Frenemies

by Emma Hart

  “The crate in my room, yeah?”

  “She might cry.”

  “I wipe her tears. It okay.” She trotted off toward the front door, and I grabbed a box full of puppy food and biscuits.

  What had I gotten myself into here?

  I put the food down so I could unlock the door. Maya rushed inside before I’d even taken the key out of the door, and I almost tripped over the dog food.

  I was going to spend the next twelve years tripping over the actual dog, wasn’t I?

  With a sigh, I pushed the food into the kitchen and went back out to the car. Judging by the thundering around upstairs, my little fairy elephant was busy finding a home for the bed that would ultimately move into the crate as soon as the dog came home tomorrow.

  I hauled the crate box out of the trunk. It was damn heavy, and I wasn’t entirely sure I needed one as big as I had. The guy in the store had talked me into it, but my first clue should have been the dog on the front.

  Looked like a damn police dog.

  “What’s that?”

  I looked over at Immy’s porch where her grandmother, Jen, was leaning so far over the side of the porch I was pretty sure she was going to take a tumble. “Good afternoon, Jen!”

  “Yeah, yeah. What’s that? You getting a Rottweiler?”

  “Uh, no, ma’am. A Shih Tzu.”

  “Why are you getting a Shih Tzu?”

  “I was outvoted by a three-year-old for a dog I didn’t even want.”

  She cackled, straightening up. “Kids suck. When are you getting the little frou-frou fucker?”

  I glanced back toward the house to make sure Maya wasn’t out here.

  Jen covered her mouth. “Do you have your daughter? Sorry.”

  “She’s upstairs finding a home for the bed. It’s fine.” I shrugged a shoulder. “I’ve got her for a few extra days this week while her mom is away.”

  “Being a good dad. Such an attractive quality. Why are you single?”

  “Because I work too much and parent when I’m not working?”

  “I’m going to set you up with someone.”

  “I’m pretty sure you’re already trying to do that with your granddaughter.” I smiled.

  She parted her lips and pressed a hand to her chest. “Me? Set you up? Whyever would you think that?”

  “I don’t know,” I said wryly. “Unless the rubber spider jumped into the mailbox of its own accord, of course.”

  “Gosh darn it!” She punched the air. “You’re smart, too. You’re the perfect candidate for my future great-grandchildren.”

  “And I think we’re done with this conversation.” I choked back a laugh and moved to pick up the crate.

  “Wait, wait, wait.” She flapped her hands at me. “When are you getting the frou-frou puppy tomorrow?”

  “The afternoon. Why?”

  “My grass desperately needs a cut, and the neighborhood boy who usually helps me is going to some baseball tournament. Inconvenient, really.” She sniffed, pushing her hair behind her ear. “Anyhoo. I’ll pay you.”

  “I don’t think I can take your money, Jen.”

  “Fine. Take Immy on a date.”

  “I have Maya. I can’t just leave a three-year-old to her own devices to mow your lawn, even if you are willing to pay me.”

  There was no way in hell I was agreeing to her second option.

  “I’ll watch her. It’ll only take you twenty minutes.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “You’ll watch my daughter? Why?”

  “Because I’m a nice person.”

  I raised them even further.

  “Fine. My grass needs cutting. It seems like a fair trade. Besides, I can’t possibly corrupt a child as young as three in twenty minutes. I need at least thirty for that.”

  I had no idea if she was joking about that, but I wasn’t sure I was willing to bet on it.

  Then again, I didn’t want to be a bad neighbor. She was old, and if Immy was working and the usual kid was away, I knew I’d feel bad if I didn’t.

  “I’ll even watch her after so you can work. I bet she won’t leave you alone at all tomorrow until you’ve picked up your puppy,” Jen continued. “I’m good with kids. We’ll bake cookies. I’ll teach her how to get them right.”

  Maya did like baking…

  “Who make cookies?”

  Of course this was when she finally joined the conversation.

  “Mrs. Anderson wants me to cut her grass for her tomorrow, and she said she’d do some baking with you after so I can work,” I explained. “She’s our new neighbor.”

  “She bake? Wif me?” Maya looked over at her. “I liked her dress.”

  Jen grinned. “I’ll bake with ya, sugar! What kinda cookies do you like?”

  Maya bit her lip and hid behind me. “Chocot,” she whispered.

  “She can’t hear you, baby.” I chuckled.

  “Chocot,” she repeated a little louder.

  “Ooh, my favorite! You come over at ten-thirty, and we’ll make a hundred cookies!”

  Her eyes widened.

  Oh, sweet Jesus.

  “Yes?” Jen asked, smugness in her eyes.

  The old woman had outfoxed me. God damn it.

  “We’ll see you at ten-thirty.” I sighed, passing Maya a bag full of dog toys. “Tell Mrs. Anderson you’ll see her tomorrow.”

  “See ya ‘morrow!” Maya grinned and took the bag, then ran back into the house.

  “I know what you’re up to,” I said, pointing at Jen.

  “Me?” She gave me her best innocent look, which was guilty as hell for most people. “I’m not up to anything, dear.”

  I watched her disappear into the house with a shake of my head.

  What was I getting myself into?

  CHAPTER SEVEN – IMMY

  Little Miss Meddler

  There was a three-year-old in my kitchen baking cookies and a shirtless hot man in my backyard mowing the lawn.

  I’d imagined this fantasy a thousand times, but I’d never really pictured the child not being mine and the shirtless hot man being a guy I’d left behind years ago.

  I wasn’t quite sure how this scenario had come about, but it wasn’t ideal. It was almost eleven, and I’d been awake less than an hour. Both the man and the child had turned up at some point when I was in the shower and not once had Grandma thought to warn me.

  Well, she probably had, but had ultimately decided against it.

  That was her style, after all.

  Plus, I was pretty sure she’d asked Mason to cut the grass to bug me. She knew Hannah was running the store today because she needed more hours. I could have easily cut the grass—it was actually one chore I didn’t really mind—but no, she had to go one step to the right to the new neighbor, didn’t she?

  I toweled off my hair, and after a lick of mascara on my eyelashes, I made my way downstairs, where the smell of freshly baked cookies made my stomach rumble.

  “Oh, Immy! Here. Take this out to Mason.” Grandma shoved a glass of water and a plate with cookies on at me. “Now.”

  “I maded dem!” said the tiny human with her arms elbow-deep in cookie dough. “Hiya.”

  “Hi. I’m Immy.”

  “I Maya. Are you Dadda’s fend?”

  “Kind of,” I said. Thank God I could speak little kid thanks to the classes at the store. “Are you having fun?”

  She nodded, blue eyes sparkling, and went back to stirring the cookie dough.

  I say stirring. She was more… flicking it everywhere.

  I eyed Grandma speculatively, but she shrugged a shoulder and with a very calm, “No, dear, like this,” turned her full attention to Maya and her cookie dough missiles.

  Like Grandma couldn’t have taken these out herself.

  Ugh.

  This woman was going to be the death of me.

  I stepped out onto the back porch. Mason was at the far end of the backyard, but he looked up the second my feet touched the steps, as if he knew, someho
w, that I was here.

  It was weird.

  I lamely held up the plate and water so he knew it was for him. He gave me a thumb up, and I waited while he mowed the next line back to the porch where I was.

  “Thanks. It’s hot out here.” He took the water first and drank half the glass before he took the plate. “Did they bake these?”

  “You mean my grandmother and her new minion? I think so.” I sat down on the top step where it was still shaded from the sun. “Do you know what you’re letting yourself in for?”

  Mason sat next to me, keeping a comfortable distance. “No, but that probably stands to reason for this afternoon, too.”

  “Why? You’re not painting for her, are you?”

  He laughed. “No. We’re going back to the shelter for a Shih Tzu puppy.”

  “How did you get roped into that?”

  “Fran—that’s Maya’s mom—is on vacation, and her mom had promised to take her to the shelter. They do some kid-friendly thing on a Thursday afternoon.” He sighed. “Basically, I’m a sucker, and after insisting I wasn’t getting a dog, I’m now getting a dog.”

  “Seems reasonable enough. How did you get roped into this?”

  “Your grandmother talked me in circles until Maya came out and heard the words ‘baking’ and ‘cookies’ and that was the end of it all.”

  “Wow. You really are a sucker.”

  “Thanks for the support.”

  “You’re welcome. Sucker.”

  He side-eyed me. “Your grandmother is quite the force of nature.”

  “You don’t need to tell me that. I have to live with her and host her little pensioner’s book club once a week.” I met his gaze. “You think she’s bad; you should meet Lillian, Kathleen, and Evelyn. They have to meet here, or I’d probably have to bail them out of jail on a weekly basis.”

  “They’re that bad?”

  “Why don’t you come over tomorrow night and find out for yourself?”

  “I can’t. Maya.” He shoved half a cookie in his mouth. “These are good.”

  “Still an animal with no manners, I see.”

  “Still willing to call me on what you perceive as my faults, I see.”

  I pursed my lips and dragged my eyes away from him. “Eating with your mouth full is a universally accepted fault.”

  He laughed quietly, and the plate clinked against the porch when he set it down. “You know we’re gonna have to get along.”

  “We don’t have to do anything at all. If you want to help Grandma, you can. I’m only here because my cousin needs some extra cash so she opened the store.” I got up and walked down onto the grass, ready to head to the shed to get some secateurs to trim back one of the bushes along the side of the garden. “Don’t think I’m being a bitch, but I’d rather not have any kind of relationship at all.”

  “It’s hard not to think that you’re being a bitch when you are, in fact, being a bitch, Imogen.”

  I peered back over my shoulder and glared, but there was a small lump stuck in my throat at the sight of him. His dark blue eyes gripped hold of me, but I once again tore my gaze away and went to get what I was looking for.

  Except I didn’t.

  I was millimeters from opening the door when I turned around, ready to unleash hell on him at the porch, but he was already on my side of the yard.

  “Yes?” he drawled, leaning on the lawnmower.

  “You can call me a bitch all you like, but here’s what you aren’t considering, Mason.” I turned to face him and folded my arms over my chest like a shield over my heart. “When you graduated and said you were going to call me but didn’t, you really, really hurt me. The thing with hurt is that it doesn’t go away overnight. You either deal with it or you don’t, and it doesn’t matter that it was years ago, because I apparently didn’t. So when I saw you moving in, all that hurt I’d hidden away came back. Now, if you think I’m a bitch for not wanting to be anywhere near you, then fine. Think it. I’m no less of a bitch than you were an asshole six years ago. The only difference now is that you’re able to call me on my shitty attitude. That wasn’t a luxury I was afforded.”

  He opened his mouth for a moment, and I thought he was going to give me a smartass retort, but he didn’t. He sighed instead and ran his fingers through his hair, sagging a little.

  “You’re right. Your attitude is shit, but so was my behavior.” He let go of the lawnmower and closed the distance between us, leaving barely six inches between the tips of our toes.

  I wanted to crumble and step back, but I didn’t. I steeled myself, raised my chin, and looked him dead in the eye.

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly. So softly that there was no denying the honesty behind his words. “If I could go back, I would have called you, if only to say goodbye properly. If I ever thought I’d hurt you by not doing it, I never would have ignored you.”

  “How could you think it wouldn’t hurt me?”

  “Because.” He took a deep breath through his full lips, and he reached forward, pushing some of my damp hair away from my face. His fingers lingered against my cheek, just brushing my skin. “You always told me you didn’t feel anything for me, just like I told you the same thing.”

  I swallowed, tilting my head to look away.

  He caught my chin in his hand and forced me to meet his eyes. “I guess we were both lying, Imogen.”

  I stepped back, away from his touch that seemed to brand itself on my skin. “Guess we were. Still doesn’t change anything now.” I glanced back at the house where Maya was. “We’re different people with different lives now.”

  He nodded, darting his own gaze in the same direction. Without another word, he turned and went back to the lawnmower.

  I let myself into the shed and grabbed the secateurs, then stopped. There was a small open box of water balloons where I’d made too many yesterday, and a quick glance over my shoulder at Mason confirmed that he was within throwing range.

  So I did what any self-respecting woman would do.

  I threw it.

  I hit him square in the back. The balloon exploded, covering him in cold water.

  He froze, and the mower stopped running when he drew his shoulders back, showing every dip and curve of his back muscles.

  Ugh. That was karma.

  Slowly, he looked back at me over his shoulder. His lips quirked up into what could only be described as a half-smile, half-smirk. “Thanks. That helped.”

  I gave him a flat stare.

  “That backfired, didn’t it?”

  “Shut up.” I huffed, tugging the shed door closed behind me.

  “Does that mean we’re friends now?” Mason called as I stalked off toward the front yard.

  “In your dreams!” I yelled right back, not even bothering to turn and look at him.

  “I know what I’m doing tonight, then!”

  My steps faltered, my mouth dropping open. I jerked around to glare at him for that, but he was already starting the mower again, not so much as glancing in my direction.

  With another huff, I spun back around and walked to the front, out of his sight.

  Where he was out of mine, too.

  I dropped to the grass in front of the bush I no longer wanted to prune.

  Friends?

  Could he and I ever be friends? Like real ones? Not the kind of friends where you pretend you’re friends but you’re only really civil to each other, but actual friends.

  Was that possible?

  I ran my thumb over the edge of a rich, green leaf.

  I didn’t know.

  The truth was, I didn’t think Mason Black was the kind of person I could be friends with.

  Not if I wanted to keep hold of my heart.

  ***

  “You have to stop.”

  Grandma looked up from her book, peering over the rim of her scarlet glasses. “Stop what?”

  “Whatever it is you’re doing with Mason, stop it.”

  “I needed the grass cutting. H
e was available.”

  “No, he wasn’t. He had Maya, and I could have cut the grass. You knew I wasn’t working today because Hannah needs the hours.” I sat on the chair opposite her. “You’re trying to do something, and I don’t like it.”

  “Immy, it might surprise you learn this, but I’m going to say it anyway. The world does not revolve around you.”

  Ironic, coming from the woman who believed the world should and did revolve around her.

  “I know that. Do you?”

  “My world revolves around me. It’s not up to me to make sure anyone else’s does.” She shrugged, replacing her bookmark. “Yours revolves around me because you’re too nice to tell me to piss off.”

  I sighed, slumping back against the plush cushions. “You’re my grandmother, and despite all your irritating eccentricities, I do actually love you. It’s my job to look after you.”

  “I don’t need looking after.”

  “Yes, you do. The last time I left you unsupervised for book club, you all ended up being given a police warning about flashing your bloomers.”

  “I don’t need looking after,” she repeated. “Back in my day—”

  “You couldn’t flash an ankle for fear of being called a slut,” I reminded her. “It has never been acceptable to flash your bloomers in public.”

  “My bloomers should be seen in public.”

  “You were wearing a lace thong. My lace thong.”

  She sighed. “And still, you don’t have a date.”

  I rubbed my temples with my fingers. No wonder Mason had ended up cutting the grass—the woman talked you in circles until you were one bright light away from a migraine.

  “Grandma. Listen to me right now.”

  “What do you think I’m doing, dear?”

  “Honestly? Pretending to listen while plotting how to get me married by my next birthday.”

  “It’s still possible.”

  “It’s in three months. Nobody gets married in three months.”

  “Cinderella did. So did Jasmine and that Snow White girl.”

  “Nobody outside Disney movies gets married in three months,” I corrected myself. “I mean it. Whatever you’re doing trying to get me and Mason in close proximity has to stop.”