The Seasons of Callan Reed: An Enemies-to-Lovers Office Romance

by S. M. Soto

  A smile tips the corners of my lips, as I climb the steps, taking in the immaculate grass and the clean, sleek look of his porch. Whoever he is, he obviously takes excellent care of his house and lawn. Clearing my throat, I ring the doorbell and square my shoulders, wanting to make a worthy first impression.

  It’s silent, save for the loud barking at the fence.

  No sound of footsteps.

  My brows dip.

  Okay, let’s just knock. If he’s not home, I’ll leave the cake.

  I rap my knuckles on the door three times and wait again. Still nothing. I’m just about to turn on my heels, when the door swings open with a frustrated sound that can only be described as a low growl.

  Time suddenly stops.

  The foundation shifts beneath my feet.

  Tension crackles in the air. My eyes grow impossibly round, and my mouth drops open in shock.

  Standing there—with droplets of water rolling down a toned chest, trickling over abs that are impossible to look away from—is my neighbor. My very hot neighbor. There’s a script tattoo over his right pec, but I can’t be too sure what it says. And suddenly, the thought of asking seems a bit inappropriate. He hovers in the doorway like a giant, and I gape at his height. He has to be at least six feet four, or five. Usually, everyone towers over me, seeing as I’m only five foot two on a good day, but this guy? That’s not the case at all. Hell, the top of his head is damn near grazing the top part of the doorframe. With a mind of their own, my eyes trail down his impossibly long body.

  Suddenly, the thought of this individual naked, with water rolling down his fine body in a shower, makes me flush hot, and I’m uncomfortable with the fact that I’m this attracted to someone I don’t even know.

  I swallow thickly.

  Well, now I know who rides the motorcycle.

  For a long beat, I forget how to speak. I even forget how to breathe. I inhale a sharp breath, when a tight pain travels down the center of my chest, reminding me to breathe. Slowly, I drag my gaze up the tan, toned body to a pair of bored ice blue eyes. The guy is handsome. Painfully handsome. I didn’t think it was possible for his face to get any better than his body, but, obviously, I was wrong. His face is so much better than I could’ve expected.

  The color of his eyes are so bright, it’s as if he’s wearing colored contacts, and I’m finding it hard to look away. His strong and bold brows arch over luminous, furious eyes. He’s got cheekbones I’d kill for. And succulent lips pursed into a tight, stern line. His hair is a dark chocolate brown, shaggier on top than it is at the sides. The dark strands look like he’s just ran his hand through it; yet, somehow, it looks incredibly good on him.

  “H-Hi, I’m Olivia Hales. The new neighbor. Next door,” I fumble, snapping out of my ogling. “I just wanted to bring over the cake I made. I know it’s usually the other way around, as housewarming gifts for new neighbors, but I thought it would be refreshing to do things differently.”

  With his hand gripped around the knot of the towel, just above the light smattering of dark hair that dips below, and droplets of water still dripping on his pristine hardwood floors—it doesn’t escape my notice they’re the exact shade I wanted for my own home—the man continues to stare at me. Scratch that, the man is practically glaring into my soul. I can feel the waves of unrestrained anger percolating in the air around us. No outward expression. No interest. For a second, I didn’t think he even heard what I said.

  I open my mouth, but freeze, when I see the tic in his jaw. The sharp slope becomes even more lethal, and it’s almost distracting to stare at. The man is like a goddamn descendant of a Greek god.

  At my gawking silence, his mouth twists with frustration, maybe annoyance, I’m not even sure, but it’s enough to make my smile and positive spirit falter. I shift awkwardly on my feet, the weight of the cake suddenly growing heavy in my hands.

  “I, um, I would probably set it inside. It’s a little warm out today.”

  And, once again, nothing. Not a damn word. He still hasn’t even given me his name, for Christ’s sake. He just continues glaring down at me. The sharp features of his handsome face give nothing away.

  “I’m sorry. I might have missed something,” I say, raising my voice in case he’s hard of hearing. That can be the only explanation for his silence. “I’m your new neighbor. O-liv-i-a.” I make a show of breaking my name down and speaking loudly. There’s no way he can misinterpret that. Unless he’s deaf.

  Oh, fuck. What if he really is deaf?

  His grip tightens on the door, and his brows dip, the sharp edges slanting down, casting shadows across his face.

  “I heard you the first time.”

  His voice…Christ, his voice. It rolls through my body. It feels like warm, melted butter on my skin and stirs something unfamiliar inside me. His speech is flavored with whiskey and tobacco. I’m not even entirely sure if that’s a thing, but I feel like it is. It’s so deep and masculine—and all too hot—it takes me a few seconds to realize what he said. When I do, my face scrunches with confusion.

  Well, if he heard me the first time, why is he making me sound shit out for him and look ridiculous?

  “Oh, sorry,” I mumble, glancing down at my white painted toenails. “Well, it’s nice to meet you…” I trail off, waiting for him to be a gentleman and give me his name. He doesn’t. He gives me a cold leer.

  Okaaay.

  “Here, enjoy this. I have a few more stops to make, then some shopping to do, but I’ll see you around.” I thrust the plate with the foil-covered cake toward him, and he glances down at it like it’s offensive, making no move to take it. My arms start to grow heavy, hanging between us, and a long, awkward beat passes. It’s a test of sorts, as we stare at each other, seeing who will break first. The muscles in my arms are screaming, on the verge of trembling, and I will him with my eyes to take it.

  “No.”

  “No?” I parrot, feeling oddly discombobulated by this naked stranger and his cold demeanor.

  Taking a page out of my book, he makes a show of dragging out the syllables when he repeats himself.

  Does this guy have a limited vocabulary?

  “What do you mean ‘no’?” Growing agitated by his rudeness, I clamp my back teeth together and grind my molars. Anything to keep from telling my neighbor that he’s acting like an asshole.

  He shifts, changing his grip on the door. The movement causes the muscles in his arms and his abs to flex without permission. I don’t even have the willpower to force myself to glance away.

  Christ in heaven, he has those veins that strain against such perfectly tanned skin and—

  He suddenly reaches out, and for a second, I think he’s going to take the plate, but instead, he pushes it back toward me.

  “I mean, no. I don’t want it.” Without another word, he slams the door in my face.

  A startled gasp flies past my lips at the resounding echo of the door shutting, and I stand there, staring at the wood, like a complete fool, until I can get my feet to move properly. I cross his lawn back toward my house and glance over my shoulder.

  I want to give my neighbor the benefit of the doubt, but as far as first encounters go, I think he’s an absolute dick.

  I spend way too much time at HomeGoods and another long span at the local hardware store, looking at flooring options. Even when I stumble upon a similar color to what I have in mind, I flash back to my neighbor’s floors. The light rustic floorboards are exactly what I’m looking for.

  If things had gone differently when I took the cake over there earlier, I might’ve had the guts to see past his good looks and ask about his floors, but that is most definitely not how it went down. I keep replaying the encounter, going over everything in my mind. I second-guess myself, wondering if I did anything to piss him off, but nothing stands out to me. I could’ve caught him at a crummy time, and I guess, technically, I did. He was getting out of the shower, after all.

  Maybe it was my ogling? I didn’t me
an to purposely eye-fuck him. I just wasn’t expecting my neighbor to resemble a fucking male model from Men’s Health or GQ. But I get the feeling that wasn’t the issue either.

  For the life of me, I can’t get his dickish attitude out of my mind, and most of all, his eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone—least of all a man—with such beautiful eyes. They were hard and angry looking, but they were also beautiful. Devastatingly beautiful. The vibrant blue was unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.

  When I get home and pull into the driveway, I peek at the house next door. The neighbor’s garage is wide open, and he’s moving around inside. It’s hard to see clearly, but I glimpse just enough to make out his silhouette and the vehicle inside. I pause, wondering if I should go over there and say hi, but after how awkward this morning was, I decide not to. Instead, I get out of the car, but when I shut the door, the loud sound is enough to grab his attention. With his hands braced on the edge of his muscle car and the raised hood blocking half of him from view, he glances over. Even though it’s too far to see the color, I can practically feel the blue of his gaze on my flesh. His stare has a texture to it, one I can feel rolling through my body, traveling down my spine, as if it’s a roller in a massage chair. I swallow past the sudden dryness in my throat, and I smile, waving at him. He doesn’t return the gesture nor does he smile. He just pushes off from the car, stuffs a red, dingy-looking bandana into the back pocket of his low-slung jeans, then hits something on the wall. The hinges roar, as the garage door kicks into action and shuts, shielding him from view.

  Just like that.

  My smile drops. My brows dip down even more.

  Okay, I know I’m not imagining things now. My neighbor truly is a jerk.

  A heaviness settles on my chest, and I shake my head, trying to let the sensation roll off me. I shouldn’t care or take his brush-off personally. Maybe he’s just a weirdo who likes his privacy? But a part of me, the bit that loves to please others and hates being disliked, that part of me won’t let it go.

  I just don’t get it.

  Ignoring the need to march next door and demand an answer for my neighbor’s brashness, I pop the trunk and start unloading my bags. I mainly bought some stuff for inside the house, but I also bought some yard and gardening tools at the hardware store. I figured I’d take advantage of the cool breeze and get to work on the backyard. I should probably start on the front first, but with the way the sun is beating down on the porch and scraggly lawn, I’ll take my chances in the back, where it’s shaded.

  Dressed in my ratty Long Beach High tank top, a pair of capri yoga pants, and an old, abused Disneyland hat, I get to work in the back, pulling weeds. My next task will be getting the grass to grow back in the lawn because, right now, it mainly consists of dirt and weeds. It looks an awful lot like an abandoned field back here.

  About halfway into clearing the back, I hear a scraping sound coming from the fence next door and the sound of something jingling together. Beads of sweat roll down my temples, and the sweat glides down my back uncomfortably. With furrowed brows, I turn toward the source. A white and black paw snakes out beneath the fence from next door. A smile crests on my face, as I drop the tools and pull the gardening gloves off. That grin suddenly drops when a growl sounds, and the dog next door, somehow, manages to push through a loose board in the fence—just another thing I have to fix—into my yard.

  The husky’s eyes are what slam into me first. The dog’s almond-shaped eyes are so gray, they almost look white. His head has black and white markings. The black wraps around his eyes and ears, even trailing between his eyes, while the rest of his face is that snow white coloring. The markings between his eyes, along with their color, make him look astute and, dare I say, intimidating.

  The husky prowls toward me, growling under his breath. I try to control my heart rate and take a slow step back. After dealing with so many animals and their different temperaments, I’m trained to handle these situations, but, for some reason, with each step away I take from the husky, I can’t seem to get my breathing in check. He’s so…intimidating. It’s almost like he’s scowling at me. The markings on his face make him look more severe than most of the other breeds I’ve seen.

  Pushing upright, I stand to my full height, showing him who the alpha is. If I show my dominance, he’s less likely to pounce and attack me.

  “All right, buddy,” I say, reaching my hand out slowly. His growl grows in volume. He obviously doesn’t like the change in positions. “We’re all friends here. Why don’t you go on back to your yard, and I’ll go back inside?” I take a tentative step closer, and he lurches forward, snarling at me.

  I yank my hand back, my heart racing now. Perspiration beads on my brow, and I work to control my breathing. The dog bares his teeth, still growling at me, and we both freeze at the brusque whistle. At the same time, we both glance toward the fence at the sound of the deep voice.

  “Max.”

  My neighbor’s voice is rough, raspy, and filled with the command of an alpha—an alpha of a dog, of course, that’s what I meant.

  Max dutifully follows his owner’s voice, popping through the loose board back into their yard, as if he didn’t just scare me shitless. A tremor rolls down my spine when my gaze clashes with the neighbor’s, and I let out an inaudible gasp. His face is a blank mask. He’s so cavalier, so cold, yet each time he regards me, I feel a stirring deep in my gut. A prickling sensation on my scalp and along my fingertips that I can’t quite place.

  With the back of my hand, I wipe the sweat off my forehead and smile awkwardly in thanks. I take unsure steps toward the fence, treating my neighbor just like I did his dog. Like he’s a vicious animal going to attack, without a second’s warning.

  “Thank you. I work with animals, so I usually don’t have a problem calming them down, but I guess—”

  My neighbor turns on his heels and starts walking away, as I’m in the middle of speaking. He just turns his back on me, not even letting me finish. My mouth hangs open in shock, and I flinch when I hear his sliding glass door slam shut.

  Now I’m really starting to get pissed off.

  What the hell is his problem?

  “Summer Feelings”—Lennon Stella ft. Charlie Puth

  My first official day at Bennett Veterinary starts off a complete mess. I hit snooze one too many times on my alarm, and then, when it comes time to shower, the pipes decide to have a meltdown because the soft water I paid for is, in fact, not soft, and apparently, the temperature gauge is shit, too, because I feel like I am showering somewhere in the Arctic.

  With my nipples as hard as rocks and goosebumps permanently etched on my skin, I don’t even bother with makeup. I quickly put my hair into a low bun, before tossing on my work scrubs and flying out the front door, sans breakfast. Of course, that isn’t even the worst of my morning. Want to know what tops it off? My dickhole neighbor exiting his house at the same time as me. And, like the idiot I am, I pause in my haste and wave at him again. I’m not even surprised when he looks right through me, hops on his bike, and revs it to life, peeling away.

  Frustration simmering just below the surface has me grinding my teeth and curling my hands into fists. I give myself an inner pep talk, as I get into my car and take off, telling myself the next time I see my neighbor, I’m going to ignore him, just like he’s ignoring me.

  That’ll show him.

  Bennett Veterinary is a step up from the last place I was working at just outside of Long Beach. Though the facility is a bit smaller, overall, the place is a lot cleaner and organized. The staff is sweet. With a total of four vets, six vet techs, and two other assistants, I complete the clinic’s employees.

  I spend most of the day touring the facility and learning how they handle in-care procedures for the animals. I am given a quick crash course on everything from sick and injured animal care to cleanup, and shown where the animal kennels and procedure rooms are. I meet three of the four vets. Dr. Bennett and his son own the clini
c. Samuel Bennett is in his early seventies and will be retiring soon. With coffee-colored eyes and hair that’s as white as snow, Dr. Bennett is a sweet, delicate man I can’t help but adore during our first meeting. His son, Travis, will be taking over the clinic when he retires. Though Travis wasn’t able to make it in today to meet me, I figure I am in good hands here at the clinic. I think I spend most of my day smiling as we go through the procedures. That smile only grows when they finally allow me near the animals.

  This has always been my favorite part about working with animals. Healing them. Without realizing it, they heal me, too. The ability to relieve the suffering of a living, breathing creature that has experienced traumatic injuries or chronic illness is nothing short of incredible. Caring for animals always seems to take my mind off whatever troubles I’ve been having beforehand. Because the way animals express their gratitude is far greater than the way humans do. It’s easily the most rewarding job I’ve ever had.

  I can’t pinpoint exactly when I decided I wanted to care for animals. I wasn’t even animal obsessed when I was younger; there was just a part of me that wanted to heal anything or anyone. Sometimes, humans could be real assholes, so I decided healing animals was as good of a consolation prize as any.

  After soothing a cat with worms and hooking up a dog to anesthesia, after he got stuck with pine needles, I realize it’s time to go. I clean up my station and move the animals from my care over to Lucy, one of the other assistants, before I leave. The entire ride home is a breath of fresh air. The best thing about working here? It has to be the drive.

  Before, when I lived in Long Beach, I had to drive almost two hours each day to get to work, but here? It’s only a twenty-minute drive with traffic.

  My cheerful mood dims when I pull into my driveway and notice the neighbor’s garage is open. The light is on inside, illuminating the space, giving me a clear view of the red and black muscle car inside. He left his bike sitting out in his driveway. The car he’s working on inside looks old, probably one of those Chevelles or Mustangs. I’m not a car person, so obviously, I can’t be too sure what it is.