The Perfect Neighbor Read Free

headed out to the club in the evening. He was good at evading, but it was becoming a nuisance. Smarter to hit her face-on with a few rude remarks and let her huff away to gossip about him.
    But when he checked the peephole, he didn’t see the tidy woman with her bright bird’s eyes, but a pretty brunette with hair short as a boy’s and big green eyes.
    From across the hall, he realized, and wondered what the hell she could want. He’d figured since she’d left him alone for nearly a week, she intended to keep right on doing so. Which made her, in his mind, the perfect neighbor.
    Annoyed that she’d spoiled it, he opened the door, leaned against it. “Yeah?”
    “Hi.” Oh, yes, indeed, Cybil thought, he was even better when you got a good close-up look at the face. “I’m Cybil Campbell. 3A?” She offered a bright, friendly smile and gestured to her own door.
    He only lifted an intriguingly winged eyebrow. “Yeah?”
    A man of few words, she decided and continued to smile—though she wished his eyes would flicker away just long enough for her to crane her neck and see beyond him into the apartment. She couldn’t very well try it when he was focused on her, without appearing to be prying. Which, of course, she wasn’t. Really.
    “I heard you playing a while ago. I work at home and sound travels.”
    If she was here to bitch about the noise, she was out of luck, Preston mused. He played when he felt like playing. He continued to study her coolly—the pert, slightly turned-up nose; the sensuously ripe mouth; the long narrow feet with sassily painted pink toes.
    “I usually forget to turn the stereo on while I’m working,” she went on cheerfully, making him notice a tiny dimple that winked off and on beside her mouth. “So it’s nice to hear you play. Ralph and Sissy were into Vivaldi big-time. Which is fine, really, but monotonous when that’s all you hear. They used to live in your place, Ralph and Sissy,” she explained, waving a hand toward his apartment. “They moved to White Plains after Ralph had an affair with a clerk at Saks. Well, he didn’t really have an affair, but he was thinking about it, and Sissy said it was move out of the city or she’d scalp him in a divorce. Mrs. Wolinsky gives them six months, but I don’t know, I think they might make it. Anyway …”
    She held out the pretty yellow plate with a small mountain of chocolate-chip cookies heaped on it, covered by clear pink plastic wrap. “I brought you some cookies.”
    He glanced down at them, giving her a very brief window of opportunity to sneak a peek around him and see his empty living room.
    The poor guy couldn’t even afford a couch, she thought. Then his unsmiling blue eyes flicked back to hers.
    “Why?”
    “Why what?”
    “Why did you bring me cookies?”
    “Oh, well, I was baking them. Sometimes I cook to clear out my head when I can’t seem to concentrate on work. Most often it’s baking that does it for me. And if I keep them all, I’ll just eat them all and hate myself.” The dimple kept fluttering. “Don’t you like cookies?”
    “I’ve got nothing against them.”
    “Well then, enjoy.” She pushed them into his hands. “And welcome to the building. If you need anything I’m usually around.” Again she gestured vaguely with pretty, slim-fingered hands. “And if you want to find out who’s who around here, I can fill you in. I’ve lived here a few years now, and I know everybody.”
    “I won’t.” He stepped back and shut the door in her face.
    Cybil stood where she was a moment, stunned speechless by the abrupt dismissal. She was fairly certain that she’d lived for twenty-four years without ever having had a door shut in her face, and now that she’d had the experience, she decided she didn’t care for it.
    She caught herself before she could pound on his door and demand her cookies back. She wouldn’t sink that low, she told herself, turning sharply on her heel and marching back to her