Chapter One

Day One

He was just coming home from…what was her name again? Jenna? Jenny? Gina—Gina with her devilish smile and curves that could send a man into cardiac arrest—that was her name, he was sure of it. He was just coming home from Gina's apartment when he saw her. Cinnamon waves just brushing her shoulders, slim figure encased in a pair of dark jeans and a form-fitting sweater, a box tucked under her arm, a bag hanging off of her shoulder and a cell phone tucked between her ear and that same shoulder. The feeling that he knew the woman from somewhere niggled at him like a long-forgotten dream, grabbing hold of him and refusing to let go.

But when he heard her voice, terse and slightly aggravated as she spoke to the person of the receiving end of the phone, the feeling became an aching certainty.

"Yes, Mom, I'm all moved in…No, I can't change my mind now…Even if I wanted to, which I don't, I signed a lease…It is not a bad area. It's affordable, which given my job situation, is what I need right now…I know you'd loan me the money but that's not the point…Look, if you're so worried about it, why don't you just ask Jake what he thinks. He is the one who helped me move, after all. He didn't seem to have the problem that you do with it…I highly doubt that since it was years ago…It is not…No, I will not…Yeah, I'll remember…Okay, I'll see you Saturday…I love you too…Bye."

She let out a frustrated sigh as she tossed the phone in the box she was carrying and ran the hand through her hair as if she wanted to pull it out. "I'm twenty-six freaking years old and still treated like I'm six. How seriously messed up is that?" he heard her grumble as she dug through her bag.

He didn't know what made him make his next move, whether it was the fact that the box kept slipping or the fact that she sounded genuinely upset by the phone call, but he stepped forward and snagged the box from her grip. She whipped around, crystal blue eyes ablaze with indignation. "Excuse me, I don't know who the hell you think you are but today is not a good day to mess with me," she growled, the sound sending a tremor to his gut that he knew he had never felt before.

He shifted the box and held up a freed hand. "Relax; I was just trying to help."

"I would've managed." She pulled her keys from the bag and slipped it into the lock on the doorknob, pushing open the door and reaching for the box. "But thanks, I guess."

He followed her inside the apartment, noting the changes that she had made to make it more hospitable like the lavender paint on the walls and the matching furniture. The only way anyone would know that she was new to the building were the stacks of boxes lining the walls which he placed the box he was carrying on top of. "So when did you move in?"

"Yesterday afternoon. I'm sorry; can I help you with something?"

"You don't remember me, do you?"

She narrowed her eyes and chewed on her bottom lip as she regarded him thoughtfully. "Should I?"

"Well, we did go to school together for four years. And I'd like to think they were memorable."

A shaped brow rose. "If they were so memorable, then I would know who you are and we wouldn't have to play guessing games. Now, would we?"

Touché. "That sort of hurts, Edwards. It's not too saintly to wound a man's ego. I mean, I was a big deal back then. Not only was I the star but I was the captain of both the wrestling and the football teams and I happened to be one of the most popular guys at Degrassi."

He could pinpoint the exact moment realization hit when her eyes widened. "Of course, now I remember. How could I forget the guy who made the lives of both my friends and myself perfect hell?"

"Geez, harsh much? And after I was nice enough to help you out in your time of need in the hallway."

She shrugged. "I only go by what memory serves. And I wasn't that needy, Owen."

"I only go by what memory serves," he mimicked, causing her to roll her eyes. "What's it going to take for you to see that I've changed?"

"A time machine. Or maybe a giant mind eraser."

Owen chuckled sarcastically. "Were you always such a comedian? But seriously, we're going to be neighbors so I guess I'll have plenty of opportunities to change your mind."

"Wait a minute, what do you mean by neighbors?"

A smirk formed on his lips as he backed up towards the door. "Oh, did I forget to mention that I live across the hall? See you around, neighbor."

He slipped through the door and shut it behind him, the sound of her infuriated scream music to his ears.

Day Two

He didn't know why but he was less than surprised to find Clare talking on her cell in the hall when he got home from work the next day. After happening upon her the day before during the conversation with her mother and, again, that morning on his way out, he figured that either she liked having private conversations made public or people just liked to call her at inopportune moments. Whatever it was, he was more surprised to find that it was Alli that she was speaking to than the fact that she was on her phone for the third time in the shared hallway.

"How many times do I have to tell you, I'm not interested…No, I'm not dating anyone…I don't have to be dating someone to not be interested, Alli…I don't care if he's next up to be the King of England…It's not about that…That ended a year ago and good riddance…Yes, okay, you got me. I'm so hung up over my deadbeat ex-boyfriend that I can't bring myself to date your fiancé's cousin's friend's sister's roommate…Yes, Alli that was sarcasm." She must have caught sight of him eavesdropping out of the corner of her eyes because she smiled and waved at him. He had to admit that it was nice change in attitude from the caustic welcome he received the day before and the flippant greeting that morning. "Alli, I just don't want to be set up with some guy who has four 'of a friend' before his name…Yes, just one less would have made such the difference."

He chuckled when she rolled her eyes. "Oh, would look at that? My neighbor just stopped by for something. Perhaps you might remember him? Owen Milligan? No? Well, I got to go. Call you later, Alli." She hung up the phone; cutting off her friend's sputtering as she tried to form a reply and slipped it inside her purse. "She's on the verge of having a fit. She just hasn't figured out how to have it and still be appropriate. But I can almost guarantee that when she does, she's going to be contacting everyone we know to get your number to make sure your behaving yourself."

"Alli Bhandari is about to become my own personal stalker. I never thought I'd see the day."

"Yeah, well, you'll wish you hadn't when it does. I can get over past grudges. Alli, on the other hand, has a little trouble with them."

"Is that why you've seemed to get over hating my guts?"

Clare shrugged. "I've just done some thinking about things and I guess you had a point. If you have changed, then I wouldn't really know since we haven't seen each other in almost a decade. And since we are neighbors, I should at least have the decency to give you the chance to show me especially since I'm sure I'm not the same girl you knew back then. So, I guess I'm declaring the slate to be clean between us."

Owen nodded, digging out his keys and sliding it into the lock on the door. Turning it to release the deadbolt and then moved to the actual lock on the handle, he moved to push open the door but paused before entering his dimly lit apartment. "There's one thing wrong with what you said. No matter how much you might've matured, you're still the same girl that I knew. People don't change that drastically."

He shut the door behind him, missing the rosy blush that had formed on Clare's cheeks.

Day Seven/Eight

The sounds of someone swearing and hitting the wall jolted her from her a practically dreamless sleep, causing a momentary confusion as to just where that sleep was being contacted. It took a minute for her mind to register that the blue light was coming from the television and not the blue light she keep plugged into the bathroom wall that adjoined her bedroom. Clare sought out her cell phone that was on the table before her and hit a button, blearily noting that the hour was nearing three and the only reason that she could hear the mysterious person outside her apartment was because she fell asleep on the sofa yet again.

Rolling off of said object, she stretched to work out the kinks in her back that resulted from her awkward sleeping arrangement and made her way to the door to find the source of her interrupted sleep. She whipped open the door, ready to let whoever it was have an ear full, but her jaw could only drop when she saw who it was on the other side.

She hadn't seen him since their Sunday afternoon run-in five and a half days before, not that she was counting or anything. There had been no casual interludes in the hallway due to her phone conversations, no simple greetings when she was coming and he was going or vice versa. In fact, it was as though they had returned to their former high school selves and simply began to pretend like the other didn't exist. Which she knew did not bode well for their previous agreement to wipe the slate clean and start anew.

Clare would have been angry at this if not for the fact that she had not put in any of her own effort to talk to the man. But work kept her busy, so busy that she hardly had time to fall into her own bed much less knock on his door, and she figured that it must have been the same for him. Although, she hardly figured that work was the reason he was currently stumbling around in the hallway, teach her words she never knew existed or would have put in that context and banging into both her wall and his own.

"Uh, Owen, are you okay?" she ventured, then mentally smacked her own forehead. Hadn't she learned from her last boyfriend not to ask stupid questions like that when it was so clear that the person in question wasn't okay? "Owen?"

He turned to face her. If she couldn't tell before that he had been drinking by the way he had been staggering, the glazed look in his eyes and the distinct odor radiating from his person definitely gave it away. He shook his head slightly and the glazed look slowly melted into one of recognition. "Clare, what are you doing out here? You know it's not safe for you to be out this late," he slurred.

Even though it had to be the liquor doing the talking, Clare found that she was a bit touched by his concern. "I wasn't out. I was sleeping but someone woke me up."

Owen cringed. "That was me. I'm sorry."

Clare brushed off his apology. "It's not a big deal. What are you doing out here?"

"I can't find my keys."

"That might be because you're drunk."

"I'm not…I might…Okay, I am a bit drunk."

She watched as swayed on his feet, falling slightly to the side and hitting the wall with a resounding bang. She quickly made her way over to his side and wrapped an arm around his waist, taking his arm and wrapping it around her shoulders. "Come on, we'll find your keys in the morning."

Clare didn't know exactly how she was able to do it, but somehow she had maneuvered the man who was almost twice her size in height and build not only inside her apartment but into her bedroom as well. The only trouble she really had was when she was getting him on her bed and he didn't quite let go quickly enough, causing her to fall halfway on top of him. She hurriedly disentangled his arm from her neck and pulled her arm from beneath his body and, chuckling, pushed herself to her feet.

"Is this your bed? I can't take your bed."

Apparently drunken Owen also meant mannerly Owen. Clare pulled his shoes off, tried revert by to her adolescent self by blushing as she removed his black slacks and button-down shirt to allow him some semblance of comfort and followed by pulling the quilt over his prone body. She allowed herself to study him for a moment like she was never capable of doing before, noting that his hair was longer than she remembered it ever being and that, in sleep, she could just picture what he must have looked like in boyhood. The simple relaxations in features brought on by sleep made the shadows marring the space underneath his eyes appear out of place and as though they should belong to anyone else on the planet.

She jumped when he grunted and shifted positions, her cheeks aflame with the guilt that came from watching someone unaware. She hastened to her dresser, pulled out a pair of pajama bottoms and matching tank, and made her way to the entrance of her bedroom. Clare allowed herself one last glance at the half-naked man before escaping to the safety of her living room.

The brightness of the late morning—or was it early afternoon?—burned his corneas through his closed eyelids. Cautiously, he blinked his eyes open a millimeter at a time until his eyes had adjusted enough to where he could open them completely with only a slight wince. What he saw brought on only confusion and a bit of pain from the sunlight streaming through the open blinds.

Last time he had checked, Owen did not own a set of—what did his mother call it? Periwinkle?—periwinkle bedding or a handmade quilt like the one covering the lower half of his body. He was also certain that his furniture was all made of darker wood than the oak nightstand and dresser that currently stood in the room. Where exactly had he ended up the night before? The last thing he remembered was turning down the brunette at the bar the night before and then catching a cab home. But could he have changed his mind and called the number she had given him?

He glanced around the room, finding his clothing neatly folded on the wicker chair in the corner of the room. Flinging off the quilt and sheet that had become constricting, he stumbled to the stack and yanked on his pants before the unknown owner of the bedroom returned. Pulling on his shirt as well and buttoning it halfway to allow for a modicum of decency, Owen quietly but quickly slipped out of the bedroom and short hallway of the apartment. He planned to make it to the front door and escape out of the apartment completely without alerting anyone when those plans were waylaid by the figure in the kitchen.

Clad in a sweater and a pair of form-fitting jeans, her back was to him but Owen would recognize that head of cinnamon-colored hair anywhere. She stood in front of the stove from which the distinct sound and smell of bacon frying drifted over to meet his senses. Owen watched her reach for a measuring cup on the counter next to the stop, pouring the yellow liquid that he deduced was eggs into another frying pan and giving it a quick stir with her spatula. She waited a few moments, stirred the eggs again with one hand while reaching for an awaiting plate with the other. One more stir and the eggs were then placed on the plate followed by the sizzling bacon.

Waiting until she had turned the stove off and was safely away from anything that could burn, he cleared his throat which caused her to jump and turn to look at him with startled blue eyes. "Hey," she greeted him with a smile, putting the steaming breakfast platter on the counter between them and pushing it closer to him. He cringed slightly at shot of pain her chipper voice brought to his head. "Did you get your aspirin?"

He shook his head and she reached into a drawer, pulling out a large container of the small white pills. Distributing two, she placed them on the counter next to a mug she then filled with coffee as dark as any found at an espresso stand. "I figured you'd be hungry after last night but I didn't know what you'd like. So, I went for what my ex always wanted."

He swallowed the pills and took a seat on one of the barstool she had set up. "You made me breakfast?"

"Well, it's technically lunch but yeah, I guess I made you breakfast."

The last person who had actually cared enough to make him a meal had been his mother and decided that no matter how good or bad her cooking ended up being, he was more than a little touched by her gesture. Taking the proffered plate of steaming breakfast food, he took a small bite to test just how badly it would affect his already burgeoning hangover before digging into the meal with gusto.

"This is actually pretty good," he complimented her, swallowing his bite of the fluffy eggs and chomping on a crisp slice of maple bacon. "I didn't know you cooked."

"I don't. I can make breakfast and any type of boxed item but that's about where my expertise ends. Do you want more coffee?"

Owen shook his head. "I'm good. So how did I end up in your bed last night? We didn't…"

"No! God, no, it was nothing like that," she was quick to respond.

Was it wrong that her aversion to having sex with him actually struck a nerve? "You don't have to say it like that. I mean, it's not every day that I wake up half-naked in a strange bed and that's not the reason for it."

"Sorry, I just didn't want you to get the wrong idea. You were actually coming home and you woke me up looking for your keys. I just thought that it was a better idea that you get a good night's sleep than to spend it drunkenly searching for something," Clare replied. She took his empty plate and set it in the sink. "You might want to talk to the super about letting you into your apartment, by the way. And changing your locks might be a good idea because I looked for your keys and only found your wallet in your pocket."

"You felt the need to strip me down to do so?"

Did she just turn bright red? Although, with her eyes flashing, he doubted it was from embarrassment if she did. "So sorry that I wanted you to actually be comfortable while sleeping off your bender. Next time I'll just let you knock yourself out in the hallway."

He held his hands up in a truce. "Sorry for being such a jerk. Thanks for letting me steal your bed and for cooking me breakfast. I promise that it won't happen again."

"You're welcome," she muttered.

He drained the last of the coffee from his mug and stood. "I'm going to go now before I put my other foot in my mouth. I'll see you around the building, okay?"

As he departed from her apartment and went in search of the building's super to gain access to his—he remembered that his keys were still in the top drawer of his desk at work—he had to wonder just what her ex-boyfriend was thinking to give up a woman like Clare Edwards. He also had to wonder why he had been such an idiot in high school to never give the girl a second glance unless it was to antagonize her.

To Be Continued…