every day for a week now, he'd watched her ride her bike to the house across the street. across the street, one over. the gray stone one to the left with the high arched doorways and shuttered windows. sundress floating in the breeze, pale ankles pointing and flexing with the rotation of the pedals. every day, bright shorts peeking out where her skirt flew too high and he wondered if that was just for the bike ride or if they were ever-present. mowing the yard, drinking smoothies on a coffee shop patio.
the neighbors were on vacation, but if they wanted to keep it a secret, they shouldn't have hired such an intriguing house-sitter.
he didn't know how much time was left, how long their cruise, flight, visit would last. already he was running out of ideas for ways to talk to her. leave an african violet on the doorstep? she seemed like the kind of girl who would like that, the mystery of it, a plant that is watered from the bottom up.
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