Love with the Next Door Neighbor

Chapter 1“Mark!” If I hadn’t heard the quick knock, I would have jumped at the shout of my name. But instead, I was already up and moving toward the front door as my neighbor let himself into my house. Again. As was his very bad habit that I somehow had not been able to break him of. Not that I’d tried that hard. But I had at least tried. “What are you doing here?” I groused. Dylan Pomeroy grinned and held up the reusable shopping bag clutched in one fist. He was nearly as tall as me at just under six feet, but far younger. Which was clear by his outfit, which today consisted of wrinkled cargo shorts and a ratty T-shirt with some sort of faded logo plastered across the front. “It’s Tuesday,” he said brightly as if that somehow answered my question. It didn’t. “I’m well aware of the day.” His smile didn’t fade. In fact, I was pretty sure it grew as he padded barefoot—he’d kicked off his flip flops at the door—toward my kitchen. He raised his voice so he could be heard, but he needn’t have since I followed him in. “You’re always grumpy on Tuesdays.” I growled. “No, I’m not.” He hummed and started pulling things out of the bag. Tomatoes and cheese, black olives and salsa and lettuce. “You’re right. You’re extra grumpy on Tuesdays. I think it’s because it’s invoice day. You hate invoice day. Which is why I’m here with—” he flourished his hand over his ingredients, laid out on the island in the middle of the kitchen “—tacos!” “You have a perfectly good kitchen of your own. In your own house,” I grumbled, then pointed in the direction. “It’s right there. Next house over. Can’t miss it.” He made his eyes go wide and his bottom lip tremble. “But…but…taco Tuesday.” I squinted. “Is that even a real thing?” Dylan laughed, a warm sound that shot through me to settle in my stomach. “It sure is, someone somewhere started it, and everyone in the world jumped on, and now taco Tuesday is absolutely a thing. Just exactly the right thing to cheer up my best friend on his extra grumpy day.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, tightly closing my eyes for a long moment. If I couldn’t see his happy expression, and the way his eyes crinkled, maybe I’d have the strength to turn him away. His eyes were really something, blue but with flecks of green, especially around the pupil. And hell, I shouldn’t know that about him. I shouldn’t know anything about him. But he’d fascinated me from the moment we’d met, two years ago now. I’d been living next door to his parents for years, and he’d been off at college and then a job he had apparently loved. But when Maxine and Walter Pomeroy decided to retire and move to warmer climes, Dylan had come home and moved into his parents’ house, taking the assistant manager position at the bakery in town. I’d been pissed at first, mostly because I was sure my quiet life was about to be ruined with loud parties and non-stop socializing next door. He had that frat-boy look about him, with the short dark hair and the disheveled clothing. He was too damn pretty for his own good, too. I’d even started thinking about moving, but it quickly became apparent I’d been wrong. Dylan had surprised me, by not only being a conscientious neighbor but also a genuinely good guy. We didn’t have that much in common, but that didn’t stop Dylan from striking up a conversation whenever we met. From stopping by with a baked treat on his way home from work to making sure I was doing okay. No matter what I did to gently discourage him, Dylan seemed oblivious. I knew if I truly wanted him to leave me alone, I’d have to downright forbid him from speaking to me. And I just couldn’t do that. Mostly because he was a good guy with a heart of gold, but also because my grumpy ass really enjoyed his company. As long as I didn’t let myself get too attached, I’d be fine. Friends I could do, as long as I didn’t let him get too close. I sighed, then opened my mouth, but before I could say anything, Dylan let out a triumphant crow. I scowled at him, but he laughed heartily, picked up a serrated knife, and pointed it at me. “That’s your giving-in sigh right there. I knew I’d win. Now, do you want to help or do you want to go back to fighting with invoices for the next half hour until everything is ready?” Damn him and his pretty smile and infectious laugh. I grabbed the head of lettuce, then retrieved my own knife and cutting board. While Dylan set to work on the tomatoes, I shredded the lettuce. “We can’t be best friends, you know that, right?” I said after a few minutes of easy silence. “Oh, no? Why’s that?” Dylan slid his chopped tomatoes into a bowl, then turned to drain the olives in the sink. I knew he didn’t like them, which meant he’d brought them specifically for me. And that he remembered I liked black olives, but not any other kind, shouldn’t have pleased me. “I’m too old to be your best friend.” Dylan’s chuckle echoed in the room and he hip-checked me as he moved closer to grab the skillet hanging over the island. When he didn’t say anything as he set the ground beef to browning, I thought he’d leave it alone or that he’d seen my point, but I should’ve known better. He stirred the meat, then looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “You know that’s ridiculous. First of all, age does not dictate friendship. And secondly? You’ve got what? Five seconds on me? No big deal.” “More like fifteen years,” I ground out. But I needed the reminder. One more reason things between us couldn’t go further than friends or neighbors. Dylan was quick to speak up. “It’s only twelve. I’m twenty-eight, remember?” As if I could forget. “That’s still too many,” I insisted, hoping there was a firmness in my voice. “Pfft.” Dylan added the spices to the browned meat. “Like I said already, you can’t put an age limit on friendships. So just let it go now. We’re friends and that’s all there is to it.” As long as that was all there was to it, then I’d be fine. I wasn’t naïve, though. There’d been looks and comments over the past few years that let me know that if I’d shown the smallest hint of being open to it, Dylan would be up for a lot more than mere friendship. And the truth was, Dylan was exactly my type when it came to men, and had circumstances been different, I would have definitely gone for a hookup. But he was my neighbor, and I knew his parents. And for all that he looked like a disheveled college kid, he was responsible and kind. Big-hearted and generous. He wasn’t someone I could f**k and forget, and I wouldn’t want to anyway. But I knew, deep down, we wouldn’t be compatible in a romantic sense—my experiences had shown me—and I didn’t want to set either of us up for heartbreak. It was better to keep things as they were. Keep him at a little bit of distance. Let him cheer me up when my grump got too much, then send him on my way. While I was lost in thought, Dylan finished dinner, so when he started pulling plates and glasses out of the cabinets, I jerked back to reality. I shook my head and pushed away all the thoughts before carrying the toppings to the table. He joined me a moment later with the meat and tortillas. We assembled our soft tacos and I was enjoying the companionable silence. But I knew it wouldn’t last. Dylan waited until I had a mouthful to ask, “Why do invoices piss you off so much?” I growled around my bite, chewed and swallowed, then took a long drink of water as I scowled at him. He blinked innocently, but it was all for show. He knew what he was doing. And though we shared meals at least twice a week, I never got used to him purposefully waiting until my mouth was full to ask me something I had to respond to. I wasn’t quite sure what that was about, and I wasn’t about to ask. “I don’t hate invoices exactly.” I sighed, poked a bit of escaping lettuce back inside the taco, then folded it over on itself so it couldn’t fall apart again. “I hate that half my clients don’t pay on time or as they should. I hate that a few of my clients always insist on haggling even though my rates are cut and dried, and I’m up front about them. They know what they’re getting into when they sign the contract, and yet every week, there’s someone who fights, complains, or tries to shirk.” His scowl was more adorable than anything else. Not nearly as menacing as I was sure he meant it to be. “Then why do you keep them? Cut them loose!” “It’s not that simple.” I ate another bite, and after I swallowed, I said, “These are really good. Thank you for cooking.” Dylan waved that away. “You’re welcome, but you don’t have to thank me. You needed it. Now, why’s it not simple? It seems pretty simple to me.” His grumbling was almost as cute as his scowl had been. There was a part of me that really liked that he was pissed on my behalf. I didn’t have a whole lot of that in my life. In fact, I think the only other person who cared enough was my sister. But I purposefully hadn’t told her about this because she would have gone off, and I didn’t want to get her worked up over something she couldn’t control. “I’m just me, a one-man landscaping business. And I love it, and it’s great. But I don’t have a whole lot of clients to begin with. Plus, if I piss off some of my bigger clients, who always are the ones to complain, they’ll badmouth me to their friends and acquaintances, and then how do I replace them with other clients if no one will hire me?” I finished my taco, then reached for the tortillas to make another one. “I gently and persistently remind them of the contract they signed, and if it gets to the point where they really won’t pay, then I stop doing their lawn. It is what it is.” “It’s crap is what it is,” he said, a huffiness to his voice that made me laugh. Dylan cracked a smile at that, then devoured another taco. I finished mine as well, but I’d stuffed it so full that by the time I was done, I was comfortably sated. I drank the rest of my water, then stood with my plate. “I’ve got it,” Dylan said, hopping up and trying to take the plate from me. But I held firm. “No. You cooked, so I clean up. Besides, it’s my house.” I glared but Dylan wasn’t swayed by the look. “Too bad. You’ve got more work to do, and who cares if it’s your house? I cooked because I wanted to, and I’ll clean up for the same reason. Go back to your office, and let me do this. I’ll bring you coffee in a few. I know you like a cup after dinner.” I narrowed my eyes. “You don’t have to take care of me.” He lifted a hand and touched my cheek, but it was so fleeting that I wasn’t completely sure I hadn’t imagined it. Dylan gave me a soft smile, and I knew I wasn’t mistaken at the affection in his eyes. “No, but I want to,” he murmured. It took me off guard, the care in his tone, and Dylan used the opportunity to not only steal my plate, but to bump me toward the door. I stood there for a long moment, wondering what to say, what to do. But in the end, I decided ignoring it was the best course of action. So I left him puttering around in my kitchen and went to my office. Ignoring that flutter of attraction between us had worked well thus far. Keeping it up until he found someone to call his own wouldn’t be that much of a hardship. Except the thought of him being with someone else filled me with a sense of jealousy I had no right to. I lied to myself, trying to convince my brain that when he finally found a partner it would mean less impromptu dinners and less of his attention. I should be hoping for that, maybe even actively trying to set him up. That would be the smart thing to do. Then I could get over this crush I had on the younger man and get on with my life. But when he brought me a cup of coffee, made just the way I liked it, while wearing a smile that he used only when he looked at me, I knew I wouldn’t do any of that. I wouldn’t try to get over him, and I certainly wouldn’t be trying to set him up with someone else. I’d just keep on as we were, friends, until I didn’t have the crush any more. I never claimed to be particularly smart.