Silver at Midnight: A Paranormal Romance Urban Fantasy (The Keepers of Knowledge Series Book 5) Bridgette O'Hare (ebook offline .txt) 📖

I wasn’t paying attention as I turned to head up the steps into my building. I almost ran straight into an unsuspecting parcel deliveryman who dodged me at the last minute.

“So sorry,” I apologized and moved aside to allow him to have the steps to himself. When the path was clear, I made my way to the lift and pressed the button for my flat on the top floor.

“Aish!” the familiar voice echoed down the corridor as I exited the lift only a few feet from my destination.

Moments later, my bubbly neighbor was all up in my personal space chattering on, about what I wasn’t sure. Don’t get me wrong, I liked her . . . as much as you can like anyone who talks incessantly about absolutely anything. She literally described the paint on her walls for seventeen minutes once. Not an exaggeration.

Her dirty blonde ponytail swung back and forth as she gabbed on without taking a breath. Even after two years of her constant rambling, I was still surprised she hadn’t passed out mid-sentence from lack of oxygen. I was about to dismiss her as kindly as I could with an excuse about needing a shower or a hot tea when she said something that piqued my interest.

“Libby,” I tried to get her attention.

“He was super attractive, and I told him ya would prob’ly be home lat’r tonight—” she rattled.

“Libby . . . Libby!” I repeated more loudly the second time to stop her rapid flow of words.

Her eyes widened and she stared at me for a moment. It made me realize I’d probably never raised my voice or interrupted her in the two years we’ve been neighbors.

“Who are ya talkin’ about?” I asked her pointedly.

“Oh . . . right. The super attractive guy?”

“Aye, Libby. Super Attractive Guy. Did he leave a name?”

She shook her head.

“Did he say anything? Ask you to give me a message? Anything at all?” I questioned her.

“Nay, not really,” she offered. “He stopped me as I was walking by from the lift. I didn’t offer him any information, just like you’ve told me,” she assured me.

She was referring to my instructions to not give anyone information about me after she’d spouted the life stories of everyone on our floor to me shortly after I moved in. I told her I had a crazy ex-boyfriend, and if he came looking, I didn’t want him to know I was there. It was more or less true. Fine, it was less true, but the last thing I needed was a chatty neighbor willing to tell anyone anything about me. There’s more than one reason I haven’t stayed in one place for extended periods. But Libby was better off not knowing that.

“Thank you, Libby. I genuinely appreciate that. So, why’d he stop ya if you didn’t say anything?”

“He stopped me t’ ask if I knew you. He called ya by name. Said he was a family friend who happened to be in town and that yer father had given him yer address.”

I narrowed my eyes and tilted my head instinctively. Libby quickly caught on to my confusion.

“Aish, what’s wrong?”

I had managed to tell Libby extraordinarily little about my life in the time we’d been neighbors. So, she had no idea that my father died before I was born, which meant there was no way he’d given anyone my address.

“And what did ya tell him?” I asked, avoiding her question.

“I simply said it’s usually late when ya get home.” She stared at me a moment, clearly concerned she’d told him too much. “Was that alright? I hope it was alright.”

“Ya didn’t say anything wrong. Why’d ya tell him I get home late, though? You know I’m usually home before dark.”

She smiled. “Well, I figured that would give ya plenty of time to be prepared if he came back or t’ not even be here if’n ya didn’t wanna be.”

I chuckled. “I do appreciate that. Ya did well,” I praised her. “So, can you describe him? Aside from him being super attractive and all.” I gave her a grin. I knew she could. She had a memory like a steel trap. She didn’t forget anything. How do you think she spent seventeen minutes talking about the paint on a wall?

“He was taller. I’d say o’er six feet by a good bit. That’s just under two meters. I been studying for me trip to the States.” She smiled but didn’t miss a beat. “He had dark hair that was just long enough it swept carelessly across his forehead and did a lit’l flip thing just behind his ear, and those eyes. Aye. Ocean blue with eyelashes that any woman would kill t’ have. No man should have lashes like that. Tain’t fair, I tell ya. Then he had a small, jagged scar just t’ the side of his right eye. I almost didn’t notice it with his hair sweepin’ o’er it and all, but it kinda added t’ the mysterious vibe he had going.”

She was about to continue, but I caught her just as she took a breath.

“A scar?” I arched an eyebrow.

She nodded. “He was built too,” she added. “Like, Hemsworth in a Marvel movie built. Oh . . . and I don’t know what nationality he was, but he was definitely not Irish.”

“Thanks, Libby. Your keen eye, and ear, has been immensely helpful.”

“It’s not yer ex, is it?” she asked with concern in her tone.

I smiled softly and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “No. Definitely not my ex. Thanks fer being concerned.”

“Oh, good. Well, if ya want t’ not be home later in case he comes back, me door is always open.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks. I best be gettin’ some supper ready. I’ll chat with ya later, Libby. And thanks again,” I repeated as I readied my keys.

“Bye, Aish,” she said as she headed back down the corridor to her