Naughty Neighbor: Falling for a Libra (Falling for the Stars)

by Lauren Runow

  He’s adorably nerdy about the subject. I shouldn’t say it’s surprising because he’s always come off as an intelligent man. Yet a man who can read the stars is more well-traveled in my mind than those who have read a thousand books.

  “How do you know so much about the night sky?”

  “I love astronomy. My mom is really into astrology. She took me here a lot when I was little. They were doing a live viewing of Saturn’s rings, and I was mesmerized. I remember thinking, How is that even possible? I could visibly see the ring that wraps around it, just as I’d seen it in books. Made it all real, I guess.”

  “I can imagine, that would be pretty cool.”

  “For years, I wanted to be an astronaut.” He shakes his head, chuckling to himself. “I went to space camp in grade school. What I would have given up back then to go up in space. If it felt that cool, seeing it through a telescope, could you imagine what seeing it in person, clear as day in front of you, would be like?”

  “There’s a ride at Epcot for that.”

  He laughs out loud. “I’ll have to go there someday. Maybe you can take me.” He grins as he nudges my shoulder.

  We walk side by side out of the exhibit and into another.

  “What changed your dream of becoming an astronaut?”

  “I was always told the flower shop would be mine someday. I had to keep on with the family tradition.” He lowers his voice like he’s repeating words he’s heard a million times. “Every Moreau has worked there since 1923. My great-grandfather peddled flowers from his farm and sold them on the streets as a side hustle when his first business went under during the first World War.”

  “No Moreau can veer from the family plan?”

  “Sure we can. Even though they used to work there, my sister, Milène, is an architect, and Penelope is a schoolteacher. I come from an old-school family. My grandfather left it to his oldest son, and my father is leaving it to me.”

  “And you don’t want it?”

  “To be honest?” He pauses as a grin covers his face. “Of course I do. I love it. One, working in a business with a legacy like ours is an honor. And the work, well, I get to make everyone’s day. Even in the darkest of times, flowers put a smile on your face. It’s the only gift you can give when a life is brought into the world and also when one is taken away. If you want to say you’re sorry, do it with a purple hyacinth, and to show your love—”

  “Say it with a red rose.”

  “Or if you come to me, I’ll tell you to give daisies.” He grins, and I tilt my head in interest. “They’re actually made of two flowers. The yellow middle is considered one flower, and the white outer ring is technically another, but together, they become one.”

  Be still my heart, which is thumping pretty sweetly right now.

  “A man who can talk stars and flowers. Maybe you’re right. You are definitely hero material.”

  “Glad you’re finally realizing it.” He waggles his brows. “I’m glad you posted that video. By the comments, I think we did a pretty good job.”

  I laugh out loud, surprised he brought it up. He’s right though. I’ve never had so much engagement on a post.

  My smile lingers. “Yeah, my readers seem to think you’re pretty hot.”

  “It’s about fucking time.” That cocky grin flashes as he faces me. “Wanna see something extraordinary?”

  His eyes crinkle with the lightness in his expression. It’s the kind of look that makes you want to follow him off a cliff. If he said jump, I totally would.

  With my hand in his, Jake leads me to the Doane Observatory within the Adler Planetarium. He waves to a man in a small window up high, and I recognize Kent’s face. Jake and I take seats in the middle row of the theater.

  “I’ve never seen a show like this before.”

  “I told him to mute the narration and just play the music. It’s far more enjoyable this way.”

  “I trust you.” It’s not a lie. So far, this has been the most unique and enjoyable date I’ve ever been on even if it is just to prove a point that he knows how to take a girl out.

  The lights go black, and the ceiling ignites in a spectacular soiree of visual scenes. The Milky Way galaxy is in view. We zoom closer and closer until we’re in the orbits of the solar system.

  Hauntingly beautiful mood music plays over the loudspeaker as we travel around the sun and leap from one planet to the next. The room rumbles as we move through light-years, and there’s a whoosh of air I can feel on my cheek.

  His hand moves closer to mine as the red rocks of Mars come into view. His knee grazes my leg when we pass the red spot of Jupiter. The heat of his body presses against mine as we weather the storms of Uranus. He tells me Venus is named after the Roman goddess of love and beauty. And when we get to Saturn, he shows me the rings of water and ice that stole his heart when he was just a boy.

  I could listen to him talk about the universe all night. His explanations are simple, his jokes are amusing, and his expressions as he discusses things makes him absolutely mesmerizing.

  That’s when I realize I stopped watching the show.

  I’m watching him.

  His mouth is parted, his eyes are hooded, and his body is filled with a calm, as if this is exactly where he wants to be.

  And then he looks at me.

  My breath hitches because the light in his eyes is still there. Except, instead of talking about flowers or his beloved stars, he’s looking at me. I feel like he’s the sun and I’m orbiting around him. There’s no doubt that I could soak in his stare for the rest of my life.

  He leans forward, and my heart picks up. “If I kiss you right now, without a camera rolling, would you mind?”

  I instinctively lick my lips as I take a sharp breath in, and my words fail me.

  His head dips lower until his lips are mere inches from mine. “Would you?”

  “No,” I whisper back.

  He places a hand on my cheek, leans forward, and kisses me. It’s soulful and sweet. Intense and delicious. I wasn’t prepared for the intensity of his kiss last time, but today, I’m ready to devour and savor every moment.

  With the planets and the sun dancing on the sky above us, our tongues dance in a rhythm all of their own as our breaths become one. I feel his touch down to my core, and there’s no part of me that wants him to stop.

  I slide my hand into his thick, dirty blond hair and pull him in closer. His left arm tightens around my back as he brings me into him, his tongue stroking between my lips, sending tingles straight between my legs.

  He pulls away from my lips but places his forehead to mine.

  “You win,” I whisper. “Your secret first-date place is pretty amazing.”

  “I told you I had moves.”

  “I’ll never doubt you again.”

  He laughs as he puts an arm around me, pulling me into his side and staring up at the show.

  “Thanks for coming with me,” he says.

  I nod. “Thanks for inviting me. This is fun.”

  He grins. “It sure is.”

  I bite my lower lip, stopping myself from kissing him again. He smirks, and I know he can tell.

  We finish the show and then bid goodnight to Kent. On the ride home, Jake plays more of that music that was on in the planetarium, and we listen as we drive along the shoreline, staring at the Windy City. Its colors of pinks, purples, and golds illuminate the darkened water, making it look absolutely stunning.

  When we get home, he walks me to my door, kisses me softly on the cheek, and slowly backs up toward his place.

  “Night,” I say before turning around, entering my apartment, and closing the door.

  So many emotions are running through me. My heart is pounding, and I can’t control the smile on my face. I only get this exhilarated when I write. It’s a feeling of happiness I can’t control. To me, it’s better than any drug or alcohol.

  That’s when the words drown me.

  I race to my computer, open it up, and let
it pour out. One after another, my fingers glide across the keyboard as my best writing spills onto the page.

  Chapter Twelve

  I burned the midnight oil and some of the morning’s as well. It felt amazing, and then I crashed—hard.

  My head doesn’t want to leave the pillow, except my buzzer is going off, which means I have a visitor from the outside world.

  I roll over and answer my phone, my voice groggy, “Who is it?”

  “It’s your mother,” she sings into the receiver.

  I punch in the number nine and listen as the buzzing sound chimes in the receiver. Knowing she must be inside by now, I push the covers off the bed and make my way over to the front door, unlocking it and leaving it ajar as I walk to the Keurig.

  “You look well rested,” she states in a serious tone, which is really her humor, exaggerating the state of a situation.

  I pop a pod in. “What are you doing in the city?”

  “I have two grant proposals in schools nearby. I told you about this.”

  I try to rack my mind to remember her saying she’d be in the city. “Sorry. I’ve been a little all over the place this week in my attempt to finish up this book. I’ve finally hit my stride, and I’m on target to finish by my deadline.”

  A closed-mouth smile graces her face. “What’s this one about? Another billionaire or a handsome prince?”

  I narrow my eyes at her comment and wait as my cup fills. It’s too early—well, considering it’s afternoon, it’s too late—to find a witty comeback. I need my liquid stamina first.

  “Or a strapping doctor with green eyes who wants to fill the heroine’s belly with a baby?” she muses as she takes in my bookshelf and the spines of romances, including my own.

  “He’s from a wealthy family,” I state, and she makes that hum of disapproval. “And an artist, so he’s pretty much a prince in my eyes.”

  The cup fills to the top, and I grab it, soaking in the heat.

  She sets her tote bag on the table and takes a seat. “I’ll have a cup too. Thank you for asking.”

  “Sorry. That was rude of me. French roast alright?”

  Mom nods as she folds her hands on the table. “I haven’t heard from you in a few days. Everything good?”

  “Yes, actually. I went on a date.”

  “A date?” Her expression is a mixture of delighted and horrified as I put her mug in front of her and take a seat at the table.

  “Two actually. A really bad one and a really good one. Funny, I haven’t gone out in years, and I went on two dates in a week. Guess I’m making up for lost time.”

  “Should I be concerned?” She raises her eyebrows over her mug with a tilt to her lips.

  I smile to myself as I brush my fingers along my lips, the kiss I shared with Jake lingering on them. “Don’t worry, Mom. I still don’t believe in real life happily ever afters.”

  “You make me sound like I’m the evil queen, set to erase romantic love from the human experience. I’m just concerned that you have these grand illusions of what a man should be. When you idolize a man, he only lets you down.”

  “I’m not idolizing anyone, trust me.”

  She takes a sip from her cup. “You write about things that don’t really happen. It’s not every day that a single mom runs into a billionaire who sweeps her off her feet.”

  I grin because even though my mom hates the tropes of my books, she reads every one. Never once has she critiqued my writing style, which is why I entertain these conversations. In fact, she applauds it. It’s the characters she has issues with.

  “Clearly, I know the odds of a bazillionaire—dominant in the bedroom yet sensitive in matters of the heart with a dark past that only I, the Converse-sneaker-wearing virgin, can heal the wounds of—swooping in on his private jet and whisking me away are low to nonexistent.”

  “Well, that’s a mouthful.” She shakes her head with a slight laugh while taking a sip.

  “People like to abandon their reality. If I wrote about a guy who comes home, cracks open a beer, and watches baseball with his hand down his pants, they’d D-N-F me.” When she lifts a brow, I further explain, “Do not finish.”

  She sighs. “Do you ever feel like you’re filling these women’s hearts with hope of things that will never come true? What about the one who reads a book and then looks at her husband and thinks, He’s no Christian Grey. I want a Christian in my life. Not this?”

  “Are you admitting you read Fifty Shades of Grey?”

  With a swipe of her hand in the air, she explains, “I’m not the only person who feels fairy tales only hurt society. We need to lift these women up and tell them what life is really like, not lie to them.”

  “So, I should write about dirtbags? Or better yet, date one?”

  “Dear, no. However, if a man presents himself as one of these impressive heroes—who don’t really exist—then he’s a loser because he’s only pretending.”

  I consider her words. All men are going to present themselves in their best light. During my two dates, each man started off being a gentleman. Only one stayed that way to the end. While I agree with her—and I always have—I’m starting to wonder if she’d ever give someone a chance again to make it to the end of the date.

  “Do you think all men are losers?” I ask.

  “No. Of course I know there are decent men. But in relationships, you must be wary. Men are incapable of monogamy.”

  “Just because you got a bad deal from my father doesn’t mean all men are like that.”

  She folds her arms across her body and taps her foot. “Michael definitely wasn’t a good deal either. Case in point of a man who pretends to be the hero when he’s really a zero.”

  Our conversation has just crossed a line, and we both know it. I stand up, needing the space away from her and the mention of Michael.

  “Clearly, I know there’s no such thing as the perfect man. And while I thank you for being concerned about my views on the male species and the perception of romantic love, I am more than aware of what the reality is like. The reason I’m single has nothing to do with the heroes I write.”

  “Oh, I’m aware. It’s your good-for-nothing father.” She sighs. “Come on now. I didn’t come over here to start a fight with you on our perception of the opposite sex. Men will be men. They’re hunters by nature. Take Jackie and JFK for example. They were America’s couple. She was a woman we were all meant to look up to, and her husband cheated on her left and right. I’ll never understand how she was supposed to just accept it, yet she did.”

  I walk to the kitchen, needing more coffee almost as much as I need a reprieve. It’s hard to think she’s right. I have to believe she’s not. There has to be men out there who are as good as the men I write in my books.

  I take my refilled mug and walk to the living room. “Did Dad cheat on you?”

  “There’s no reason to talk about what he did or didn’t do.”

  “You’ve never really told me much. I think I should know more about him now that I’m older.”

  “There’s nothing really to know, except that he left us. We were together for a little over a year when I found out I was pregnant with you. He said he didn’t want anything to do with you. So, we broke up, and I had you nine months later. He came back for a few years and then one day decided the nuclear family wasn’t something he wanted.”

  “How did you two meet?”

  “We met in college. We had a class together. He wanted to eventually move to LA, and you know I never want to leave the Midwest. It’s my home. You were five when he decided to make a go of it as an actor.”

  “Did you ever try to reconnect with him?”

  She shakes her head. “I didn’t want anything to do with a man who didn’t want to love his child. Believe me, it was for the best. He’s living on the West Coast, trying to live the California dream. He got what he wanted, and I got what I wanted.” She scoots closer and places her hand on mine. “This is reality. There are a lot
of unhappy people living in marriages that are horrible only because it’s what society tells them they have to do. I’m here to say, you don’t have to have a man to get everything you want.”

  Her hand squeezing mine makes me content with how my life has turned out. I might not have a present father, but my mother’s dedication is everything. That’s why I have to make sure she is honest about what she wants in life.

  “Are you ever lonely? Do you ever miss having someone by your side? Someone to curl up and watch a movie with or just to make dinner with every night?”

  She sits back and tilts her head. “Of course. People need companionship for sure. But this notion that you need to be with another person for the rest of your life is archaic.”

  “A person needs intimacy though.”

  “Friendships are conducive to a healthy mental state, married or not. It’s the people you surround yourself with who matter most. You’re a prime example. Look at your life. Between your work, the people you meet at these book signings and conventions, your socialization … you seem to be doing just fine by yourself.”

  I am doing just fine, and yet the words sting my soul.

  She’s right. I am doing fine on my own.

  I’m also turning into her. I’m at odds with if that’s a good or bad thing.

  A knock on my door, thankfully, takes me out of my downward spiral. I put my mug on the table and walk to the door.

  Jake is there, holding a plate of brownies. “Thought you could use a sugar boost,” he says with the sweetest grin.

  “Who’s that?” my mom calls out.

  I take the brownies from him. “I’d run if I were you.”

  Jake looks around my shoulder, and his eyes widen at the sight of my mom. He’s met her once before in the hallway about a year ago, and he knows she can be a bit intense. By intense, I mean, she asked him a thousand questions about his personal life, sex life, work life, and where he stood on politics. I didn’t know him well enough, so when I saw she had cornered him, I hid in the hall, too mortified to make an appearance until he escaped and I heard Mom’s footsteps coming my way.