She pumps a fist. “I’m going to make sure you hold to that promise. Also, Dad didn’t love veggies,” Wednesday points out.
I point at her. “No, he was allergic to them. Big difference. Tomatoes gave him hives.”
“Cilantro gives me nightmares.”
Laughing, I shake my head. “If that’s the worst of your nightmares, consider yourself lucky.”
“If I never eat cilantro again, I’ll consider myself very lucky,” she retorts as I pluck some radishes.
“You don’t eat cilantro at all. You refuse anything that includes it. And with panache too.” I launch into an imitation. “Thanks, but I’m going to decline the cilantro-lime rice. Also, I believe radishes are the new black.”
Wednesday shakes her head. “No. Candy is the new black. Boba is the new black. Black is the new black. Radishes are the new brown.”
I set the flowers in the basket alongside the veggies, then I stand and tilt my head. “The new brown?”
“As in, no one’s favorite color.”
“Mark my words. He’ll love the radishes.” I leap up the steps, Wednesday on my tail.
“I’m going with you just to laugh when he crinkles his nose at them.”
I roll my eyes, stop at the sink, wash the radishes, dry them, then line the basket with a blue checkered cloth. After setting the radishes and the cilantro in next, I snip the stems of the daisies, find a piece of string, and tie it around the flowers. Then I reach for a bar of honeysuckle soap and add it to the mix.
“Voilà.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
I leave the gift on the counter for a moment. “Be right back.”
Hurrying down the hall, I hightail it through my bedroom and pop into the bathroom, where I check my reflection and smooth my brown hair.
I am not in the market for a man. No way, no how, not at all.
But one should look one’s best when meeting the new neighbor.
That’s just common courtesy.
I tuck a strand of loose brown hair behind my right ear, touch up my lip gloss, dust on some powder, and finally peer left, then right. I run a hand along my neck.
I’m thirty-seven, so my neck is still . . . mostly smooth. My forehead though? I could go for Botox if I wasn’t terrified of needles. I rely on self-administered Bangtox instead, so I finger-comb my hair over my forehead.
“Ready,” I say softly to my reflection. A tingle dares to rush down my chest, heating me up, and I blanch.
What was that?
I set a hand on my chest.
I barely got a good look at him. I cannot be having a reaction to my neighbor already.
I’m not, I’m not, I’m not.
I ignore that tingle. No, I do better than ignore it. I tell it to go the hell away and never come back.
There. That’ll teach my body to have reactions to sexy neighbors with swoony voices that I do not, cannot, will not swoon over.
I turn on my heel and leave.
But not before I duck into my closet, yank my T-shirt over my head, and pull on a pink V-neck.
Well, pink is my favorite color.
I head to the kitchen to grab the basket. “Shall we?”
Wednesday peers up from the couch, eyeing me over her phone. “I’m a pawn in your scheme.”
“And how’s that?”
“You’re just using me to make it look like you’re not totally checking him out.”
A blush crawls up my cheeks. “I’m not checking him out.”
She wiggles a brow. “Tell that to the jury.”
“Also, you offered to come along,” I say, as I hoist the basket on my hip and grab a hammer from the orange table. Just in case Wednesday was right.
We head out the front door, and I let the screen door fall behind us with a resounding click.
I don’t need to tell anything to a jury, because the judge of me knows the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
I’m not totally checking him out.
I’m slightly checking him out.
And I cannot wait to tell my friend Alva all about the sexy man next door.
4
Liam
All things being equal, Ethan is pretty content here.
First goal accomplished.
Wait.
“Content” is the wrong word.
“Jazzed” might be better, since he’s conducting a full inspection of the pool.
“I need to go swimming noooooooooooow,” he announces, bending over the edge and dipping a hand in the water. I desperately hope this—the fun he’ll have swimming with me, and soon with his cousins when they come over—will help him love his life here and not miss what he had in Florida. It’s a life I know little about, but one I imagine was full of endless hours in the water.
“How about later instead of now? We should go talk to the movers, make sure they know where to put everything.”
“Fine, but later I want to swim. Please.”
“And you will, Dolphin,” I say.
He makes a Flipper sound as I usher him back into the house. We stayed at my parents’ place last night so we could arrive here rested and ready to meet the movers. I stop to chat with them now, and they tell me it’ll be about twenty minutes to assemble the beds they brought in, so they’ll be busy for a while.
