The soft hum of the TV in the living room tickled my ears as I started down the narrow hallway. Ever since I was a kid, I didn’t like silence, and it got worse after what happened with Charlie. A TV or a radio always had to be turned on. At night, I always had one of those standing fans running, not so much for the cool factor, but mostly the noise.

Two steps took me past my bedroom and the one and only bathroom. My apartment was a bit on the small side, but it was nice. Ground level, hardwood floors throughout, an open floor plan combining the kitchen and living room, and a door that led out from the kitchen onto a neat deck and green area, as well as front access.

It really wasn’t an apartment complex either. Just a huge, old Victorian smack-­dab in the middle of the Plymouth Meeting, a town a few miles outside of Philly. The Victorian had been remodeled back in the early 2000s and converted into four two-­bedroom apartments. Charlie would’ve called it quaint and he would’ve loved it.

An elderly ­couple, Mr. and Mrs. Silver, lived in the other ground floor apartment, some dude I rarely saw had just moved into the apartment above me a few months back, and James, a guy who worked at the local insurance place lived in the other apartment with his girlfriend, Miriam.

My phone dinged, drawing my attention to where I’d left my cell on the arm of the couch when I got home from the bar. I saw it was a text.

I winced and almost hid behind the couch. It was from Dean and all it said was: Love to see u again.

Yikes, I suddenly felt spazzy. I didn’t even want to touch my phone.

Last week, when I brought Dean home—­the guy from Olive Garden who had peach fuzz according to Melvin—­things hadn’t gone as I’d hoped.

The night had ended with some kissing. Kissing in a good location, out on the small deck, under the stars, but nothing more. Probably had to do with Mr. Silver hobbling out on the deck shared with the apartment next door. The elderly man looked like he was going to beat the poor guy with his cane.

But even if we hadn’t been interrupted, nothing else was going to happen between Dean and me. He was a nice guy, if not a wee bit overcommunicative, but when I thought about him, I didn’t feel anything.

Maybe had to do with . . . God, was I going to finish the thought? That the kiss I shared with Dean was lackluster because it was nothing like when Reece had kissed me—­crap! I’d finished the stupid thought.

Funny thing was, I wasn’t in the business of looking to feel anything in the first place, so in a way, Dean was safe. He was fun to hang out with and there was absolutely no chance in holy hell of my heart getting involved, but that wasn’t fair to him.