You’re not the man you used to be.
His ex’s barbed words were like aggravating song lyrics he couldn’t get out of his head, the chorus playing over and over.
He rummaged through the dryer for a shirt, but before he could grab one, his doorbell rang. He frowned, knowing that this time of day usually meant someone selling something. A knock followed, the visitor impatient. He huffed out a breath, shut the dryer door, and stomped toward the front of the house, ready to tell whoever it was that the No Soliciting sign on the porch wasn’t a suggestion but a directive.
However, when he opened the door, he found Andi standing there, no longer covered in dirt and now holding a platter of something. She had a smile pasted on her face, but her eyes went wide at the sight of him. Only then did he remember that he hadn’t pulled on a shirt yet.
“I, uh…” she said, her gaze sliding downward to the spot where a burn scar from the accident slashed across the side of his abdomen. He wanted to cover the scar tissue with his hands. “If this is a bad time…”
“Hey. Sorry. I was getting out of the shower. Give me a sec.” He jerked a thumb toward the back of the house. “I’ll grab a shirt.”
Her gaze jumped back to his and she nodded. “Yeah, no problem.”
He turned and took a few steps toward the laundry room, but when he glanced back, he saw that Andi was still standing on the porch like some reluctant Girl Scout. He waved her in. “You can come in. I’ll be right out.”
A quick flash of something went over her expression. Fear? Wariness? Whatever it was, he didn’t like it.
“I don’t want to interrupt whatever you were doing,” she said quickly.
“You’re fine. Just give me a sec.”
She glanced around and then nodded, taking a step inside but still looking unsure. “Okay.”
He left her there and hustled to the laundry room. Once he’d pulled on a shirt, he took a breath, trying to shake off his foul mood, and headed back to the living room. He needed to undo how rude he’d been to Andi.
Andi had perched on the edge of a chair in his living room, her eyes on the cookbooks he’d left strewn over the couch. She’d left his front door ajar. Clearly, she wasn’t planning on staying very long.
He ran a hand through his still-damp hair. She was probably here to tell him he’d acted like a jackass. She wouldn’t be wrong. He cleared his throat, bringing her attention upward and over to him. She gave him a tight smile and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Hey.”
“Hi.” He walked over and grabbed the books he had spread out on the couch and stacked them onto the coffee table. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting company.”
“That’s how my desk looks when I’m writing,” she said, peeking toward the stack. “You like to cook?”
He rubbed his palms on his jeans, the back of his neck heating. His therapist had suggested Hill get back to cooking, even though he wouldn’t be doing it for a firehouse anymore, but all he’d managed lately was flipping through cookbooks and then ordering takeout. Why bother cooking anything elaborate if he had no one to cook for anymore? “It’s something I mess around with. I was the designated chef for my crew at the firehouse.”
“That’s cool. I have zero ability in the kitchen if it doesn’t come in a box or can. I once went to a cooking-and-cocktails class with some friends for a girls’ night out. I set a kitchen towel on fire before we even got started, and I think the grilled fish I attempted is still stuck to that pan to this day. I tried to convince the teacher that catfish jerky would be the next big thing.”
Hill smiled. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”
“Oh, it was bad. I had to pay an extra fee for damages and then didn’t have anything to eat.” She smirked. “I was really good at the cocktails though—drinking them, at least.”
He huffed a quiet laugh.
“Sorry. I’m rambling. I have a tendency to do that. I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m here.” She offered the covered platter she’d been holding in her lap. “Now you’re going to be scared after that story, but I wanted to bring you these. They’re brownies.”
His brows lifted, and he reached out to take the dish from her, the scent of chocolate wafting his way and the dish warming his hands. “You baked brownies?”
She shrugged. “They’re from a quick boxed mix that I can’t mess up, so don’t worry. No fish-jerky mishaps.”
“I’ve never met a brownie I didn’t like,” he said, “but you didn’t have to do that.”
“I kind of did.” She dipped her head, her bangs falling into her eyes before she looked up again. “I said the wrong thing. We’re going to be neighbors, and I feel like we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.” A look of horror flashed across her face. “I mean—”
He didn’t get why her expression had turned to one of horror, and then it registered. She’d said wrong foot to a guy with a prosthesis. He stared at her for a second and then a snort-laugh escaped him. “Did you really just say that?”
She put a hand over her eyes and groaned. “Oh my God, I’m the worst. I feel like every time I talk to you, I do or say the wrong thing. I almost maced you the first night. Then I insult you this morning. Now this.”
He smiled, endeared by her obvious embarrassment. “You didn’t almost mace me. You never would’ve gotten that canister lifted before I had your arm pinned behind your back.”
Her head snapped up, her eyes wide, and she glanced toward the open door.
The spark of fear on her face caught him off guard, and he automatically set the brownies aside and lifted his palms. “Whoa, I didn’t mean I would do that. I’m only saying, I used to teach self-defense at the community center, and my training would’ve kicked in if you’d aimed a weapon at me.”
“Right.” She nodded, her hands clasped in her lap. “Sorry. You know I write horror. My mind goes to dark places first. It’s a career hazard.”
He frowned. “No, I get it. That’s smart. It never hurts to be aware.”
She scoffed. “I don’t know if that’s entirely true. Anything done to the extreme, even being aware, can backfire.”
Something in the way she said it made him want to ask more questions. There was a story there, and part of him wanted to prod, but he also sensed she’d shut down if he did. Like she said, he was still a stranger. “And you didn’t need to bring me brownies. I’m the one who should be bringing you a peace offering. I’m sorry I snapped at you. You were trying to be nice. I was an asshole. So I definitely don’t deserve baked goods.”