Just a Little Honesty Read Free Page A

I’m leaving on this trip with you. I need to pack a bag.”
    “Then pack.”
    “You’re not staying out here alone,” he said, opening the door. “Come on.”
    I watched him bite back his frustration; to spare us from a premature argument about something completely avoidable, I stepped out onto the sidewalk. I knew I’d probably need all of my fighting energy later (for when Luke really pushed my buttons). I didn’t want to waste time and energy where it wasn’t necessary.
    I watched Luke’s backside as I followed him in the building and up the flight of stairs. I let my eyes wander beyond the body in front of me to study the common area. It was an old, brick structure, but the age had no bearing on the interior concept. It was clean, modern, and very well-kept.
    It was no surprise when it dawned on me that it was the first time I’d ever been in Luke’s apartment building—let alone climbing the stairs to his bachelor pad. Though there’d been that whole four-week period back in January when Luke and I had technically been a couple, he’d been so busy with work and family that we hadn’t spent much time together. During the time we were together, he was almost always at work, just off of work, or dealing with something directly pertaining to work. I’d rarely seen him in a casual capacity.
    He was fumbling in his pocket for his keys as we climbed the few steps to the second floor. He stopped off at a door marked B2 and inserted the key into the lock. Unlocking the deadbolt, he turned the knob and pushed the door open. He stopped short in the doorway to pull his shoes off, putting them aside before he even took a step into the apartment. Not needing instruction—which was good because he didn’t give me any—I did exactly as he’d done and removed my shoes as I followed him in.
    “Give me five minutes,” he said, not inviting me to make myself comfortable or at home. He moved across the open living room and disappeared down the hall.
    I stood in place—no more than a few steps into his house—and took a minute to let my eyes sweep the perimeter. I knew for certain that Luke had lived there for at least six months—but if he’d lived there any longer, it was impossible to tell. His place looked nothing like a home but more like a showroom model. There wasn’t a single thing out of place as far as the eye could see.
    The stack of magazines on his living room end table wasn’t at all disheveled, but stacked neatly edge to edge. The blinds on the window hung at a perfect line, not even the slightest bit off kilter. His curtains—I took a minute to snicker about the fact that Luke (of all people!) had curtains—were hung in perfect symmetry.
    Things only seemed odder the more I poked around.
    The tidy living room had done nothing to prepare me for what I found in the kitchen. The hardwood floors looked as if they’d never been walked on. There wasn’t a cup, bowl, plate, or even spoon resting at the bottom of his sink. Heck, there wasn’t even a watermark. The trashcan was empty of everything except a white trash bag, and even that seemed a little odd. To boot, all of the appliances were stainless steel, but there wasn’t a single finger print on any of them. Luke’s kitchen gave a whole new meaning to the word clean .
    I walked over to the refrigerator and opened the door—nosy, I know, but what can I say?—and had to hold back a sigh as I gazed over the contents of each shelf. Everything was just as orderly there; all of his food was labeled, stacked, and organized by food group (and sealed in glass containers). I slowly shut the door and shook it off, only totally psyched out by the fact that Luke was strangely and compulsively organized.
    I slowly meandered back into the living room, taking a seat on the edge of the couch as I waited for Luke to return.
    In the few minutes that went by, I only noticed more and more things that made me question how well I really knew the man I’d once