m itching to touch. I watch as he takes in what I’m wearing, eyes shining in amusement. “Nice PJs.” 

My free hand instinctively comes to my thigh, a futile attempt to cover up the cartoon penguins that are dancing over the material. 

I knew I should have changed before I stormed up here. 

“Can you just take this, so I can go?” Inwardly, I cringe at how flustered I sound. Why does he have to have this effect on me? 

I push the box into his chest, hoping he’ll finally take it off me, but it’s immediately the wrong move because I now know precisely how the warm hardness of his body feels beneath my hand, and my own body betrays how much I like it. 

Blissfully, he takes the box, giving me the chance to step back and try to collect myself, heartbeat thumping in my throat, hands, stomach. 

I wait and watch as he opens it. I’m strangely curious to see how he reacts, but he’s interrupted by a bark. Suddenly, there’s a mass of white fluff squeezing by him and jumping up to greet me. 

“Parker, get down. Leave Cassidy alone.” Nathan commands. 

Parker drops down, mouth open and tongue lolling to the side, seemingly disappointed at not being able to lick my face as planned.

Nathan’s free hand rustles the thick fur on the dog’s head, resulting in the Samoyed nuzzling into him, and I find myself jealous. I don’t think about which one of them I’m envious of. 

As Nathan begins shuffling Parker back inside, I spot the printed Marvin the Martian on the side of his boxers and bite back a grin. Cute. Not what I would have expected from him. 

With his back turning, I recognise my chance to excuse myself but falter when he turns back to me, smile soft and inviting. “Come on in. You caught me at the perfect time.” 

I hesitate, but my curiosity wins out, and I follow him inside. 

Setting the box on his kitchen island, he returns to his cooktop, and without pausing, he picks up a skillet, pouring in some pancake mix and looking very comfortable in the kitchen. Another surprise. He appears to be full of them. 

“Sit. Make yourself comfortable. Breakfast is almost ready.” He says. 

If I didn’t know any better, I would feel like this meeting was prearranged. But that’s crazy. I shouldn’t even be here. What am I doing? 

I just came to bring him his damn package, and now I’m loitering in his living room, watching him dance around the kitchen making breakfast. While barely clothed. 

I’ve officially lost my mind. 

Clearing the awkward lump that has settled in my throat, I ask, “Do you think you maybe want to put a shirt on?” 

“Why? Are you finding it difficult to concentrate?” The delivery is devilish, and the bastard even winks at me. 

The laugh bubbles out of me, unexpected. Like I said. Trouble. 

Before I can respond, he’s placing two plates on the counter and directing me to sit. 

Insanely, I do. 

The food smells incredible, and I watch with surprise as he adds a generous pouring of maple syrup, a sprinkling of icing sugar, and a handful of fresh berries to both. My mouth is watering. 

Digging in, it’s so delicious, I almost want to laugh. On top of everything else, he’s a good cook. Because of course, the incredibly handsome jackass of a neighbour I have both loves dogs and can cook. 

It’s making it terribly difficult to continue hating him. 

Even his apartment is a surprise. The small glances that I’d gotten on previous occasions hadn’t told me much, besides seeing that the layout was more or less a mirror image of my own. But now that I’m able to look around, I’m fascinated to know more about this man.

There’s a workbench in the corner covered in computer parts and tools, a mostly exposed black casing sitting in the centre. On the floor below, Parker is curled up on a bed, looking content. 

From the way the mess is congregated between the kitchen and the workbench, I’m assuming that’s where Nathan spends most of his time. 

I don’t know what I was expecting from Nathan Blake’s apartment, but this isn’t it. It’s all so… domestic. 

“Don’t mind the mess, I had to bring work home.” He’s gesturing to the workbench.

Mildly embarrassed that he caught me openly gawking at his apartment, I change the subject, using my fork to point at the chocolate box that’s been left forgotten on the counter between us. “You still haven’t opened your gift.” 

He opens it, reads the note, and admires the chocolate before turning back to me. “And why are you adamant it’s for me? There’s no name on it.” 

“Because…” I drift off. Because I don’t have anyone. Because you constantly have a beautiful woman on your arm. Because how could anyone in their right mind not fall for you? “Because I know it’s definitely not for me.” 

“Definitely not for you,” he repeats slowly, his eyes intent on mine, searching. “You sound very sure of that. There’s not a single person you can think of who sent you this? Maybe you have a secret admirer?” 

I cock a single brow at him, sceptical, and am rewarded with a laugh that lights up his face and sends the butterflies in my stomach into a tizzy. 

“Agree to disagree,” I say. 

Warmth radiates from him as he smiles. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see.” 

Day 2 - The Second

The next day, I wake up to no chocolate boxes sitting by my door, and I bite back the disappointment. 

Stupid sexy Nathan and his stupid suggestions. Of course it wasn’t meant for me. 

For the rest of my day, I throw myself into my work, pushing Nathan and the chocolate out of my mind. Instead, I think about my recent resolution to cook more, and how I can probably make it to the decent grocer on my way home if I leave a few minutes early and don’t miss the 4:15 train. 

My hands are full when I finally get back to the apartment building. So full that I’m having trouble reaching the button for the elevator. Relief fills me when the doors open on their own, only to find myself face to face with the troublemaker himself. 

“Just the person I was looking for.” The sparkle in his eyes makes me lightheaded. 

He looks good, in snug jeans and a dark button-down with the sleeves rolled up. Everything perfectly tailored to hug the physique he must work so hard to maintain.

“Nathan.” Ignoring the way my voice breaks, I quickly shuffle past him into the elevator, but again struggle to reach the button for my floor while holding everything. 

“I’ve got it.” And then he’s stepping back inside the elevator and taking the bags out of my hands before I can protest. 

Grateful, and blushing, I hit the button for my floor, all too aware of how confined the space feels with only the two of us. Which currently gives me the perfect viewpoint to see the veins in his forearms bulge as he grips the bags of groceries. 

It’s as unnerving as the sly smile he’s sending me when he realises what I’m staring at. 

Thankfully we reach my floor quickly, and I barrel ahead of him out of the elevator, marching up to my door. Then, I spot it. 

A small white box.

“Looks like your admirer is back.” Goosebumps trickle out over my neck where he has leaned in, his deep voice a low rumble in my ear. 

“Or yours,” I counter, picking up the box and opening my door. 

Directing Nathan inside, I step in after him and hold the unopened box in my hands, hesitating. I can feel him watching me. 

“Don’t you want to open it?” He asks, surprisingly soft when I’m expecting him to be smug. 

Inside is another beautifully crafted truffle; this time a short flat square, with a striking floral pattern in burnt orange that contrasts the white chocolate underneath. 

It looks too good to even eat. 

Another note is tucked into the box. It’s as sweet and mysterious as the last one. “As the sea said unto the moon, you move me, even from afar.”

My brow creases. Where are these coming from? 

Yesterday I’d been convinced that these were for Nathan, but now I wasn’t so sure. Two in a row showing up at my door wasn’t a coincidence, was it?

“Wow. These are incredible.” My attention is pulled away from the mystery chocolate, to find Nathan admiring a handful of watercolour sketches that are haphazardly pinned near the window. 

Pride floods through me. He’s the first person outside of my family to see my artwork. “Thanks, they’re uh, well, they… I’m just learning right now, so…” 

“You made these?” And, oh. Hearing the blatant appreciation is kind of amazing.  

“Yes. I wouldn’t want to do it professionally, but there’s something really calming about it. All the possibilities of a blank canvas. The reassuring way the paints react. It’s comforting. I mean, you’re the creator, but you’re not really in control of how it turns out, you know?” It’s a sentiment I’ve never truly been able to put into words. The way it feels to hold the brush but be as surprised by the outcome as anyone else. In the times I’ve tried to explain it, I’ve received polite confusion in response. 

“I know exactly what you mean. When I’m building a PC, I can know exactly how to connect everything, the precise order to arrange it, triple-check everything and still not know what will happen when I turn it on. It’s an adventure every time.” 

“Exactly,” I say, excited and a little guilty for the time I spent disliking him in the past. For how badly I had misjudged him.

There’s a long beat where we’re silently smiling at each other. Belatedly, I remember about the groceries. “Oh, I should put those away,” reaching out to take the bags off his hands.  

While Nathan helps me put everything away, we settle into easy conversation about how our day was. It’s bizarrely easy to talk to him, and his witty remarks about his coworkers make me laugh.

Who knew there was such a sardonic wit under all that muscle? 

Soon, he’s checking the time. “I should go, it’s getting late.” 

“Or,” I say, feeling nervous, “You could stay. I owe you a meal after yesterday.” 

He smiles. “I’d like that.” 

“Chinese?” I hold up the takeaway menu. Because even if I want to start cooking more, I’m not prepared to have Nathan Blake here while I do it. That’s far too much pressure. 

“And here I was thinking you were offering me a home-cooked meal.” 

“It’s home-cooked,” I retort. “Just not by me.” 

His laughter is adrenaline to my system, and I try not to think about how much this feels like a date. 

Day 3 - The Third

This is ridiculous. Just open the door and take a look. There’s probably not even anything there. 

So why was I so scared to just open it and see? 

Sitting at my kitchen counter in my pyjamas, I hold yesterday’s box in my hands, hoping some clue would emerge that would explain this. 

No name meant it could be for anyone, but then surely whoever had sent the first one would have figured out by now it hadn’t reached its destination and then not sent the second? 

Plus, there wasn’t a shipping label, so they must have been hand-delivered right to my door. 

But who would send me chocolates? 

My family was out - any care package my mother would have sent would have been posted. Friends? No, they would have texted me and the notes were too romantic. A colleague? But no one knew my home address. 

That left very few options. 

And one crazy hope. 

I jump at the knock on my door, my heart pounding in my chest. Please, I ask.

And then I’m thinking nothing at all, because Nathan Blake is standing at my door, holding a little white box. Leaving little doubt as to who my admirer is. 

“This is for you.” 

I’m breathless. “Why?” 

“I wanted to get to know you. Wanted you to get to know me. Maybe see something beyond the looks…” 

“And the girls,” I add. 

He regards me with an amused smirk. “There was not as many as you clearly think.” 

Chuckling, I ask, “And the notes?”

“Ah,” he says, running a hand through his hair, “Stolen from a book of old poems I like. Sorry to disappoint you.” 

“Somehow, Nathan,” I take the chocolate box from him, moving closer until we are touching, “I don’t think you could. Surprise me? Yes. Infuriate me? Sure,” he huffs out a laugh, and I stretch up, wrapping my arms around his neck. “But disappoint me? No.”  

His smile is warm and dangerous at this distance, and my gaze drifts to his lips as his strong arms wrap around me. “Go out with me.” That honey voice is molasses, rich and sure. 

I would barely have to move to kiss him. “If I say yes, will you stop bringing me chocolates?” 

“Never.” The curl of his smile brushes mine as we meet, lips soft and light and what I know is the first of many more.

“Then yes.”

THE END.