She swats my shoulder. “I swear, you and your sisters. Always so quick.”
“So that’s a yes to a rescue dog? Excellent.”
Shaking her head, she deals me a stern stare. “And so when are you going to see this neighbor again?”
“I don’t know. Probably all the time because she’s my next-door neighbor.” I look at my watch, then answer a little sheepishly, “Also, in about thirty minutes because we’re going furniture shopping.”
As I say that, a little zip of excitement whips through me. I hate shopping. I loathe shopping for furniture. And I detest IKEA. But I’m absolutely looking forward to going furniture shopping with January.
“Shopping,” my mother says, as if it’s a naughty word.
“It’s just furniture shopping,” I point out.
She gives me the satisfied smile that only a mother can dole out. “It’s furniture shopping now, but in no time, she’ll be knocked up and popping out more babies for me, okay?”
I hold up a hand. “I don’t even think I can speak to you any longer.” Then I sober as I shift to another subject, the reason I’m here. “How’s Dad?”
Her mood cracks and sinks into sadness, but then she gamely tries to buoy up her emotions, pasting on a smile. “He’s okay,” she says in a chipper voice that sounds forced. “He’s doing well enough. He had an appointment this morning to prep for the surgery next month.”
“Is he ready?” That surgery is part of why I’m here. A big part.
She swallows roughly, but her voice is steady. “Some days he’s all zen and accepts it. Other days he rages against the machine.”
“And which one is he today?”
“Today he’s simply happy that he’s going to spend time with Ethan. We all enjoy that. And on that note, why don’t you go see your lady friend for your IKEA date?”
“That’s not what it is,” I say. But I do pop inside and say hi to my father and bye to my son before I take off to meet my next-door neighbor for our definitely-not-a-date.
6
Liam
January waits for me, leaning against the cab of her pink truck, looking sexy as sin and sweet as ice cream.
Because, damn. There’s just something about a woman with ink who drives a pickup truck. She tosses the keys in the air and catches them, dealing me a serious gut-check sort of stare. “I’ve got supplies. Are you ready?”
I screw up the corner of my lips, tapping my chin. “Let’s see.” I pat the pocket of my jeans. “I’ve got some rations, a Leatherman, and a blueprint of the store that I found online.”
She opens the door of her truck. “Perfect. I’ve got a camper stove too. Just in case.”
“Are you a fan of camping?”
“I am. And judging from the look on your face, you’re not?”
“What look exactly?”
She circles her finger, pointing at my face. “The slight crinkle of your nose combined with just a touch of recoil.”
“Sounds like a recipe.” I pretend I’m reading a cookbook. “Start with a dollop of dislike, then toss in a dash of derision and a sprinkle of disdain. There you go.”
A well-done grin glides across her face. “So, you admit you have a secret I Hate Camping face?”
“Oh. Was it a secret?” I ask with a deadpan expression. “According to you, it was readily apparent.”
Shaking her head in amusement, she points to the passenger side. “Get in, radish-hating, camping-hating, comfy-furniture-hating neighbor.”
Before I make my way around the truck, I hold open the door for her. “After you, furniture Sherpa.”
She lifts her eyebrows approvingly as she hops into the cab. “Thank you. Very gentlemanly of you.”
Yes, but it’s also strategic. Gives me a chance to admire her backside. She has a great ass, and I enjoy lovely views.
So, I’m not that gentlemanly.
Closing the door behind her, I head to the passenger side, get in, and snap on my seat belt.
I peer into the bed of the truck as if I’m checking out her survival supplies. The bed of her truck is actually empty—pristine too, as if newly cleaned. “Is there a tent that goes along with this camper stove of yours? In case we’re stuck overnight?”
She scoffs as she turns on the engine. “Don’t be silly. We can just curl up in a king-size bed and catch our Zs in the bedroom section if we want.”
Oh, did she just go there, to flirty and dirty land? I believe she did. And I do believe I liked it.
Maybe too much though.
That’s the trouble. She’s sarcastic, friendly, helpful, and sexy as hell, but also completely ineligible. I have to remember she’s my next-door neighbor. She’s exactly who I can’t pursue in my efforts to find Mrs. Right. To provide for Ethan what I was lucky enough to have growing up—a stable, steady family.
Even though we moved continents, even though it was hard as hell at first, I was lucky to have two parents who looked out for me, who talked to me, who gave me everything I needed to become the person I wanted to be.
