She smirked. “You’ve been so good at being quiet, and I haven’t seen you out, so if not for your car, I would’ve thought you were gone.”
“Oh,” he said, snapping back to attention. “Yeah. Still here. I haven’t heard any screams coming from your side either.”
She blinked.
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized how bad they sounded. “I mean—not that I’m listening.”
“I wanted to thank you for the tip about the pepper spray,” she said quickly, saving him. “I got canisters for me and my friend.”
Her cheeks had already been flushed from working in the sun, but he noticed the pink had spread to her neck. Way to make the neighbor uncomfortable, jackass. “Oh, good. That’s good.”
There was an awkward silence.
“So…” they both said at the same time.
He nodded for her to go first, but she waved him off. “No, go ahead.”
“I was going to say, so you’re gardening?”
She glanced over her shoulder at her work in progress, then back to him. “Yeah, I have no idea what I’m doing, but I’ve seen a lot of the neighbors planting flowers for spring, and I thought our place could use a little color. Plus, my brain is locked in the dank basement of writer’s block, so I figured some fresh air would be good.”
Our place. A little color. She had no idea how much color she was bringing to this faded house.
“I tried to only buy things the lady at the garden center said were hard to kill,” she added. “We’ll see. I once murdered a cactus, so I’m pretty dangerous.”
He couldn’t help but laugh as he looked down at the tiny woman in her ass-kicking boots. The laugh felt rusty in his throat. “Yes, you look quite lethal.”
She put her hands to her hips, playfully affronted. “Hey, I’m small but mighty, man. I’ve got some badass pepper spray, I’ll have you know.”
He gave her a wry smile. “And write horror novels. I’m sure you murder fictional people regularly.”
“Damn straight.”
“What name do you write under?” He wasn’t sure what his mouth was doing. He was supposed to be saying he needed to get inside, shower, and get to an appointment. Not make small talk. Not ask her about her life.
“A. L. Kohl,” she said. “The horror genre likes an androgynous name. Some men think ladies can’t write scary shit apparently.”
He frowned. “That’s stupid. Women see more horror than anyone.”
She tilted her head, blue eyes narrowing a bit like she couldn’t quite figure him out. “Yeah. We do. I guess you’ve seen a lot as a firefighter.”
The words brought him back from the small-talk field trip he’d been on. “Yeah, about that. I think I gave you the wrong impression that night. I was a firefighter. I’m not active duty anymore.” He shifted onto his good leg, wishing he didn’t have to have this conversation. “For obvious reasons. I was only using it that night to get the door open as soon as possible.”
“Oh.” She nodded. “Right.”
He cleared his throat. “Well, I better go in and shower before I wilt your flowers over there with my after-run glow. Good luck with the project.”
She glanced down his body as if just noticing he was damp with sweat. Her eyes flicked once more to his mechanical leg, but then she was focused back on his face. She squinted. “Do you want me to do yours, too?”
“What?” he asked.
“Your garden.” She cocked her head toward his side of the duplex. “I have enough flowers to go around. I don’t mind spreading them out on both sides. You could avoid having to get down in the dirt.”
She was trying to be kind. He had no doubt of that, but the offer hit him in a dark, knee-jerk place. “I’m capable of planting my own garden. I ran three miles this morning. I can plant a flower.”
“I—” She pressed her lips together. “I didn’t mean it that way. I just… I’m out here already. I’m already filthy. I have what I need. It wouldn’t be that much more work, and then the house could look colorful on both sides.”
He shook his head, taking a step back. “No, they’re your flowers. I don’t need any. The shrubs are fine.”
The bright openness that had been on Andi’s face during their entire conversation shut down. A little frown line had appeared between her brows. “Okay. No problem.”
He stared at her for a moment and took a breath, reeling himself in. “Sorry. Thanks for the offer. I…I don’t need flowers.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and nodded. “Got it.”
He jutted a thumb toward the house. “I’ve got to go.”
“Sure. See ya.”
He turned his back to her and headed toward the house, hating that he had to take the few steps over the uneven ground that led to the porch slowly. Hating that his pretty neighbor already saw him as a guy who needed her pity. As charity, not a man.
***
Andi watched as Hill made his way into the house, his prosthesis giving him an unusual but determined gait. She’d been shocked to see it when he’d gotten out of the car. She’d made sure not to stare, but then she’d stuck her proverbial foot in her mouth anyway. She’d offended him. Way to go, Ms. Helpful.
And things had been going so well. They’d had actual conversation. He’d looked embarrassed about his lie. Normally, lying would be an instant you’re-dead-to-me offense, but the look of sadness that had crossed his face when he’d said he was a firefighter had hit her right in the gut. He hadn’t lied as a manipulation. He’d lied because he wished it were true. She’d wanted to ask more. She’d wanted to know his story. But they weren’t friends yet and that wasn’t her place.
Now they may never be.
She’d said the wrong thing. Now it would be weird between her and Hill unless she fixed it. She pulled off her gardening gloves and stared at his door as he shut it behind him, an idea coming to her.
Hmm. Maybe.
Chapter Four
Hill put a pot of coffee on to brew and then went to the laundry room in search of a clean T-shirt. His body was sapped from his run, the strength workout he’d done when he’d gotten home, and the hot shower, which would normally help clear his mind, but he kept replaying the interaction with Andi. He’d handled it all wrong.
Logically, he knew Andi had only been trying to be nice by offering to plant flowers for him, but the simple gesture had reminded him of what other people saw now when they looked at him—someone who needed help. Someone to feel sorry for. While he’d been tamping down attraction to his pretty neighbor, she’d been thinking of ways she could volunteer to his charitable cause. His stomach turned.