by Lacey Black
The problem is now she’s perpetually aggravated with me, which doesn’t bode well for any chance I might have at dating her. Not that I’d want to. It’s just the principle that I don’t stand a chance. That’s okay, though. It’s not like I’m looking to date anyone, especially Penelope, but seeing the hint of desire she tries to hide with her ire in those green orbs does sort of give me a little glimmer of exhilaration at the end of a long, taxing day.
She makes me smile, something I didn’t know if I’d ever do again.
I spend the next hour sanding the entertainment unit, making sure every board is smooth. I’m adding custom carvings to the edges when my phone rings. Instead of letting it go to voicemail, I use the phone call to take a short break from the intricate detail work. I smile when I see the name on the screen.
“Hello?”
“How’s my favorite little brother?” Trevor says, a hint of humor in his voice. He’s called me his favorite little brother for years, which we only find funny because I’m his only brother.
“Busy. Thanks for interrupting me,” I reply, fretting irritation.
Trevor snorts a laugh. “Busy probably sitting on your patio drinking a beer.”
Now it’s my turn to chuckle. When was the last time I just sat and enjoyed a few beers? Way too long.
“Listen, I know you’re busy, but I just wanted to give you a heads-up. Teagan sent the itinerary for next weekend.”
“Itinerary?”
Trevor chuckles. “You know Teagan. She has everything planned out, right down to the second.”
I close my eyes, picturing the pretty brunette who captured my brother’s heart. Even after an ugly divorce from his first wife, he still fell hard and fast for the woman he dubs the best defense attorney in the state.
That’s actually how they met. My brother’s an assistant DA in Seattle, and he claims when he walked into the courtroom and saw her sitting across the aisle beside the man he was there to prosecute, he knew she was the one for him. That was before he’d even heard her speak. For a man who was taken for a long, painful ride by his conniving ex-wife, the fact he’s willing to give marriage another shot is surprising to me.
Admirable, but still shocking.
“Can’t wait to see you tie on the ol’ ball and chain again. Still can’t believe you’re doing it,” I add lightly, even though it’s true.
“You’ll understand someday, Theo. Not everyone is like Rachel, you know.”
My throat tries to close shut at the mention of her name, but I’m able to slip out a quiet, “I know.”
“Do you?” he asks, clearly not buying my response. “Listen, you’ve been a monk for too long. It’s time to get back in the saddle.”
I roll my eyes so big I wonder if he can see it all the way in Seattle. “Just because you’re deliriously happy, doesn’t mean you need to be projecting that shit on me. I’m perfectly fine here. I keep plenty busy in my shop, and if I need female company, I can find it. I am the better-looking Emerson brother, after all,” I tease, completely glossing over the fact it’s been more than a year since I’ve sought out said female company.
Trevor barks out a laugh. “Keep telling yourself that, little brother. The good news is there will be a handful of single ladies in attendance. I think there’s only one single bridesmaid, so I went ahead and adjusted the seating chart so you’re seated beside her at the rehearsal and reception. You can thank me later.”
Sighing, I state, “If I smell a setup, I’ll get drunk before my best man speech and tell everyone about the time you went skinny-dipping in the Johnson’s pool with that foreign exchange student who kept calling you Trent.”
My brother gasps. “You wouldn’t!”
“Oh, I would. Especially since I had to go pick your naked ass up on the side of the road, because she stole your clothes. And I do believe it was a little chilly that night, if I do recall,” I tease, leaving the innuendo door wide open.
“I hate you. I’m finding a new best man.”
I let out a full belly laugh and lean back against the wall. “You can try but no one puts up with you the way I do.”
“You may have a point. Though, Teagan does a damn good job of putting up with me. I’m definitely marrying up next weekend.”
“That’s the truth. I just pray she doesn’t realize it before then. I’ve lived with you. I know all about your smelly gym socks and your porn stash.”
Trevor laughs. “I was eighteen, and I believe you were the one stealing my stash.”
“You may be right. I learned everything about women at fifteen from those magazines.”
My brother snorts. “Yeah, because those are realistic expectations. Real women are better than those Barbies in the magazines. I like curves. And ass.”
“I don’t need to hear about your weird fetishes, man. Keep that shit to yourself.”
He ignores my comment and changes the subject back to his upcoming wedding weekend. “You’re still coming in Thursday, right? Teagan is doing some putt-putt golf thing with the girls who will be in town, so I thought we could hit some balls at the range and drink a few beers.”
“Sounds like a plan. I hope to leave by noon.”
“Perfect. You sure you don’t want to stay with Mom and Dad? I know their place is a little cramped,” he starts, but my snort cuts him off.
“Cramped doesn’t describe what their house is. It’s a tiny home with a futon for guests. I’ll take the king-sized hotel bed for three nights, thank you very much.”
He’s laughing now. “I don’t blame you. In all seriousness, you know I’d let you bunk with me, right? If I had the space. But I just moved into Teagan’s condo, and between the wedding stuff and my boxes, there’s no room.”
“Don’t say another word. I’ll be completely fine at the hotel. Besides, it has a pool. I might see hotties in bikinis.”
I can practically hear his smile through the phone. “All right. I’m sure I’ll talk to you soon. And be sure to check the itinerary over. No need to print it. Teag will have copies for everyone.”
“Sounds good. Later.”
“Bye.”
I slip my phone back into my pocket and face the entertainment unit. I catch movement out of the corner of my eye and turn just in time to see Penelope move from direct view of a window. A smile spreads wide across my face as I slip a mask over my face and grab the hand sander.
As I run it over the already smooth wood, I can’t help but wonder if she’s still watching.
***
I shut off the mower and push it toward the small shed behind the garage for what should be my final mow of the season. As I pass, I can’t help but glance over toward Penelope’s backyard. The grass is tall, as if she hasn’t had an opportunity to mow lately. Before I can change my mind, I push the mower toward her property and pull the cord.
Her yard isn’t very big, but there’s a nice-sized maple tree in the middle of the space, which provides good shade to the back half of the house during the summer. Some of the branches are a little low, so maybe I’ll come trim them off for her too. By removing a few on the bottom will really open it up and allow people to walk around without ducking.
Not that she has a lot of people over. In the almost two years I’ve lived here, she’s only had one or two cookouts, and they weren’t exactly some big affairs. She has a back patio, similar to mine, with a few lounge chairs and one of those metal firepits that everyone seems to think they need. It’s comfortable and inviting.
The one thing she has that I don’t is a big garden. I was shocked that first summer by the quantity and variety of fresh produce she has back there. For one woman, she definitely grows a lot of vegetables, spending her time in the summer picking her goods. Tomatoes, cucumbers, varieties of peppers, potatoes, carrots, and zucchini. She even has rhubarb and watermelon plants beside the garage. What she does with all that stuff is beyond me, but she seems to really enjoy spending time out here, s
o more power to her.
The area she plants her produce in is overgrown with weeds now, so I go ahead and mow it. Once the backyard is done, I head up front. She has a cute front porch, with a wooden swing and a few hanging pots of plants. There are baskets of mums down one side of the wide walkway leading to the sidewalk, and even a few on the steps.
I ignore the images that pop in my head. The ones of her sitting on that swing, reading a book. A handful of times over the summer I’d pull into the driveway and spot her there. Reading and drinking lemonade. Her feet usually bare as she gently swung herself, paying no attention to me as I slowly drove by. Sometimes I’d even catch the sunshine reflecting off her auburn hair. It was enough to give me wood for the rest of the day.
Once I finish taking care of her lawn and put the mower away, I grab my saw and return to that maple tree. There are really only about three branches that need to go, and while I should probably ask her permission before I cut, I don’t. She’d probably tell me no, that it’s fine and she’ll do it herself later. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t own a chain saw. In the time I’ve been her neighbor, I’ve never seen her use one.
Just as I’m cutting off the third branch, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. I glance to the driveway we share and spot her car slowly approaching. I was hoping I’d already be done with this little project before she returned, but apparently luck isn’t on my side.
Penelope doesn’t even pull her car into the garage. Instead, she practically jumps out of the driver’s seat and makes a beeline in my direction, anger radiating off her petite little body like a furnace.
“What the hell are you doing?” she demands over the noise of the saw. She stops several feet away, her eyes bouncing between her tree, my saw, and the limbs on the ground.
Powering off the saw, I set it down and reply, “Helping my neighbor.”
She crosses her arms over her chest and narrows those sexy green eyes. “By cutting down my tree?”
I sigh, but not loud enough for her to hear. “I didn’t cut it down. I took off a few bottom branches so you could walk underneath it again.”
My hot neighbor continues to glare daggers, and it’s cute as hell. “But you cut my tree.” She glances around. “And cut my grass?”
I give her yard a quick look before meeting her fiery gaze. “It was long, and since I had my mower out, I thought I’d help you.”
Her chin juts up. “I don’t need your help. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of my own property.”
Knowing it’ll drive her crazy, I give her a cocky grin. “Of course you are, darlin’, but it wouldn’t be very neighborly of me if I let your lawn be the reason property values drop on this street.”
There.
There it is.
The fire flames so bright, I should probably wear sunglasses. “Excuse me? There’s absolutely nothing wrong with my property. I was going to mow this weekend, thank you very much.”
“And the tree?” I ask, arching a single eyebrow heavenward in question.
“I’d rather pay someone to come take care of it. There are professionals, you know. Not some furniture maker who goes all half-cocked with a chain saw. You probably didn’t even do it right, and now the tree will die! I’ll have to pay said professional twice as much to remove it, and it’ll be all your fault.”
Fuck, I want to kiss her.
“Your tree will be fine, darlin’. It was just a trim of low branches. I do the same thing to my own trees when needed. You should be thanking me, not scolding me. I saved you money by not having to call those so-called professionals, who’ll charge you an arm and leg for fifteen minutes worth of work, not to mention the time it would have taken to actually get them to show up. In my opinion, I deserve a little appreciation, not a lecture.”
If it were physically possible, this is when smoke would shoot from her ears. “Oh, you’re absolutely right,” she sings sarcastically, placing a hand over her heart. “Thank you so much, big strong man. I couldn’t have done this without you.” She goes ahead and bats her eyelashes a few times too, just to punctuate her sass.
Reaching down, I grab the saw and throw her a big smile. “That’s better. See? Being nice didn’t kill you, did it?”
The glare she throws at me lets me know it didn’t kill her.
But she may kill me.
Chapter Three
Penelope
The arrogance and audacity of this man.
I want to scream in frustration but refuse to give him the satisfaction.
One minute I’m still floating high from a run-in with the current local store manager for Sloan’s, who went on and on about how well their toy selection has been this last year, and the next I’m contemplating the best ways to dispose of a body. No, I still wouldn’t actually go through with it, but that’s what this man does to me. He makes me want to maim and dismember him.
Now, instead of taking my groceries inside and preparing for my yoga class later this evening, I have to deal with the huge mess in my backyard. The mess created by the one man whose sole purpose in life is to get under my skin. Sure, I admit—to myself—the yard looks much better now that you can actually walk under the tree, but I would never tell my cocky neighbor.
That’s a secret I’ll take to my deathbed.
He whistles a happy little tune as he returns to his own half of the driveway, gently swinging the saw as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. I stomp to my car and roughly grab the bags of groceries in the back seat. By the time I set the first load on the kitchen counter and return outside, Theo has returned to my backyard and is dragging the first limb toward his own yard.
“Just leave it,” I bark, standing on my patio and pretending I’m not stealing glances at the way his T-shirt stretches across his muscular biceps as he pulls the cut branch.
He stops and looks over his shoulder. “Why? I’ll just throw them in my brush pile.”
“I can dispose of them,” I argue, even though it would be much more difficult for me to do.
Clearly Theo isn’t buying my line and shakes his head. “How? You going to load up these babies in your little Toyota? Or maybe you’ll just drag them all the way across town to the dump. They’re too big as is to put in that firepit of yours, so tell me how you’re going to get rid of them?”
Infuriating doesn’t even come close to how annoying this man is.
“Fine, but let me help,” I state, practically stomping over to the other cut limbs. There are two left, one a little bigger than the other. I take the smaller one, leaving Mr. Macho to drag the heavier branch. Serves him right.
When they’re piled up in the designated area, I brush the bark off my hands and turn to him. He grabs a bottle of water from the sidewalk and chugs about half of it in one long gulp. My eyes are riveted to his throat, at the way he swallows the cold liquid. A tingle races through my veins.
“Listen,” I start, clearing my throat. “I do appreciate your help with the tree. And the mowing.”
He smiles, but it lacks that cocky demeanor I’ve become accustomed to. “You’re welcome. Do you want one?” he asks, holding up the bottle of water.
“No, thank you. I should go finish carrying my groceries in and putting them away.”
Before I even have the statement finished, he’s already moving. “I’ll help.”
“That’s not…necessary,” I mutter to his back, but it’s no use. He’s already at the door of my Toyota and is loading up his arms with the remaining bags. I’m a little irritated at how easy he makes it look. My three trips are cut down to his one.
I meet him at the back door, holding it open so he can enter. Theo sets the bags on the table beside the ones I carried in earlier and turns. Our eyes meet briefly before he slowly looks around the kitchen. “Your layout isn’t much different than my own. I like your open floor plan between the kitchen and living room. Mine is cut in half with a small countertop bar.”
Glancing around, I take in the room and try to see it through his eyes. The space is small but painted a cheerful yellow color with dark blue and aqua accents. I have photos of sunflowers on the walls and a floral tea kettle on the stove I found at a garage sale for a steal. There are artificial flowers on the table and pretty blue and yellow placemats in front of both chairs.
Now, I can’t help but wonder what Theo’s kitchen looks like. Is it your basic bachelor pad with a hodgepodge of mismatched appliances and furniture? I bet he doesn’t have a crock with utensils in it beside his stove for easy access. Does he even use his stove? I know he cooks on the grill year-round, but what about side dishes? What’s in his fridge? Beer and salsa, or are there fresh vegetables for a salad and bricks of different cheeses for pasta?
Why am I even thinking about this?
“What’s that?” he asks, drawing my attention to where his eyes land.
“Oh, yeah. Those are my grandmother’s quilts. I don’t really have a good way to display them yet, so they’re just stacked up there,” I reply, feeling my cheeks heat at the horrible display of my family heirlooms.
“Is that a plastic cart on wheels?” he asks, unable to mask the shock and humor on his face.
“Yes.” I straighten my back and cross my arms over my chest.
He studies the display longer than I’d like, but eventually nods. “It’s interesting. Your grandmother did beautiful work.”
“She was a seamstress her whole life and also sold quilts during craft shows. But those were her personal pieces and some of my favorites. The big one on the bottom was the one she made for her first bed shared with my grandpa after their marriage, and the smaller one on top was the last one she made before she died.”
“Wow, that’s pretty cool. Maybe someday you’ll have a better way of displaying them,” he says casually.
He looks at me expectantly, as if he’s hoping I’ll continue the conversation, but I catch the clock on the wall and realize I don’t have much time before I’m supposed to be at my yoga class. “Oh, uh, I need to get everything put away. I have plans.”
