The Man at the Door
1890 Words
The sunlight was too bright.
Too sharp.
Too loud.
Lucinda groaned as she rolled over, burying her face in her pillow. Her body felt heavy, sore in places she didn’t know dancing could affect. Her head throbbed with a dull ache—not from alcohol, thankfully, but from nerves, adrenaline, and the emotional crash of last night.
Last night.
The thought jolted her upright.
Her heartbeat spiked instantly.
She wasn’t used to nights like that—wild, unpredictable, frightening, thrilling. The club. The panic. The dance. The almost-too-intimate conversation. And him.
Thomas.
Lucinda pressed a hand to her wildly beating heart. No. She couldn’t think about him. Couldn’t think about the way his voice had settled into her like a warm anchor… the way he steadied her… the way he looked at her like she was someone worth knowing.
She had made a promise to herself years ago: never get attached. Never let a man close. Never give anyone enough space to break her again.
Last night was a moment. A slip. A mistake she couldn’t afford to repeat.
She climbed out of bed, forcing herself into her usual routine—shower, light makeup, simple clothes. A beige blouse, black skirt, sensible flats. Normalcy. Predictability. Safety.
She needed normal more than oxygen.
She tied her hair into a low ponytail, reaching for her bag—only to see the purple notebook peeking out, mocking her gently.
Her Dare-to-Do list.
She shoved it deeper into the bag and zipped it shut.
“No more,” she whispered to herself. “One night is enough.”
She stepped outside her apartment and locked the door.
Then she froze.
Someone was standing directly in front of the door across the hall.
A tall man.
Dark hair.
Broad shoulders.
Wearing a fitted gray t-shirt that did nothing to hide the sculpted lines of his chest.
He turned at the same moment she did.
Lucinda’s stomach dropped into her shoes.
Thomas.
He blinked. “Lucinda?”
Her throat closed. “Y-You—what—why are you—?”
She pointed uselessly at him.
At her door.
At the universe betraying her in real time.
Thomas lifted his key, dangling it slightly. “I live here.”
“No you don’t,” she blurted.
He smiled slowly. “Pretty sure I do.”
“But—here?” she stammered. “Across from me?”
His smile widened—dangerously soft. “Looks like it.”
Lucinda’s mind spun in frantic circles. No. No, no, no. This wasn’t allowed. The universe wasn’t supposed to be this cruel. The man she almost—almost—considered doing something reckless with was now standing in front of her as her neighbor?
“This is… this is impossible,” she whispered.
“Coincidence,” Thomas said lightly. “A lucky one.”
“Lucky for who?” she demanded.
“For me,” he said without hesitation.
Her cheeks burned.
She tightened her grip on her bag. “Thomas, last night was… it was a mistake.”
He blinked, expression unreadable. “What part?”
“All of it,” she said, backing toward the stairs. “We danced. We talked. It was—I don’t do things like that. And now you’re here. Living here. Near me.”
“Near you,” he repeated, amused. “Not exactly a tragedy.”
“It is!” she hissed. “I need boundaries.”
He took a small step forward—not enough to corner her, just enough to show he wasn’t afraid of her retreating. “I didn’t cross any.”
“You’re crossing them right now,” she whispered.
He paused.
Then, gently: “Do you want me to move out?”
Her breath caught.
Move out? Because of her?
“No,” she croaked. “Of course not. That’s ridiculous.”
“Then let’s try this again,” he said softly. “Good morning, neighbor.”
She stared at him, stunned into silence.
He nodded toward the elevator. “Work?”
She nodded.
“I’ll walk with you,” he said casually.
“No,” she said quickly. “I-I mean—you don’t need to.”
“I know.” He smiled, almost teasing. “But I want to.”
Lucinda’s brain short-circuited. She turned and practically bolted toward the elevator.
Thomas followed at a calm pace, hands in his pockets, exuding the exact kind of soft confidence that made her insides twist.
When the elevator doors opened, she rushed inside and jabbed the button. Thomas stepped in just before the doors closed.
Silence.
Painful, deafening silence.
Lucinda stared straight ahead, counting the floors.
“Are you avoiding looking at me?” Thomas asked, amused.
“No,” she lied.
“You’re staring at the emergency phone like it’s going to rescue you.”
“It might.”
He laughed softly.
She didn’t dare look at him.
The Parking Area
Lucinda stepped out of the elevator as though escaping a burning building. Thankfully, Mary was already by her car, waving excitedly.
“Lucy! You’re alive!” Mary called. “Did you sleep? Did you cry? Did you think about him the whole night—”
Lucinda grabbed her arm. “Mary, please. Not now.”
“Why not—”
Then Mary’s eyes landed behind Lucinda.
Her jaw dropped.
“Oh.
My.
God.”
Thomas approached smoothly, offering Mary a polite nod. “Morning.”
Mary squealed. Loudly.
Lucinda groaned.
Thomas leaned slightly toward Lucinda. “Does she always make that sound?”
Lucinda covered her face. “Sometimes she makes worse ones.”
Thomas laughed.
Mary clapped her hands. “So! You live across from Lucy? Like… across, across? Like-door-to-door-across?”
“Yes,” Thomas said.
Mary turned to Lucinda with the expression of someone witnessing divine matchmaking. “The universe ships you two.”
“Mary,” Lucinda hissed, “stop breathing.”
Mary grinned unapologetically. “Never.”
Thomas opened his car door. “I’ll see you later, Lucinda.”
Her heart skipped.
He said it with quiet certainty. Not hope. Not assumption. Certainty.
She hated how much she felt it.
At Work
Lucinda tried focusing on spreadsheets, emails, schedules—anything to keep her mind busy.
But her brain refused to cooperate.
He lives across from me.
He said he wants to see me again.
He saw me panic and didn’t run.
He made me breathe.
Why does he have to be kind? Why can’t he be rude? Why can’t he be someone I can forget?
She buried her face in her hands.
A knock on her desk jolted her upright.
Her supervisor, Mr. Harris, stood there with a file. “Good morning, Miss Perry. I have updates about your new position.”
Lucinda sat straighter. “Of course, sir.”
He handed her a folder. “As part of your new role, you’ll be assigned a company driver. Our executives and team leads have mandatory transportation support to ensure safety and punctuality.”
“A driver?” Lucinda echoed. “I… I don’t need one. I can take the bus.”
“It’s policy,” he said firmly.
“O-okay,” she murmured.
“Your assigned driver starts today. His name is—”
Her stomach twisted.
Please not him.
Please not him.
Please—
“Thomas.”
Lucinda choked so violently she almost fell off her chair. “W-What?!”
Mr. Harris blinked. “Thomas. He’s new to the company. Highly recommended. Very professional. He’ll pick you up after work.”
Lucinda stared at him, horror flooding her veins.
“But—but—I—he—”
“Miss Perry,” Harris said sternly, “is there a problem with your assignment?”
She opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
“No,” she whispered.
Because what could she possibly say?
I met him last night while dancing like a terrified newborn deer? He helped me breathe through a panic spiral? I almost kissed him? He lives across from me and my emotions are malfunctioning?
No.
“Good,” Harris said. “I’ll inform him of your location.”
He walked away.
Lucinda sank into her chair.
“Lucy?” Mary whispered, leaning over the partition. “You look like you watched someone die.”
“I might,” Lucinda whispered.
“Why?”
Lucinda turned slowly, eyes wide with shock.
“Mary…” she said weakly. “He’s… my driver.”
Mary screamed.
Lucinda dropped her head onto her desk.
After Work
Lucinda stepped outside the office building with dread rolling through her stomach like storm clouds. Employees were leaving in waves, filing toward the company parking area.
Her pulse quickened painfully.
Please let him be late.
Please let him forget.
Please let him be replaced.
But no.
There he was.
Leaning against a sleek black car, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly ruffled by the wind—looking like he walked out of a drama scene designed specifically to torment her.
When he saw her, he straightened.
“Lucinda.”
Her heart skipped violently.
She approached slowly, stiffly. “Thomas.”
He opened the passenger door for her.
She hesitated. “This is… awkward.”
“Only if you want it to be,” he said calmly.
She swallowed. “You’re my driver?”
“Looks like it.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Did you plan this?”
He smirked. “If I had that level of power, I’d be a very dangerous man.”
She glared.
He softened. “No, Lucinda. I didn’t know until they told me this afternoon.”
She exhaled shakily.
“You okay with it?” he asked.
No.
Absolutely not.
She was the farthest thing from okay.
But she also couldn’t say no.
“…Yes,” she lied.
He held her gaze for a long moment, as though seeing straight through her. “Get in,” he said gently. “I’ll drive slow.”
She climbed in.
Thomas closed the door, walked around the front, and slid into the driver’s seat. His scent—cedar and warmth—filled the car immediately, wrapping around her like soft smoke.
He started the engine.
Silence thickened the air.
Finally, he glanced at her.
“Lucinda.”
She kept staring out the window. “Yes?”
“We’re neighbors now.”
She closed her eyes.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“And I’m your driver.”
“Yes.”
“And we had a… moment last night.”
She turned her head sharply. “We didn’t—”
He raised a brow. “We didn’t talk? We didn’t dance? We didn’t breathe the same air for two hours?”
She opened her mouth.
Closed it again.
He smiled faintly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Her heart pounded.
“And neither,” he added softly, “are you.”
Lucinda’s pulse roared in her ears.
Because for the first time in years…
She didn’t want to run.
If you'd like, I can continue Chapter 4 (2000 words) next — where tension rises, Lucinda’s fear returns, Thomas becomes protective, and the push–pull romance deepens dramatically as he keeps showing up in her life no matter how hard she tries to avoid him.
Just say “Continue.”
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