Mismatched

Ch. 10

I stood on Riley's porch, feeling my heart in my chest and trying to will myself to raise my hand to knock on the door amidst all the uncertainty in my head.

I felt like I was under a spotlight standing here, that Riley would open the door just to be disappointed when he found himself greeted with just me. Nothing special or impressive.

I understood why men always brought flowers, it provided a temporary distraction.

Should I have brought him flowers?

Did guys like flowers? Would I want flowers?

I sucked in a breath, telling myself that when I let it out, I would knock this time. I raised my hand to the door, biting my lip. I still didn't knock. I checked the time on my phone, seeing that I was now officially late, when in fact, I'd been standing on his porch for the last three minutes.

Come on, Nate. You can do this.

But as it turned out, I didn't have to, because Riley swung the door open.

"Hey, sorry. I didn't want to ruin your whole moment here, but I wanted to let you know that I do have a doorbell," Riley said with a huge grin. He pointed to the bell situated on the door frame.

I could feel my face heating up with embarrassment, and I cringed inwardly at myself.

"I'm just going to close the door, and you can try again." He closed the door, but I could still hear him chuckling to himself on the other side, and I couldn't help but smile in return.

I pressed the doorbell, hearing it chime from inside. Riley waited a few seconds before he opened the door, as if he wasn't standing directly on the other side waiting for it.

"Hey," Riley greeted, his eyes twinkling with amusement at the whole situation.

"Hey. You look really good," I said.

He wasn't wearing the green sweater like I had suggested, but he obviously had known better. He had on a beige sweater with a slight v-neck and three thin horizontal black stripes in the middle. It fit him perfectly, accentuating his broad shoulders. He had it tucked into charcoal jeans paired with white sneakers, looking effortlessly stylish.

"My green sweater was in the wash," he explained, looking down at his own outfit. "You look great. That sweater looks amazing on you," he said, reaching out to feel my arm.

"It feels like hay," I complained, and Riley laughed.

"It really does," he noted, feeling it under his fingers as he ran them up and down my forearm. "That can't be comfortable."

"Oh, it isn't."

"Come on, I'll grab you something," Riley said, guiding me inside his house with his hand in mine.

"Just ignore her, I don't trust her not to attempt to kill you," he warned as an unassuming black cat approached my legs.

He left me in the entranceway as he ventured upstairs.

His home was what I had expected it would look like. It was tidy, but busy. His style was clearly eclectic and antique, every corner decorated like a curated museum. It smelled of sweetness and herbs.

Moody rubbed against my legs, purring as she went around in circles. I winced, freezing in place. She squeezed her way between my legs, and then started hissing at me. I did not understand how people liked cats.

Riley reappeared at the stairs with a red knitted sweater in hand. He passed it to me once he had reached the bottom.

"Seems like she doesn't completely hate you," he remarked with surprise, eyeing his cat suspiciously.