Noah hung up thinking about how he was turning into exactly what he didn’t want to be: his father. Unappreciative of his employees, always wanting more, not being grateful for what he had right at his feet. “It stops now.”
He had a house to make into a home, contractors to set up, ideas to see through. Starting with the house next door.
He nearly slammed the brakes when he pulled into his driveway and saw a rusty old truck sitting in the drive next door. It was piled high with a dresser, a bed frame, a covered mattress, and other odds and ends. His heart hammered so hard he wondered if it could break his rib cage.
“Are you kidding me?” He makes a vow to get this property and the owner moves in today?
He got out of his truck, locked it, and walked next door, across the small lawn at the end of their shared fence.
The man leaning on the truck looked old enough to be his grandfather. There was no way this man was going to be able to lug that bed and dresser into the house. He looked like he might pass out.
“Hey, there. You the neighbor?” the old guy asked, the weight of his body slumped against the edge of a rust spot.
“I guess so. I didn’t think anyone was going to move into this place,” Noah said, pulling out the smile he reserved for pushing a deal in the direction he wanted it to go.
The old guy pulled an actual handkerchief out of his jeans pocket and mopped his forehead. “Me neither, boy. Me neither.”
Noah’s senses prickled. Everyone had a price. He didn’t want to be his father, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t learned from him.
“I was actually trying to contact the owner,” Noah said.
The guy pushed off the truck, attempting to straighten his naturally curved shoulders. “Oh yeah?”
Interest? Noah smiled. “Yeah. I’d be interested in buying the place from you at a more than fair price. Above market value.”
The guy’s furry brows moved together, a gray caterpillar over suspicious grayish-blue eyes. “Why’s that?”
Noah pointed to his place. “I’m looking to settle in. I like it here but I need more land than I have.”
The old guy shook his head. “Kids these days always want more than they got.”
Doing his best not to frown, Noah put both hands in his pockets, holding the man’s gaze. “Just looking to improve what I already have, is all. You’d make a great profit. Everyone wins.”
“Except me,” a voice said from his left.
Noah’s gaze landed on the woman who’d hovered at the back of his thoughts all day, standing with her hands on her gorgeously curvy hips, giving him a cutting glare.
“It’s you,” he said.
She tipped her head and he had the pleasure of watching the recognition roll over her features. She sucked in a sharp breath.
“You know this guy? He wants to buy your house,” the old man said.
She looked at the old guy, frowned even deeper, and put a hand on his arm. “You should sit down. Go inside for goodness’ sakes. Hugo will be here soon.”
“Name’s Morty. Good luck convincing her. She’s as stubborn as you are pretty,” the guy said to Noah.
Noah’s jaw dropped at the very odd exchange and watched the man—Morty—limp toward the house.
“Your … dad?” Noah asked, looking down at the woman watching him. Jesus. She had a pair of eyes on her that lit his insides up like fire. Which was not helpful, considering she had what he wanted. What he needed. It felt like it’d been so long since he’d made a deal that gave him the energy-spiking adrenaline he craved.
“No. Good friend,” she said.
Noah arched his brow, waiting for her to explain, but she didn’t. “I’m Noah Jansen. You’re the dog walker.”
Her lips quirked. “That and more. I’m Grace.”
She didn’t offer a last name but shook his hand when he extended it. He had to grit his teeth to keep from responding to the feel of her palm sliding against his. Josh was right—he needed to go on a date. He wrote off the sizzle that traveled up his spine as eagerness to convince this woman he could make her financial dreams come true.
Grace pulled her hand back, shoved it into the pocket of her jean shorts.
“Guess we’re neighbors,” she said, looking over at his house.
“Unless,” he said. No point in hesitating or beating around the bushes he wanted to haul the hell out of his yard. Her things were still in the pickup. What better time to make a move? Timing was everything. Not just in business but in life.
She turned her head, looking at him with those dark brown eyes that he was certain were sizing him up. “Unless what?”
“I’d love to buy your property.”
“It’s not for sale.”
He grinned. He loved this part. “No? Not even for double the value?”
“Not even,” she said as if he’d just asked if she had a cup of sugar.
“I’m not joking,” he said. Eyeing her closely, he looked for a tell—that thing that showed a hint of intrigue. He was dressed to work out, not negotiate. Usually, when he was working on or closing a deal, his three-piece Armani did a lot of the talking for him. Maybe you’re off your game, Jansen.
Grace’s smile came in small degrees, feeling too much like a damn punch to the heart.
“Me neither. Nice to meet you. Officially.”
With that, she turned on her heel and walked into the house. Noah stood there staring after her, wondering what the hell had just happened.
4
Grace all but vibrated her way into the kitchen. Of course beach guy with the shredded abs and wicked smile was an ass. Why wouldn’t he be?
Morty was helping himself to a glass of water when she came into the kitchen, leaning heavily against the counter. He turned when he heard her, set his glass down with a smack.
“Moved for the view, did you? Hell of a view,” he said around a raspy snort-laugh.
Grace’s lips quivered but she fought the grin. No need to encourage him. “Aren’t you in love with Tilly? He seems a little young for you.”
His bark of laughter eased the tension from her shoulders. “You’re better at deflecting than I am.”
She grabbed her own glass from the box of twelve she’d purchased after work and rinsed it out. “I learned from the best. Why don’t you sit down? I put lawn chairs on the back porch.”
Morty shook his head. “Hugo should be here already.”
She rolled her eyes. “They probably stopped for a bite to eat. Just think, if they hadn’t helped me load it up and weren’t bringing it over, it would have taken me a lot longer to move.”
He was quiet for a moment then said, “You ought to think about Mr. Fancy Pants’ offer. Above asking price? You could buy a new place, not have to worry about the work this house is going to need.”
Grace sipped her water, then set it aside. Without looking at him, even though she could feel his old judging gaze, she unloaded the glasses, taking the time to rinse each of them and set them to dry in the farm-style sink.
“I want to live here. I want to make it my own. It’ll take some time but I’m looking forward to restoring it and making it my own.” She couldn’t bring back the grandparents she’d never known, but maybe bringing the house back to its glory days would make her feel, somehow, connected. She planned to restore the original moldings, paint the walls, find some retro lighting that could replace the sixties style with more efficiency.
“You’re starting a new career soon. You should focus on that,” he said.
Grace dried her hands on a paper towel. She needed to wash all the windows and started making a mental list of items to purchase. “You’re going to be fine without me. If that’s what this is about.”
He was no better at diving into his feelings than she was, so it wasn’t a surprise when he made a rude noise and waved his hand dismissively in her direction. “Hell. I know that. Just don’t want you burying yourself in a money pit when you could have so much more. Especially if
you took that guy’s offer.”
She stiffened her shoulders, stepped toward him. “I won’t. Let it go. Go sit down before you fall down.” She didn’t mean to snap but she didn’t know how to explain the sense of family she was hoping to unearth through fixing up this home. Maybe it was silly. It’s yours. Your choice. It can be silly if you want.
“Calling me old?” He lifted his chin, a slight smile tipping up one side of his mouth.
“Nah. Just weak,” she said, poking him in a bony shoulder.
He laughed, patted her cheek. “You’re a good girl when you aren’t being sassy.”
Grace winked at him. “So, never?”
* * *
Hugo arrived with his on-again-off-again boyfriend. When Grace saw him hauling the mattress out of Morty’s old truck bed by himself, his tank top showing off his biceps, she was grateful they were currently on. She hated calling in favors but her other choice was hauling a few things at a time and that wouldn’t work for her bed or bigger items. Besides, she considered always being willing to switch shifts for him a good trade.
Her things got deposited fairly quickly, and though the guys offered to stick around, help her set up the bed, she told them she was fine. The truth was, she wanted to be alone. When she said goodbye, thanking them all profusely, promising a pizza-and-beer get-together very soon, she shut the door and leaned against it. It rounded at the top, which she absolutely adored. Turning, she ran her fingers along the scarred wood planks. She’d need to redo it. Excitement swelled through her whole body. Turning in a circle, she walked through each of the rooms, taking them all in.
The entryway had a little coat closet and a recessed nook she’d like to put a bench in for putting on her shoes.
She stared at the space a minute. The whole place needed a thorough painting. Inside and out. “I need a beach picture right here.” That would be the first thing people saw when they came in.
To the left was an archway that led to a living area. A wall with a window-size hole revealing part of the kitchen separated those spaces. All of the appliances needed to be replaced but would do for now.
She ran her hand along the wainscoted cupboard doors. They were beautiful.
“Coat of paint and they’ll be like new.” She wanted to play around with Chalk Paint and figured these would be a good canvas.
There was a small laundry off the kitchen, a mudroom of sorts with a door leading out to the porch. The house was small but she liked the coziness of the one-story layout with two bedrooms and a den the size of a closet. It might actually be a storage closet but she’d done a design project on tiny spaces and wanted to see what she could do with it. Her bed was set up and made; she had only clothes, some linens, and toiletries to unpack, so she took her phone to the deck and sat in one of the two lawn chairs she’d brought.
She could see the beach, though she had to sit on the right side of the porch to look past Noah’s hedges. Noah Jansen. Sinking into the chair, she cast a quick glance around, and then she did a quick little toe tap dance in her seat.
“This is my view from now on,” she whispered. She thought about her grandparents, wondering what they were like. Had they sat out here every night? Maybe with a cup of tea or a beer? Had her mom played in this yard? She couldn’t imagine her mother playing innocently. Tammy was a master player but not in a way that held any fond memories.
Maybe her grandparents had read to her mother sitting on this deck. A porch swing. That’s what this needs. One of those wooden ones. She wasn’t sure how much they cost but maybe she could use the bonus money from face painting toward that splurge. Maybe. She needed to take a look at payment plan options for home insurance and taxes first.
Looking down at her phone, she texted John Dade, asked for his son’s contact information. There was no more waiting. All the things she’d patiently been putting aside were right here, within her grasp. Her life right now was a series of boxes she was checking off and the feeling was pure bliss. Finishing up school? Check. Settling into a home you own? Check. That one was still a shock. Without her grandparents leaving it to her, she wouldn’t have that box checked. Good friends? Check. Job prospects? Check. Life was moving along just fine, thank you very much. It was like she could see her lonely, rootless self slipping farther away in the rearview mirror.
She heard a sharp snipping sound to her left. Her home had been built on the west side of the property, which allowed for a nice expanse of yard between her and the right-side neighbor. Due to the size of Mr. Money’s house though, which was the newest on the street, her proximity to him—or at least, his home—was a lot closer. If he trimmed the overgrowth properly, she’d benefit from the view. The tops of his shears came into view. Has to be on a ladder. He was tall—easily over six feet—but not that tall. The blades swished almost aggressively. She’d taken a course in landscape design two semesters ago and decided it was not for her. Interior only, thank you very much.
“Your scissors sound angry,” she called over the hedges. She honestly wasn’t sure if he’d been serious about his offer. Not that she was interested but it made him somewhat intriguing. One of those boxes had long been left unchecked: someone to love and share life with.
The creak of a metal ladder answered her and then she saw Hottie McMoney Pants peering over. She winced, hoping he was steady and not holding the shears blade-up.
“Not angry at all. Just doing some trimming.”
“Oh? You have a background in pruning?”
It was a lot trickier than people thought. She could see his face from the nose up. His hair was messy, like he’d gone in and showered while she’d unloaded. His forehead crinkled.
“Is there a degree in such a thing?”
“Actually, yes.”
He laughed but it wasn’t the one that made her stomach swirl deliciously like the cresting waves in the ocean he’d walked out of. No. It was harder. Sharper.
“Afraid not but I’ve been holding scissors since I was four so I think I’ve got it.”
“There’s actually a real art to pruning,” she said, trying not to sound condescending. She didn’t mean to be but knew that doing it wrong could wreck the shrubs. “Most people hire someone to do it if they haven’t done it.” If he was serious about buying her house, he could definitely afford a landscaper.
“Believe it or not, I don’t have to hire someone for everything I do.”
Grace frowned, then walked down the steps and along the side of her house where the hedges tapered off. She peered over the fence, leaning her upper body over the waist-high white wood. The flat top dug into her stomach while her hand rested on the support beam running lengthwise.
He was standing on a ladder, wearing shorts that showed off muscular legs and no shirt. Oh. My. He might not be Edward Scissorhands but he looked damn fine doing it. She leaned a little farther over and into the wood to get a slightly better peek at Captain Grumpy. He’d just glanced her way when the wood cracked where she put her weight. She wasn’t exactly top-heavy but the angle, the surprise, and the break sent her tumbling over right onto his lawn like a comedian tripping over a half door.
She heard his curse, the thump of the scissors on the ground, and him hurrying toward her, but closed her eyes, rolled to her side.
“Are you okay?”
She opened one eye. He leaned over her, hands on his thighs, peering down at her.
“Pretty good. Thanks for asking. I think your fence needs some work.”
He shook his head, his lips quirking. “You fall a lot.”
Glaring, she ignored his hand, again, and rose to her feet with as much dignity as she could muster. Which was not a lot.
Instead of answering him, she wiped off her shorts, ignored the stiffness in her leg, and went to inspect his hedges.
“They’re crooked.”
“They are not,” he said.
She stood back from the ladder, hands on her hips, and stared at them. He gave a sexy little growl when she tilted her h
ead to the side.
“They’re definitely crooked.”
“You probably have a concussion from fence diving.”
Turning, she stared at him, trying not to focus on how good he looked with no shirt. Worth the fall, for sure. But the scowl detracted from the view.
“You should hire a gardener. You’ll want to for the palms anyway,” she said, pointing to the other side of his property, where the overgrown trees blocked a lot of his beach view.
“I don’t need a gardener,” he said.
A small smile tilted her lips up. His jaw was granite, like his stance. Touchy subject? “Okay. Well, good luck.”
As she walked away—let’s face it, with no dignity, because falling in front of the same man twice in one day did not warrant such things—she felt his gaze.
“You know what? I think you’re right.”
Grace turned at the end of the fence, immediately suspicious. “I am.”
He huffed out a laugh, ran his hand through his damp hair. “I’m going to call someone and have them taken out completely. Better view that way.”
Now why did that sound like a thinly veiled threat?
“You want the view in the other direction. Toward the beach. Not my place.” She shrugged because if he thought it was a threat, he was wrong. She’d benefit from the view.
“Yeah but when I convince you to sell, the hedges have to go anyway.”
She shook her head. She didn’t grow up in circles where people were rolling in money. Most everyone she’d known was rolling in debt and bad choices. This guy didn’t wear his in slick suits—though she had no doubt he’d look good in one—but in his very essence. Polish. Confidence that bordered on ego. Things that didn’t impress someone who worked their ass off to get to this very point.
“Like I said, good luck.”
It wasn’t happening. She’d finally received a little piece of family—though the word was mostly foreign to her—and she wasn’t letting it go.
“Everyone has a price,” he called after her.
“Not me,” she called back, her earlier calm replaced by a restlessness that made her wish she had paint so she could start on the living room.
How to Love Your Neighbor Page 3
