The Choice - Nicholas Sparks [9]
“Who’s Moby?”
“My dog.”
“Then who’s Nobby?”
“What?”
She brought a hand to her temple. “Never mind.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” she said, still dizzy but feeling the pain subside to a low throb. As she began to rise, she felt her neighbor place his hand on her arm, helping her up. She was reminded of the toddlers she saw at the office who struggled to stay balanced and remain upright. When she finally had her feet under her, she felt him release her arm.
“Some welcome, huh?” he asked.
His voice still sounded far away, but she knew it wasn’t, and when she faced him, she found herself focusing up at someone at least six inches taller than her own five feet seven. She wasn’t used to that, and as she tilted her head upward, she noticed his angled cheekbones and clean skin. His brown hair was wavy, curling naturally at the ends, and his teeth gleamed white. Up close, he was good-looking—okay, really good-looking—but she suspected that he knew it as well. Lost in thought, she opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again, realizing she’d forgotten the question.
“I mean, here you are, coming over to visit, and you get slammed by my dog,” he went on. “Like I said, I’m really sorry. Usually he pays a bit more attention. Say hey, Moby.”
The dog was sitting on his haunches, acting pleased as punch, and with that, she suddenly remembered the purpose of her visit. Beside her, Moby raised a paw in greeting. It was cute—and he was cute for a boxer—but she wasn’t about to fall for it. This was the mutt who’d not only tackled her, but ruined Molly as well. He probably should have been named Mugger. Or better yet, Pervert.
“You sure you’re okay?”
The way he asked made her realize that this wasn’t the sort of confrontation she’d wanted, and she tried to summon the feeling she’d had on her way over.
“I’m fine,” she said, her tone sharp.
For an awkward moment, they eyed each other without speaking. Finally he motioned over his shoulder with his thumb. “Would you like to sit on the deck? I’m just listening to some music.”
“Why do you think I want to sit on the deck?” she snapped, feeling more in control.
He hesitated. “Because you were coming over?”
Oh yeah, she thought. That.
“I mean, I suppose we could stand here by the hedges if you’d rather,” he continued.
She held up her hands to stop him, impatient to get this over with. “I came over here because I wanted to talk to you . . .”
She broke off when he slapped at his arm. “Me, too,” he said before she could get started again. “I’ve been meaning to drop by to officially welcome you to the neighborhood. Did you get my basket?”
She heard a buzzing near her ear and waved at it. “Yes. Thank you for that,” she said, slightly distracted. “But what I wanted to talk about . . .”
She trailed off when she realized he wasn’t paying attention. Instead, he was fanning the air between them. “You sure you don’t want to head to the deck?” he pressed. “The mosquitoes are vicious around the bushes here.”
“What I was trying to say was—”
“There’s one on your earlobe,” he said, pointing.
Her right hand shot up instinctively.
“The other one.”
She swatted at it and saw a smear of blood on her fingers as she pulled her hand back. Gross, she thought.
“There’s another right by your cheek.”
She waved again at the growing swarm. “What’s going on?”
“Like I said, it’s the bushes. They breed in the water, and it’s always moist in the shade. . . .”
“Fine,” she relented. “We can talk on the deck.”
A moment later they were in the clear, moving quickly. “I hate mosquitoes, which is why I’ve got some citronella candles going on the table. That’s usually enough to keep them away. They get much worse later in the summer.” He left just enough space between them so they wouldn’t accidentally bump. “I don’t think we’ve formally met, by the way. I’m Travis Parker.”
She felt a flicker of uncertainty. She wasn’t here to be his buddy, after all, but expectation and manners prevailed, and she answered before she could stop herself. “I’m Gabby Holland.”
“Nice