The Neighborhood Series (The Neighborhoood)

by Tarrah Anders

“Do you?” she asks with a grin.

  “No clue what I will do, but I got what you’re trying to say,” I reply. “Thank you, Deb.”

  I just need to figure out what will make that statement, and how I can get her to come to me.

  “If you need any other help, I’m your girl! But I need to get out on the floor, it’s getting packed in there, and these tips won’t make themselves,” she waves and dashes out of view.

  Ten minutes later, ticket after ticket comes to the window and the kitchen is swamped. Right before Noah met his match and became a single woman man, I had the pleasure of beefing up the menu here at The Neighborhood and now people were swarming the bar for their lunches and dinners. We offer top notch food at affordable prices. Noah gives me free run of the kitchen as long as I kept cooking the good shit.

  I like my job, I like the people that I work with, and I am truly happy here in Mercy.

  I found my happiness and I wasn’t even aware of it. I’ve ignored the happiness since I stepped foot in this town, and it’s been under my nose the entire freaking time. It’s not in a two-starred Michelin restaurant, in a bustling city, making enough money to put someone through college a few times over. No, my happiness is in a bar in a small town with an “A” grade on its window and a family inside. My happiness is in the arms of a woman who knows what she wants, goes after it and isn’t shy to say it out loud.

  After a few hours of continuous cooking and when a break comes in, I go in search of Noah. I need to work out a plan and who better to give me some extra insight than Bev’s cousin. I know what my grand gesture will be, and I need those that I consider my family to help me achieve this task.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  I’ve prepped everything to be perfect.

  Bev will be arriving at the bar at exactly seven-thirty with the aid of Noah, who says that he needs to meet with her over something important family-wise. When she arrives, I will be waiting for her and the bar will be closed to the public. My family, the staff here at The Neighborhood Bar will be present, but they will be waiting on us, with the meal that I prepared warming in the kitchen.

  Deb went to my house and picked up a suit from my closet that I’m shocked still fits and gave me a quick haircut. Wyatt, our jack of all trades at the bar went to the store to grab me flowers to give to her and procured a vase from the back to place them in the center of our table while we eat dinner.

  My palms are sweating, and my stomach is in knots. I’ve popped a few Tums and made sure that I brushed my teeth to get the chalky taste out of my mouth. I don’t even recall being this nervous on my wedding day all those years ago. Nervously, I check the time on my watch and take in a deep breath.

  It’s showtime.

  I wait in awkward silence in the dark. When it’s five minutes past the time that Noah asked her to be here, I’m nervous that she won’t be coming.

  But then, the door to the bar opens and I hold my breath in anticipation for her entrance. The bar lights are off and it’s planned that when she calls out, that Deb will turn on the lights from the corner of the room by remote.

  “Um, Noah? Hello? Is anyone here? Why are the lights—.” The lights turn on and Bev’s eyes widen once she sees me, “turned off,” she finishes.

  “Hey Beverly.” I say, using her full first name.

  “Perce, what’s going on? Where is everyone?” she asks stepping forward as I pull the bouquet of flowers out from behind my back and hold them out to her.

  “I hope that you like lilies, Noah told me that you did back when you guys were kids and I hope that—”

  “I do, they’re still my favorite,” she smiles accepting the flowers. “What’s going on here Percy?” she asks again.

  “This is a date,” I reply.

  “A date?” she repeats.

  “I made you dinner, and my friends, my family - will be serving us dinner.”

  “You made us dinner, Noah closed the bar, this is all for us? And I’m not meeting with Noah?”

  I shake my head. I turn my body and pull out the chair for her. “If you would do me the honor and join me for dinner?”

  Noah comes out with a bottle of red wine and two glasses. He sets a glass in front of each of us and she looks up to him.

  “You lied to me, you sly dog,” she hides her laughter as he grins.

  “I might have, you’ll forgive me.” He says, winks, then leaves the room.

  She leans forward and whispers, “you could have just called me, you didn’t need to go through all this.”

  “What’s the fun in that? This is a better story,” I say sipping on my wine.

  “A better story for what?”

  “A better story to tell our friends with how I got the girl,” I smile.

  Epilogue

  My boots carry me up the dirt gravel to the house that I now share with Bev. She moved to Mercy about six months ago and if you count from the night of my grand gesture, we’ve been together for a year. Not a day goes by where I can’t believe that I attempted to deny myself a relationship with this amazing woman.

  She insists on keeping business and pleasure separate, more so as a reminder of our first conversations together, likely more so of a way to poke fun at me.

  “Hey darlin’, you home?” I shout walking into the house.

  “Kitchen,” she calls out.

  “Are you ready? I want to get on the road and checked into the room, early enough to shower before meeting with Richard,” I say turning the corner and seeing my woman wearing nothing but an apron and holding a glass of wine.

  My jaw hits the floor and my feet are glued in place.

  “Do you think we could be just a little late?” she asks in a sweet tone knowing exactly what she’s doing.

  “Fuck me.” I whisper.

  “That’s the intention,” she sashays up to me, leans up on her tippy toes and chastely kisses the corner of my mouth.

  I wrap my arms around her middle and pull her against me, lean down and take her mouth with mine. My hands move to untie the apron and I grab her by the hips as she reaches between us and pulls my belt off, unbuttons my jeans and pulls my zipper down. My pants are hanging low on my hips as she pulls my cock out and strokes me. Our tongues tangle, our hands roam and with her legs now wrapped around my waist, her sweet spot hovering over my cock, I place her on our dining room table and thrust into her pussy. She throws her head back and groans loudly while her hands move through my hair. My hips thrust while I place open mouthed kisses along her shoulder, holding her as close I can.

  “God, I fucking love you,” I say grinding my hips in circles, just the way that she likes it.

  “I love you, too.”

  “Mi amigo, Señorita,” Richard kisses the top of Bev’s hand, just as he did last year, upon their meeting, he claps me on the back and smiles widely.

  “I’m starved,” Bev responds looking at the table beside us, full of appetizers and beverages. “It looks like you already started the party without us?” she playfully pouts.

  “Actually, I’m only going to stay for a drink, I’ve got an early morning to prep for and I want to be on my best behavior. No indulgences for me, only for you two.”

  “My friend, surely you can stay for some food? It’s unlike you to depart to early before eating,” I smile, playing along with the game that we discussed last week.

  “You speak like I never eat. Alas, I did start without you two, but for good reason,” he wiggles his eyebrows.

  Bev looks between us with confusion marked on her face.

  “What’s happening, what’s going on here?” she asks pointing between us.

  “Nothing.” Richard and I reply in unison.

  She shakes her head dismissing us and then takes the seat that I pull out for her.

  As said, Richard only has one drink and then leaves us. He heads in the direction of the kitchen and soon, one by one on cue, guests at the surrounding tables begin to file out of the restaurant.

  Bev lea
ns forward and whispers, “is the place closing? I’m confused.”

  “This is the restaurant that I once owned. Richard is still the owner and I’ve called in a favor.”

  “Percy Wilkins, what are you talking about?” she asks in a whisper shout.

  “You see, it’s been orchestrated that all the guests would get up and leave once Richard went back into the kitchen, his kitchen,” I explain.

  “But why?” she asks.

  “They’re all paid actors, well paid with food for finishing their meals by a specific time, in time to give us the privacy of the restaurant.”

  “But why?” she repeats.

  I stand, and the lights dim. Music faintly plays in the background and I dig in my pocket for the box that has been heavily weighing me down for the past two weeks.

  Bev’s eyes widen, and she covers her mouth in a gasp as I bend my knee beside her and take her hand in mine. I look up to her and smile.

  “Beverly, you came into my life last year, knowing exactly what you wanted and that was me. You weren’t shy about it and now here we are. You made me realize that I too, deserved happiness and my happiness was found with you, in you, and in us together. You made me realize that I was allowed a second chance and that I shouldn’t beat myself up over shit–I mean stuff that I couldn’t control. I love you, I love being with you and I don’t ever want to be without you. Will you marry me?”

  Tears fall from her eyes as I open the velvet blue box and hold out the simple solitaire diamond ring to her. Her hand is shaking as she eagerly nods and whispers ‘yes’.

  I slip the ring on her finger, kiss her hand and then stand pulling her up with me.

  “You’ve made me so happy,” I whisper to her before dipping my head to kiss her.

  To kiss my fiancée.

  The woman who changed my life for the better.

  Who makes me whole.

  COMING UP NEXT

  Continue reading for the 6th story in this series

  To anyone that needs a hug. There’s something for everyone out there.

  COPYRIGHT © 2019– TARRAH ANDERS

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the email address below.

  Tarrah Anders | Tarrah Anders, LLC Tarrah.anders@gmail.com |www.tarrahanders.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Book Formatting: Tarrah Anders, LLC

  Cover: Jess Bryant Designs

  Ordering Information: Your Neighborhood Cowgirl

  ISBN: 9780463565711 | 9798619646450

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  My nights are spent working at The Neighborhood Bar, and my days, well, my days are spent in the arms of a complete stranger.

  It's been a while since I've been in a relationship, and it's not like the small ass town of Mercy has any hot contenders of the male variety for me to choose from.

  No siree.

  The most eligible bachelors of Mercy may not be married, but they sure as shit are taken.

  So, I use a service for my affection quotas that come from Hollybrooke. A service that sends someone to you, to cuddle.

  That’s right, just pure cuddling. No sex, no feelings, just the connection. I need the connection, so the service sends out someone to me three times a week.

  Don't get me wrong, if a handsome fella came my way, I would stop the service, but the new guys who come to town sure as hell get swooped up real quick.

  When I first started at The Neighborhood, I had a crush on Miles, but I never got up the nerve to act on it. Then his college crush Missy came around.

  Then, the hot-as-sin bad boy in town, the grandson of old man Holmes and a recently released convict, moved here to start over and... well what do you know, swooped up within a week.

  So, I am not holding my breath.

  Anywho, I'm sitting on my rust colored couch, my knee bouncing and my fingertips pulling at a loose thread on the arm of the couch, likely damage caused by that damn cat that likes to boss me around, when a knock scares me out of my random thoughts, and a rush of excitement flows through my body.

  I force myself to walk slowly so as to not reflect how excited I am for today’s session and pull open the door.

  Now, the majority of my cuddlers tend to be male, and while I've perused their catalog of experts in the field, I've never seen the person in front of me.

  Which is worrisome.

  First, he is drop-dead, panty-drenching gorgeous.

  And second, he's not my usual guy.

  Is he my cuddler for today? Or is he a rando who knocked on the wrong door?

  He must have taken in my puzzled expression and realized my confusion.

  "Shit, Tre didn't call you, did she?" he asks with a wince.

  Tre is the cuddle service coordinator and someone who, while I've never seen her in person, she is someone who understands my needs. She is also someone who is dependable, and I'm truly wondering why I haven’t heard from her about a change in my cuddler.

  Slowly, I shake my head.

  Mr. So freakin' handsome offers me a smile, and the dimple on his right cheek is begging for me to stick my finger in there and ask him 'who’s the cute wittle boy!?'

  "Well, this is awkward. Here, let me call her." He pulls out his phone and presses a button as soon as he unlocks it.

  "Hey, Tre? Yeah, I'm here in Mercy with your client and it's lookin' like you haven’t made that phone call yet." He looks at me and then hands me the phone.

  "Deb?" Tre's voice sounds. "Listen, your usual, Devin, he had a last minute family emergency. Darrel, standing in front of you, was free and Dev called him to stand in for him today, I'm sorry, I meant to call you, but shit just hit the fan down here and, long story short, I’m rebuilding my website as we speak."

  "Darrel?" I say into the receiver as he looks up, offers a small wave with a crooked smile, and there’s that damn dimple again!

  "He's really great, brand new with the agency, and has amazing reviews from more than just his grandmother," she says with a laugh to her tone. "I'll credit your account for my lack of communication and follow-through. Try Darrel out, you will be exceptionally happy," she promises.

  We say our goodbyes, and I hand Darrel the phone.

  "I hear your reviews are from more than just your grandmother, so you’ve got Devin beat there," I say with a smirk as I step aside to let Darrel in.

  He brushes past me, smelling of ocean breeze and mint.

  I motion to the kitchen table and we sit across from one another.

  "Listen, I like Devin. I was comfortable around him, so let me ease myself in with you before we get started."

  "Of course. I have the rest of the afternoon free, so technically I'm all yours." He smiles proudly.

  "Age?" I ask.

  "Twenty-eight," he replies promptly.

  “Favorite kind of music?” I ask.

  “Country,” he replies, nodding to my boots by the front door.

  "Why are you working as a professional cuddler?"

  "Human contact, I crave it."

  We have that in common.

  "Tell me an embarrassing story?" I ask.

  "Wow, okay.” He rubs the back of his neck as he angles his chin to the ceiling in thought. “I was in high school, and a friend and I took acid during lunch at school. I had art class after lunch and just as my h
igh was peaking, I was playing with clay, and I built the biggest set of breasts, then began playing with the nipples."

  "Did you get in trouble?" I ask, leaning into him.

  "No, my buddy messed them up before the teacher came over to my side of the class, but he did take photos."

  "Did anyone know you were high?" I ask, fighting the smile that wants to erupt on my face.

  "Only friends. I got home and locked myself in my room for the rest of the night."

  “Okay, well that’s kinda embarrassing.”

  “Kinda? I was known as the clay groper for the rest of high school,” he protests.

  “I mean, it’s embarrassing, I guess. I was hoping for something more along the lines of you peeing your bed until you were in high school.” I shrug with a smile.

  “I was fully potty trained by the age of four.”

  “Well, congratulations, then.”

  “Thank you.” He winks.

  “Single?” I ask, merely for my own knowledge.

  “Who’s asking? Do you know someone?” he jokes and then shakes his head. “Last girlfriend I had was six month ago. No crazy exes or current girlfriends will hunt me down and come after you for any cuddle sessions.”

  “Okay, that’s good. Any allergies?” I continue asking.

  “I’m allergic to bullshit,” he quips.

  “That’s a good one to be allergic to. What happens - do you sneeze or go into anaphylactic shock?”

  “You’re a quick one, aren’t you?” He tilts his head in question.

  “I try to stay on my toes, you never know when you will be blindsided,” I reply.

  “That’s smart of you. But no, I’m pretty sure that I break out in hives. Bullshit is contagious, and I’d rather just stay away from it.”

  “You’re hired,” I say.

  “Alright, how do you want me?” He stretches out his arms and stands up.

  Chapter Sixty-Three