Just Don't Fall (Sweater Weather, #1; Appies, #1)

by Emma St. Clair

With windows down and classical music playing at a low volume, I cruise back down Maple, glancing up as I pass Parker’s place. Her front window is dark now, and I picture her leaving the dishes in the sink and heading to bed. I really should have offered to help wash up. Next time. Nope—there should be no next times. Not if I want to avoid another confusing and volatile tripwire of emotion. But it felt good to be with Parker. Her apartment is cozy—small but airy with its high ceilings and large windows. There were architectural details I don’t know the names of, like some kind of fancy molding and what looked to be tin plates on the ceiling. Parker’s whole energy filled the space, making the size seem just right, even for someone like me who barely fit at the kitchen table. It felt welcoming, homey, and so very Parker. The apartment next to it had a For Lease sign, a pesky voice reminds me. Bad idea, a more practical part of my brain answers. It’s probably just as small as Parker’s. Nothing like the sprawling house I purchased in Raleigh. But then, I don’t like all the space in the mid-century modern ranch my last real estate agent urged me to buy. All that space—too empty and too quiet—closed in around me at night. It was a reminder of how insubstantial my life is: just one big empty box. It’s why I started sleeping in the walk-in closet. I didn’t feel the sense of insignificance and claustrophobia. Does it make any sense that I felt less trapped in a small space? No. But...