by BJ Harvey
Later that afternoon, all of us guys are elbow deep in dust, drywall pieces, and destruction—the right kind—with the music playing at a respectable level. After all, I didn’t think it would help my case to annoy the nameless neighbor any further.
Standing beside me, my brother-in-law Cade nudges my arm and jerks his head toward the table. “We’ve got an interloper, and he’s not one of ours. Take a look,” he whispers.
My eyes move to the table just in time to catch a small hand reaching out from under the table to grab a pizza box delivered thirty minutes earlier. I quickly think back to our conversation from the past few minutes, hoping like hell we’ve at least been semi-appropriate. The absolute last thing I need right now is another tête-à-tête with the mother of said hand about how I’m corrupting the poor boy’s ears. Then again, we weren’t to know we had an intruder sneaking in to pilfer our edible offerings. The hand disappears with a slice of pizza firmly in its grasp, and I grin.
Cade frowns. “What’s that look for?”
I turn back towards him, holding out my hammer. “Hold this for me. The kid has just given me an opportunity I can’t miss.”
“Do I wanna know?” he says with a laugh, shaking his head. “You’ve got that look in your eye that can only mean one thing.”
I lift a brow. “And what’s that?”
“A woman.”
I narrow my eyes. “What makes you say that?”
His gaze shifts over my shoulder and I instantly know the reason, because it’s not only sisters who spread gossip—brothers do too—especially EMT ones. I dip my chin and groan.
“Cohen, did you forget to leave your purse at home today?” I ask, spinning around to glare at the tattletale. “Bet you told Mom, too.”
“What kind of man do you take me for?” Cohen asks, sounding offended.
“A mama’s boy,” Jaxon and Bryant pipe up in unison, something they’ve been doing their entire lives. They give each other a high five while the rest of the guys chuckle, a small giggle from under the table catching my attention and reminding me of my new plan of attack. I had already decided on flowers and a bottle of wine after work one day this week, but since the opportunity to play the responsible neighbor has presented itself, there’s no way I’m letting it pass by. Last night she got to help me. Tonight, I’m simply returning the favor.
“I’ll be back,” I murmur, slowly moving toward the table, spotting two little sock-clad feet sticking out from underneath. I decide a front-on approach is probably best. I’m not exactly a small guy, and scaring the dude is not what I want.
I drop down onto my hands and knees, the room going deathly quiet as I crawl under the table.
Lifting my head, I come face-to-face with our very own pizza burglar. “Hey, I know you…”
His big blue eyes go wide. His mouth drops open, but no words come out.
Scared that I’ve probably terrified the kid, I explain, “Your brother is the Hamburglar, right?”
His little face scrunches up in confusion. “I don’t have a brother,” he replies defiantly. “And I don’t steal ham.”
“I see…” I say, sitting on my butt and ducking my head down. Of all the things I’ve done in my life, tucking my six-foot-two frame beneath an old kitchen table wasn’t exactly my best idea. “What about hamburgers?”
The kid’s lips curve into a wry smile as he giggles again. “No.”
I reach out and grab a slice of pie from the open pizza box, take a bite, and make a show of chewing and swallowing it down. “Damn, that’s good.”
“Mmhmm,” he says, taking a bite of his own.
“Gotta drink?” I ask.
He shakes his head, and I grin at the ring of pizza sauce covering his lips.
“Damn.” I slip my hand up to the table and reach out to grab one of the soda cans Bryant brought with him. I hold it out to the boy. “Want this one?”
He bites his lip, his eyes darting around as if there’s someone else in the room he expects to tell him off.
“Hey. We’ve got more than enough,” I say. He nods, slowly at first, then faster as his excitement starts to show. “Want me to crack it open for you?”
“Yes please.”
I’ll give it to the little guy; he’s got manners. I figure his mom is a stickler for showing respect. Mine was the same with all five of us kids. “Manners will get you far in life,” she used to say. “You can be an idiot, but if you do it with a please and thank you, people will let you be an idiot for a little longer.” One could never say my mom said the most flowery words of wisdom, but we knew her meaning was true.
“Mommy doesn’t say damn. She says dang it,” he informs me. He’s pretty comfortable for a dude sitting in a stranger’s living room aka demolition site, eating stolen pizza. I totally dig his attitude.
“We’re guys though, right?” I say. “Guys can cuss when we’re hanging out.”
“Nuh-uh,” he says, shaking his head. He takes a big slurp of soda from the can before releasing a long, loud belch that any grown man would be proud of. His eyes go wide as he covers his mouth. “Sorry, sir.”
Yes, definitely a stickler for manners.
I can’t help but chuckle. “You’re fine. Say, what’s your name? Because I don’t think it’s the pizza burglar?”
His eyes crinkle, and a smile appears. There’s the cute six-year-old.
“Axel Rhodes Williams. My address is twenty-three Maple Street. My phone number is…”
I’m guessing this isn’t his first rodeo at escaping his house, especially if he knows to recite his details when found/caught. I bite my lip and hold my arm out toward him, feeling encouraged when he slides his small palm against my giant one and attempts to shake my hand. “Hey, Axel, I’m Jamie John Cook, but you can just call me Jamie.”
He pulls back his shoulders as if to try and seem bigger. “Hi, Jamie.”
“Since you’re not a burglar, I think we should blow this joint and go see what goodies you’ve got at twenty-three Maple. What do you say?”
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Hey, Jamie?”
“Yeah, Axel?”
“Can I take the soda with me?”
“Definitely, dude. Can we take the pizza too?” I whisper conspiratorially. He nods enthusiastically, and I bite back a laugh—what a cool kid.
I crawl out first, hitching a leg up and reaching my hand out for Axel. When we’re both out from under the table and standing, we turn around to find six guys staring at us. My brothers are grinning, knowing that I can’t resist a cute kid, and Jase and Matt just look dumbfounded. Cade shakes his head at me. Considering I dote on my almost one-year-old nephew, Harry, whenever I get the chance, he knows what I’m like.
“Guys, this is Axel.”
“Hey, Axel,” they say in unison.
“Axel, this is Cade, Jase, Jaxon, Bryant, Cohen, and Matt. They’re all here to help me clear out the house. Axel here has assured me he’s not a thief. I like to think of him as a hungry opportunist.” Their smiles are unmistakable now as I continue. “However, we’ve decided to take our soda and pizza and make a break for it and check out the fridge at the neighbor’s house.”
“That sounds like an awesome idea,” Cade says.
“Can I come?” Jaxon asks Axel, who looks my brother up and down.
“I don’t think we’ve got enough food for two giants. Mommy hasn’t been to the grocery store yet.”
That makes everyone chuckle.
“Alright, guys. We’re out. I’ll bring back anything I find.” I look down at Axel who is still holding my fingers. “You lead the way. I don’t wanna get lost.”
He grins up at me, clutching his soda in one hand and lets me go, grabbing the pizza box and struggling to hold it all.
“I’ll take the pizza…” I lean down and take it from him and whisper, “…just in case we meet a pizza burglar.”
His giggle is so infectious, and I’m smiling as we walk out the front door, down my front steps, along
the sidewalk, and into Axel and the nameless neighbor’s yard just as a car comes up behind us. We turn and see the gorgeous neighbor in the same outfit as this morning, stepping out of the vehicle.
Her eyes lock first on me and then drop to her son. She plants her feet and rests her hands on her hips. Then, in a voice only a mom can pull off, one that puts the fear of God into any child—young and old—she confirms my suspicions.
“Axel Rhodes Williams, what did you steal this time?”
And suddenly, her description of rambunctious makes all the sense in the world.
3
April
The last thing I expected to see when I pulled into my driveway was Jamie holding a pizza box, standing beside Axel in my front yard
Jamie—the drunk, irresponsible, infuriating, complete stranger I met less than twenty-four hours ago. The man who made a less-than-stellar first impression, now interacting with my easy-influenced son when said child should be inside and under the care of my ex-mother-in-law and lifesaver, Betty.
I park the car and shut off the engine, grabbing my purse from the passenger seat before stepping out. I watch Jamie as I walk toward them, moving my attention to my beautiful handful who takes an enthusiastic step toward me before freezing in place, the can of soda in his hand slowly shifting behind his back.
I plant my feet and lift my hands to my hips, quirking my brow at my now guilty-looking son. ”Axel Rhodes Williams, what did you steal this time?”
He puts his little hands up and hilariously takes a step backward, said soda can dropping onto its side on the grass. Jamie looks down at the seemingly forgotten, most likely ill-gotten gains. His lips twitch as he watches my mini-me.
“Buddy, I think you might be in trouble,” he whispers.
Axel’s head snaps sideways and up. “Take me with you.”
When Jamie shakes his head, Axel’s cautious eyes return to mine.
Jamie shoots me a wink and if I was into tall, built, sexy guys wearing baseball caps, fitted tees, and worn jeans I really want to see from behind, then I’d almost swoon. Just the fact he wears his hair a little longer than short, has shoulders that would make a linebacker proud, with biceps that are more than a handful, has me thinking about very inappropriate things.
Lucky none of that does it for me. Who am I kidding?
“Hi, Mommy.” He plasters a butter-wouldn’t-melt, lash-batting expression on his face which falters as I narrow my eyes, tap my foot, and quirk my brow. I call it my triple-threat. Whenever I pull it out, Axel knows I mean business and soon stops all attempts to distract me from his behavior.
“Define stealing…” he says, tapping his finger on his chin as if deep in thought.
“Axel…”
We stand there in a silent stand-off, my son—who unfortunately inherited my stubborn streak—not flinching once as time starts to stretch.
“So, I might go,” Jamie says, grabbing my attention. He turns to leave just as my front door opens. Our heads all swivel toward the new entrant in this meeting.
“Oh, hello,” Betty says. Any other time, I’d be rolling my eyes at her sweet tone, mainly because I know exactly what it means, but I have an errant miscreant with boundary issues, and a stranger-neighbor who may have been wronged by said miscreant to deal with first. I can shut down any matchmaking plans she probably has later. Preferably with a glass of wine in hand and some of her renowned Bolognese inside of me.
Betty gingerly takes the few steps down to the yard and stops beside me. “Hi. I’m Betty. I’m the ex-mother-in-law who—”
My hand darts out to her arm to give what I hope Jamie sees as a seemingly reassuring squeeze, but that really is a shut-up-and-shut-up-now action.
Jamie rubs his palms on the front of his jeans, drawing my attention to his thick, muscular thighs, before holding out his hand to her. “Jamie Cook, ma’am. It’s nice to meet you. I’m your new—”
“Neighbor. Yes. I’ve seen you from the window.”
I bet she has. I fight against rolling my eyes. Don’t get me wrong—Betty means well and has the biggest heart. There’s also no way Axel and I would be where we are today without her. When push came to shove, she chose the two of us over her own son. It may be unconventional, but I love her just as much as my own mother.
“I’m sorry for any disruption I have or may cause.” Jamie sneaks a glance my way before continuing. “Your daughter-in-law made it known the music was too loud last night, and I want to apologize for that.”
Betty laughs her tinkly belly-laugh that is more endearing than aggravating as she waves him off. “Oh pfft. It was good background noise.”
“If you’re in a frat house,” I mutter.
It’s then that a certain menace spawn-of-my-loins puts out a huge—and rather dramatic—yawn, grabbing everyone’s attention.
“I’m really tired, Mommy. I’m gonna go have a shower then get ready for dinner,” Axel says, sounding super helpful and mature… except he’s six, not sixteen, and there’s only one reason my son—bless his cotton socks—is ever eager to have a shower and get cleaned up, and that is called guilt and self-preservation.
My hand shoots out to gently grab his bicep as he attempts to slip past me. “Hold up, bruiser. We’ve still got something to discuss, don’t you think?”
“Not in front of Jamie, Mom,” he says under his breath. His eyes are no longer calculating or planning—they’re wide and pleading as he looks up at me.
I give a quick, curt nod. “Okay, Axel. How about you go inside with Gran, and we’ll have a family meeting after dinner?”
He nods and holds his hand out for Betty. “C’mon, Gran,” he says, before turning back over his shoulder. “Bye, Jamie. Thanks for letting me… uh… hang out with you.”
Jamie grins down at him. “Any time, buddy,” he says, holding out the pizza box to my son. “You’re welcome any time.” He reaches over and ruffles Axel’s hair. Sneaking a glance my way, his fingers freeze when I shoot him a discreet headshake. “I mean, make sure you ask if it’s okay first.”
Axel beams up at his new friend. ”Bye, Jamie. Say bye to the guys, and I promise I won’t tell Mom you said I could curse,” he yells from the porch.
“Shit… I mean…” Jamie stammers. I quirk a brow, my lips twitching as I watch the big, gorgeous—yet aggravating—man visibly squirming in front of me.
“Are you leading my sweet, innocent son astray, Jamie?” I ask softly.
His eyes narrow, the switch from guilty to smart-ass a physical transformation. He stands taller, his shoulders suddenly seeming broader, his smile lines deeper, and a dimple suddenly appears like a gift from the gods. What in the world is this madness?
“How was work?” he asks like we’re the friendly kind of neighbors, ones who share coffee and cups of sugar, not ones who meet when I complain about the noise before stepping in to play nurse because he was never taught that boys plus beer plus demolition don’t end well.
“It was fine…” I say, wondering what parallel universe I’ve stepped into.
“So about Axel. Don’t be too hard on him. He must’ve snuck in after seeing the pizza being delivered. I found him under the table having a slice. No harm, no foul. I introduced myself. We had a chat. I suggested I bring him home so nobody would be worried about him.”
“And the cursing?”
“Guys and power tools,” he says with a shrug and turned up lips like that explains everything.
It does, but my little Houdini escaped again, and this time, he hid inside someone’s house.
“Look, it’s not a big deal. As I said, the guys and I weren’t talking too much smack. It was actually tame considering my twin brothers can be rather loud at the best of times.”
I visibly shudder at the thought of having two Axels. I love him to death, but easy is not his middle name. Axel Rhodes sounds similar to Axel Rose, and I should’ve known he would lead a life of hell-raising.
Jamie steps forward and reaches out his hand as
if to rub my arm. “Hey, it’s okay.”
I need to make a quick escape to remove myself before I make a fool of myself or, equally possible; I throttle this man for being annoying and having dimples. It’s time to redirect this conversation so I can go inside and get out of my scrubs. Then I can rewind and replay this conversation while over-analyzing it ten times. I’m such a chick.
“Well, I’m sorry if he bothered you. I’ll replace anything he broke or stole, and I’ll talk to him about respecting other people’s privacy and property—again.” That makes him chuckle, and I stand there with my mouth open like a carnival clown as I watch—and hear—his laugh. It’s then that I reach up and figuratively slap myself. ”Okay. Well, I have a son to feed and a mouth to educate.”
Jamie shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks on his heels, his eyes glued to the ground as his shoulders shake with laughter. Then what I said and how it must’ve sounded registers in my head. If he says one single thing about educating my—
“Don’t you hate it when you’ve got a mouth to educate?” he says, his lips twitching and his eyes dancing with amusement as they lift to mine. Motherfucker.
“Right,” I scoff. “Says the guy who blasts rock music so loud it shakes my walls.”
“It was nine o’clock on a Friday night!” he says, his volume rising just as fast as the red tinge of his face.
“I have a kid!” I say, stepping closer and reaching out to poke his chest.
“I didn’t know that.” His breathing is heavy now, the rapid rise and fall of my own chest matching his.
What a dick!
“You kiss your son with that mouth?”
Dammit, I must’ve said that out loud. A smarmy smirk transforms his face, and I immediately want to shut him up—with my mouth. Ugh! Abort. Abort. Evacuate immediately.
Thankfully, I’m saved by the bell—or Betty in this case—calling my name from inside the house.
