“Shouldn’t that be my question?” I pause, taking him in once more. Too bad he’s hot and a dad. “Maybe, just maybe, rather than casting a stone at me for allowing them into my yard, you should examine how they got away from you in the first place.” Or why?
His expression is more than shock. He looks like I punched him in the stomach. Slowly, his face morphs, cheeks drawing edgier, eyes shifting darker.
“They’re my children. I’ll worry about them, thank you.” Sarcasm does not suit his pretty face.
“You do that,” I remark.
“I will.” His hands slip into his khaki shorts.
“Fine,” I hiss.
“Fine,” he snaps. We remain at this impasse. He should be leaving, yet he isn’t moving. His eyes spear mine, digging deep into them. The stare is a bit unnerving, but I don't try to evaluate it as I just want him out of my yard.
“Well?” I question, arching a brow and wondering what he’s still doing here.
“Right,” he mumbles, swiping a hand through that sandy hair. He shakes his head, tugging his gaze from me. Turning, he gives me his back, and I note the snug fit of his dress shirt across his shoulders and the firm muscles of his calves as he stalks to the side of my house.
“And it’s my yard, so I’ll worry about keeping my clothes on or not.”
He stops in his tracks. Somehow, that sounded better in my head. I should be warning him to keep his eyes to himself. He shouldn’t be watching me in my yard. That’s just creepy. However, I’m a little bit flattered. Did he like what he saw? Quickly, I dismiss the thought. He shouldn’t be looking over here, especially if he’s married and has children.
He spins to face me and takes two steps back toward me. “Keep your clothes on,” he hisses, his voice dropping to the harsh tone he used with his children. Jeez, chillax.
“Keep your eyes off me.” I take two steps toward him and don’t miss his gaze sweeping down my body. It’s the kind of glance that suggests he likes what he sees. He bites his lower lip and holds the pose, and a shiver ripples up my middle. A good kind of shiver that hints I might like his eyes on me. Then I want to kick myself for such thoughts.
He’s probably married, I warn myself.
“The window faces this direction,” he reminds me, his voice dropping, released from the growl but definitely an exasperated groan.
“Whatever makes you feel better,” I snark, but I’ve lost a little of my own bite. Suddenly, I’m feeling a bit defenseless against this man when I’m typically good at holding my own with disgruntled parents.
“You . . .” He stops, clenches his jaw, and fights against whatever he planned to say. He turns away from me, fists at his sides, and stalks around the side of my house.
Good riddance, Grumpy Dad. But suddenly, without explanation, I’m a little disappointed to see him leave.
5
[River]
That night, I enjoy a glass of wine in the summer breeze of my backyard. Other than the low glow of light streaming through the kitchen window, the yard is submerged in darkness. I don’t need a nosy neighbor spying on me, even if I have my clothes on.
Unfortunately, I can’t seem to shake this morning’s altercation with said neighbor. Arrogant. Insufferable. Uptight. He’s everything I’d never want in a man. In my profession, I’ve encountered quite a few like him. The doctors I work with can be jerks. Even patients can act uppity, but when people are sick and vulnerable, their attitudes shift. Eventually, they become apologetic and forgivable.
Quincy had been like that. He’d been such a beast with everyone but me.
Lifting the glass to my lips, I sip the sweet flavor of a Michigan favorite. As I drink, my eyes drift upward to the second-floor window facing my yard from the house next door. I haven’t given much thought to that home, as I mainly keep to myself. There are a couple teenage boys over there and a little girl. A couple plus Mason. I don’t understand the dynamic, but I don’t need to. I’ve seen people come and go over there in the year I’ve lived here, and what a year it’s been.
Slowly, I take another sip of wine, swallowing the rich berry flavor as I stare at the dark window. Is he up there? Is he watching me? I’m confident he can’t see me as the yard is dark. I don’t have the outside lamps on, but a single light inside illuminates the kitchen. The gleam through the window highlights only the patio.
As I sit in the chaise lounge in the center of the dark yard, I’m wearing a summer maxi dress that falls to my ankles, but it’s wrapped over my legs like a blanket this evening. Perfectly covered, I snark in my head. With my eyes lifted, the bushes rustle, and I turn in the direction of the lake, assuming the noise is a nocturnal animal. I close my lids and allow the breeze off the water to caress my face. I love this location, and I love this house even though it needs so much work.
Quincy had let aspects of the house fall into disrepair. He’d hardly visited the place because he’d used it as a rental property. Most of the inside is outdated, but the yard has been my first priority.
When I turn away from the lake, a figure stands near the corner of my house. My breath hitches, and I nearly drop my glass of wine. Sitting upright, I stare at the outline of someone lingering just beyond the glow of the kitchen light.
“It’s only me.”
“Mr. Weller?” I question, although I’m already certain it’s him. The masculine tenor shouldn’t be recognizable after only one meeting, but it is. My heart races, and I chalk it up to being startled and not the fact he’s such an attractive man. As he steps into the light, he wears another button-up in white, this time along with dark jeans. Flip-flops are on his feet, and it dismantles the stick-up-his-ass appearance of him just a little bit.
“It’s Zack, actually,” he corrects.
“Are you lost?” Balancing the glass of wine on top of my bent knees, I sit on the chaise lounge, recalling the question I asked his boys earlier. Their immediate response was to ask me if I was.
All who wander are not lost. Sometimes those who stand still are.
“I just . . . I wanted to apologize for earlier.” He scratches the back of his neck as he speaks. The apology comes as a surprise. Leaning back on the lounger, I take another sip of my wine, eyeing him over the rim. Zack doesn’t move.
“And what exactly are you apologizing for?”
He swipes a hand through his hair while the other slips into his pocket.
“A few things.” When he still doesn’t move, I wave a hand, suggesting he take a seat. Two upright outdoor chairs sit near the foot of the lounger.
“That’s an interesting seat.” He nods at the chaise as he approaches. Running a hand over the cushion, I smile to myself. The old chaise lounge cushion is one of the first things I replaced in this yard. New fabric and a quick stain job to the wood base brightened up this little slice of heaven. Made for more than one person, it’s not quite big enough for two.
“I call it a person-and-a-half lounger.” Tipping my head back, I look up at the star-filled sky and close my eyes, luxuriating in the space on this thing. When I open my eyes, Zack has moved to the foot of the expanded seat.
“Want to try it?” I pat the space next to me before realizing what I’ve said. I don’t know this man. He insulted me in more ways than one this morning, and he’s probably married. Yet as he climbs onto the seat beside me, he looks as vulnerable as his children. Tension rolls off him in waves so strong I’m surprised I’m not forced off the chaise. And I’m reconsidering the invitation as our arms press against one another.