“Sure, Mr. Donnell, I’ll see what I can do,” Lysander said. “You wouldn’t mind me bringing my kids to show them around, would you?”
“Of course not,” said Mr. Donnell. “I’d love to meet them.”
“Great,” Lysander replied, mopping his face again with the shirt hanging over his shoulder. “I’ll see you on Friday morning then. I’ll let you know exactly when so we can make sure to come when you don’t have clients.”
“I’m free ‘til noon,” said Mr. Donnell. “Talk to you then.”
“Thanks again, Mr. Donnell. Goodbye.” Lysander sighed heavily, staring down at his phone. A new town, a new job… It was all starting to hit him at once.
He headed back outside to stand at the moving truck, grabbing boxes and dining room chairs, carting them inside, where he knew he’d inevitably move them three or four more times before they were unpacked.
It was almost four o’clock in the afternoon before Lysander could even see the back of the truck. He knew he’d packed it only a few days before, but how in the world had he and the kids accumulated so much stuff over the years? At least he’d been able to find a nice, big house in a quiet neighborhood with a big, fenced-in backyard. Those were the most important things to him.
He stood in the driveway, waiting for a chance to get to the truck; the workers were wheeling the couch out, finally. He looked forward to vegging on it that night with the kids. Maybe he’d order a pizza.
”You must be our new neighbors!”
Lysander turned and saw a couple standing on the path leading up to the front door, which was propped open for the movers. They stepped out of the way as the workers pushed and pulled the couch along the brick pavers.
They were older, probably around his parents’ age. Mid-sixties, maybe a little younger. The woman was petite, with short hair and glasses, and she was holding a plate stacked high with cookies. The man beside her was about as tall as Lysander, who was easily over six feet. He had a broad chest and looked like he must have been in a field where he’d done a lot of physical labor. Maybe a carpenter or a construction worker of some sort.
“Yes, I am,” Lysander said, turning to them. “And you must be…”
“Your next-door neighbors,” the woman offered kindly. She held out the plate of cookies. “Charlie said he spoke to the realtor a few days ago, and we heard you would be moving in today. So we prepared a little something to welcome you to our little corner of Harmony Cove.”
“Um… thank you,” Lysander said, taking the plate from her. She beamed at him.
“So, where you from, son?” the man asked.
“Seattle,” Lysander answered, catching one of the workers nearly dropping a box out of the corner of his eye. “Hey, careful with those,” he said, frowning at them.
The worker nodded in apology and carefully carried the box off the truck.
“Seattle, huh?” the man repeated. “Never been there myself. Cold this time of year, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Lysander said. “Listen, I’m sorry, but I really should be getting these boxes—”
“Daddy,” came his son’s voice. “Who’s this?”
He turned to see his son’s freckled face peering up at him, their golden retriever close at his heels. Lysander brushed his son’s dirty blonde hair from his face and smiled down at him. “These are our new neighbors. Um… I’m sorry, I didn’t get your names.”
The woman grinned up at her husband. “Jan and Charlie O’Neill. Pleased to meet you.”
“I’m George,” Lysander’s son said, bending down to pet the dog. “And this is Sawyer, our dog, like from Tom Sawyer.”
“What a wonderful name,” Charlie said.
“My sister Lily named him,” George said with a nod. “She’s out back playing on the slide.”
“Do you have any other siblings?” Jan asked him.
George shook his head. “Nope.”
“We have a dog, too, you know,” Charlie said.
“You do?” George asked, his eyes widening. “What kind?”
“A Scottish terrier,” said Jan with a smile. “His name is Walter.”
“Wow!” George cried. “We should get them together sometime to play—”
“Yes, yes, that would be fun,” Lysander interjected, patting George on the shoulder. “Well, I am very sorry, but we have to get this all unpacked before it gets dark. It was very nice to meet you, and thank you for the cookies—”
“Cookies?” George grabbed onto Lysander’s arm and tugged it down to peer at the plate. “Wait, I want one!”
“We didn’t get your name, though,” Charlie said kindly.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Lysander. Lysander Wright.” He held out his hand for Charlie to shake, who jovially accepted.
“Yes, dear, we should let him get back to it,” Jan said, laying her hand gently on her husband’s forearm.
“Anything I can help with?” Charlie asked. “I may not be as young as I once was, but I can still carry some things.”
“No, that’s all right,” Lysander assured him. “Thank you for the offer, but that’s what I’m paying these guys to do.” He glanced over his shoulder at the men who were moving the boxes around. He sighed. “At least, that’s what I thought I was paying them for. Had a few too many close calls with breakable items.”
Charlie nodded. “Well, if you need anything else done, like getting some paintings hung or some furniture put back together, I can offer my services. I did home construction for thirty-five years, and I still volunteer whenever I have the time.”
“Thank you very much; I’ll keep that in mind,” Lysander said. “Well, have a good evening,” he told the couple.
“You as well,” Jan replied as she and Charlie turned and walked back across the lawn toward their house. “Don’t be a stranger!”
“Wow, they were really nice, weren’t they, Dad?” George asked, looking up at Lysander as they walked back into the garage together.
“Yeah, they were,” Lysander said. “Maybe a little pushy, but nice enough.” He glanced down at the cookies, realizing they were sugar cookies cut out like leaves and decorated with autumn colored frosting. Nice and thoughtful.
Feeling a little guilty about how short he’d been with them, he called Lily inside so that she and George could sample the cookies. And after the long day they’d had, he thought he deserved one, too.
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Fake Marriage to a Rock Star: Fame and Romance Page 12
