“Not a bad idea. Like a where-it-all-began plaque.” It deserves recognition, not to be hidden away in storage.
Porter moves to the large window facing my front lawn and pulls the sheer curtain aside. “This is very you.”
“The floral shit will be the first thing to go.”
“I meant the house and quiet neighborhood. The privacy. Your own driveway. Garage. Workshop.”
“I’m hoping I can pick up my woodwork projects again.” Maybe that’s something Dad and I can do together when he and Mom visit. I’ve missed that time with him.
“The only thing you’re lacking now is the wife and kids to complete the full package.”
“I think I’ll just take the house for now.”
“Do you ever think about it? The full package?”
I did with Eden and look where that got me. “I haven’t for a while.”
“Right.”
I don’t have to say her name for him to understand.
“There’s a house for sale two streets over if you’re considering giving up condo life.”
“Well, that all depends.” He pushes open the drape farther.
“Depends on what?”
“If all the women in this neighborhood look like the one walking up your driveway right now. If that’s the case, house sold.”
“No idea. Haven’t met any of the neighbors.” I move to the window to investigate Porter’s sighting.
Damn. He isn’t wrong. That is one smokin’ hot redhead. Just my brand and she’s coming this way.
“Looks like I have a visitor to receive.” I stop when Porter doesn’t follow. “You comin’?”
Porter shakes his head. “Nah. You go on. I’ll wait in the truck.”
“Wait in the truck?” This may be the first time Porter hasn’t shoved me out of the way so he could get to a hot piece of ass ahead of me.
Fuck. I recognize the hesitation. The retreat from a hot woman. The pattern. “Who is she?”
Porter shakes his head, wearing a wide shit-eating grin. “Already told you, dude. Nobody.”
“Damn liar.”
Porter chuckles. “The redhead’s your type. Go meet her. I’ll be in the truck when you’re done.”
Porter has been my number-one bro since our freshman year at Alabama. Pals for almost twelve years. We’ve been through a lot together. Booze. Careers. Women. Lots of women. And never once has he handed one over willingly. Not even a fugly one if he thought he could get laid.
“This conversation isn’t over.”
“Whatever.”
He catches my truck keys midair when I toss them in his direction. “Gimme five.”
“Got a Benjamin in my wallet that says I don’t see you for at least fifteen.”
I’ve never been able to refuse one of Porter’s bets. It’s our thing. And we always pay up. “Sure. I’ll take that bet. I can always use an extra hundred bucks.”
He holds up his phone. “I’ll even give you a whole minute to get out there and initiate the conversation before I start the timer.”
“You’re on, fucker. Get ready to pay up.”
I step onto my front porch and find the flaming beauty talking with my sister. “Ollie! Come meet your neighbor.”
Damn. This good-looking woman is my neighbor. That does not suck.
“This is Adelyn Maxwell. She lives next door.”
Adelyn Maxwell. Adelyn Maxwell. Adelyn Maxwell. I repeat her name in my head. Three times guarantees I’ll never forget it. Not that I’m likely to forget her.
Her delicate small hand nearly disappears inside my large one. “Oliver Thorn. Pleasure to meet you.”
I point to each of the neighboring homes. “Which is yours?”
She gestures over her right shoulder. “White two-story.”
Ah. The house with the pool. Many images dance through my head and all of them include Adelyn Maxwell in a bikini.
Wonder if she has a husband. I don’t see a ring but that isn’t always an indication.
Kids? Probably not with a body like hers but one can’t always go by that.
I glance over at her place and see a fine black F-Type coupé parked in the drive. She ain’t hauling kids around in that.
“Are you married or do you have any children?”
Thank you, Lawry, for asking the burning question.
“Nope. Just me. Do y’all have kids?”
Well, hell. She thinks we’re together.
Laughter slips from my lips like one of those sneaky little farts that bolt for freedom the moment you become a little too relaxed. “Oh no, we’re not a couple. She’s my sister.”
“My bad. I assumed you were married. But in my defense most people in this neighborhood are.”
“It feels very family oriented around here.” I think that’s one reason Lawry pushed so hard for this house.
“Definitely.” Adelyn points to a passing vehicle and then the two parked in driveways across the street. “Minivan. Minivan. Minivan. This is hardcore soccer mom territory.” Her eyes widen. “And it can be terrifying at times.”
Soccer moms aren’t terrifying. But strung-out-heroin-addict moms are.
“Then I’ll make a point to stay out of their way during carpool hours.”
“Wise decision.” My new neighbor offers the basket she’s holding. “The reason I came. This is for you. Just a little welcome-to-the-neighborhood happy from me.”
I unfold the fabric and my nose and eyes find more than one pleasant sensation. Muffins in cupcake papers. Freshly baked bread, still warm. A jar of jam. Looks like strawberry. Or maybe plum. Sausage balls. Grapes. Cheese and crackers.
I. Am. Impressed.
“This looks amazing. Thank you.”
“No problem. I remember what it was like moving in. Being without a functioning kitchen was a total nightmare.”
“A functioning kitchen makes this guy no difference. He eats trash.”
“Don’t listen to her. She’s a tree-hugging-hippie vegan. She eats grass and granola.”
“Healthy doesn’t equate to unsavory.”
And here we go with the nutrition spiel.
“She lies,” I hiss. “Don’t fall for her deception, Adelyn. It’s a trap intended to lure you into her tofu world.”
Adelyn giggles.
“I adore baking and it’s very likely I’ll pawn muffins and fresh bread off on you, but I promise I’ll never bring tofu.”
“Ollie loves to eat so I see this neighbor thing potentially working out well.”
“I hope so.”
That grin. Her eyes lingering on mine a little longer than what’s considered appropriate. The flick of her wrist as she tosses her flaming locks over her shoulder. Are these hints of flirtation?
Redheads. She can’t possibly know they’re my preference. My delicacy. My fucking weakness.
And the last one was almost my undoing.
Adelyn’s eyes leave mine, and she glances at her watch. “I hate to pop over and run, but I have a lunch meeting with a client across town.”
“What kind of work do you do?”
“I own an event-planning service.”
Lawry breaks into her well-how-’bout-that smile. “Hear that, Ollie? She’s an event planner.”
Adelyn’s brow lifts as she watches the exchange between my sis and me. “That’s what I do.”
“It just so happens I’m in need of an event planner,” Lawry says, her dimples deepening. “The woman we’ve been using recently relocated so I’m in a bind.”
“Business or personal?”
“Business.”
“Sure.” Adelyn nods as she glances at her watch a third time. “I’m short on time at the moment but how about I take a look at my calendar and give you a call so we can schedule a lunch meeting to discuss the details?”
“That would be fantastic.”
“Perfect.” Adelyn plucks her sunglasses from the top of her head and slips them over her eyes when she and Lawry finish excha
nging contact information. “Well, I’m off. Try not to work too hard, guys.”
I put my arm around Lawry. “Don’t worry about this one. She won’t.”
“Hey, jackhole!” She slams her hip into mine. “I can always go home and prop up my feet and dump all this on you and Porter.”
I catch the back of my sister’s neck and squeeze. “You know I’m kidding, knucklehead.”
Adelyn seems amused by our exchange. “I look forward to our meeting, Lawrence.”
I shamelessly ogle Adelyn’s ass in her tight skirt as she walks away and gets into her Jaguar coupé. “You know what? I think I’m going to like living in this neighborhood a lot.”
“I’m sure you will with that living next door. I happen to know how much you visually enjoy a lovely lady of red.”
“Yes, I do.”
“I think she’s a natural.”
“She is.” Both a natural beauty and a natural redhead.
“I guess you would know, being a connoisseur and all.”
“Yes, I would.”
“Well, she wants to feed you, so she’s already okay in my book.”
I don’t think my sister’s ever going to get over her neurosis about nourishment.
It’s been twenty-three years since our bellies growled from hunger. Real hunger. Painful hunger. Not the kind people mistakenly refer to as starving when it’s only been a half day since their last meal.
“I see Porter’s truck but no Porter.”
“He’s waiting in my truck.”
“Instead of being front and center to meet your new attractive neighbor?”
I can’t be wrong if Lawry thinks it’s odd too. “I know. Weird.”
“He must not have gotten a good look at her.”
“But he did. He’s actually the one who pointed her out to me.”
The fucker is sitting in my truck staring off into space. Smiling. “He denies it but I think the bastard is in some kind of secret relationship.”
“That’s fantastic. But why would he keep it secret? And especially from you?”
“I don’t know but things have been off with him for a while.”
“Things being off automatically makes you think he’s in a relationship?”
“No, but his sudden ability to perfect the disappearing act does. Reminds me of the days when you and Lucas were doing the sneaky behind my back.”
“Ah, the disappearing act. A good indication something is going on and he doesn’t want you to know what it is.”
“I know, right?”
“Cut the guy some slack. He’ll come around and tell you when he’s ready.”
“Unless I figure it out first.”
I look over at my truck and see Porter holding his arm out the window, tapping on his watch. Laughing. Bastard.
A missing Benjamin from my wallet makes no difference to me. Those few extra moments with my new neighbor were worth every penny for laying the foundation for my next welcome-to-the-neighborhood happy from Adelyn Maxwell.
Yes. I believe I’m going to like this neighborhood a lot.
Adelyn Maxwell
Lawrence Broussard isn’t alone. He’s here too. Her brother. My good-looking neighbor. Oliver Thorn.
I am not disappointed.
Oliver and I spoke the day he moved in next door, but there hasn’t been another word since. Not even a wave in passing. It’s unfortunate our paths haven’t crossed.
I’ve been mildly naughty this week where Oliver is concerned. Peeking out my upstairs window to see what’s going on over at his place. Watching him work on his motorcycle. Shirtless. Studying the tattoos on his chest and arms. Spending a little more time in my backyard around the pool. Wearing a new, skimpier-than-usual bikini I bought to entice him into looking my way.
I wonder if he peeked out his window to steal a glimpse of me.
I wonder if he worked outside shirtless to catch my attention.
I wonder if he came here today so he could see me.
There’s been no mention of a wife or girlfriend. Lawrence is the only woman I’ve seen hanging around Oliver’s house, but that doesn’t mean he’s single. Or looking.
Wow. That thought makes me sound as though I’m looking.
I follow the host toward the table and stumble when the toe of my shoe catches on the rubber trim between the tile and carpet. “Shit.”
The host catches my arm and saves me from face-planting. Damn, that would have been humiliating. “Are you all right?”
I quickly straighten and look to see if Lawrence and Oliver saw my clumsy folly. Thank God they’ve not yet noticed my arrival. “Yes. I appreciate the quick save.”
Oliver stands when he sees me. Very gentlemanly. Not something all men do these days.
That smile of his isn’t gentlemanly though. It’s cocky. And something that I’ve seen over and over in my mind since the day we met.
“I apologize for keeping you waiting. Please know I’m not typically tardy.”
Oliver takes his seat. “It’s fine. We just arrived.”
Kind statement but untrue.
Bread on the table. Beads of condensation atop the pats of butter. Two half-gone drinks with heavy water rings around the bases. The evidence speaks for itself.
I have an eye for detail. Can’t help myself. It’s what I do.
“If you say so.” Never argue with a client. Especially when they’re being gracious enough to overlook your shortcoming.
I’m seated across the table from Oliver. I was grateful when the host chose this chair for me instead of the one next to him. I was under the impression the greater distance would be less distracting, less intimidating, less personal. Wrong. It’s a direct line for full-on eye contact with those ice-blue lures coaxing me to look their way.
Dark hair and blue eyes—my favorite combination.
Stop looking. Stop looking. Stop looking, dammit.
You’re here to discuss business. Be professional and get on with it.
“I’m dying to hear about the event you’re planning.” I take my iPad and stylus from my bag. “Tell me about it.”
“It’s a grand opening for our business.”
Our business. That means it’s Oliver’s too. That’s why he came. His surprise attendance has nothing to do with a desire to see me.
Silly woman.
“So you’re siblings and business partners? That must be interesting.”
“Well, sort of but not exactly. Oliver and their friend Porter are my husband’s business partners. The three of them own Iron City Brewery.”
“Oh yeah. I’m familiar with Iron City.”
“My husband and I started Bohemian Cider Company. It’s a new business yet an extension of Iron City, which is already successful. This event won’t be your typical start-up company grand opening. We already have tons of clients. Clients we need to schmooze.”
Right. Schmooze. With alcohol.
This meeting has suddenly taken a turn for the worse.
Planning an event for a brewery feels… wrong. Some might even see it as a betrayal of Tommy.
I’m not sure I can do it.
“Do you have a day in mind?” Maybe their date will coincide with something else scheduled and I’ll be off the hook.
“The third Saturday in June.”
I open my calendar app and pretend to study the dates; I already know I have an opening. Mrs. Thompson canceled her divorce party. Her husband and his millions talked her into coming back despite the fact that he has not one, but two girlfriends.
How can I take this job?
I’m a professional so how can I not?
I can’t make this decision right now. I need time to think about this.
“My schedule is filled, but one of the clients for that day hasn’t paid her deposit. I’ll need to confirm her one way or the other before I can commit to your event.”
“Of course. Totally understandable. Should we hold off on talking plans until we know for sure?”
“I was thinking about B & A Warehouse because of the amount of space we’ll need.”
“A little rustic but a good choice for this type of event. You can dress it up or down according to your clientele.”
“I think the rustic aspect is the reason I like the venue so much. Our clientele is mostly informal. It would be silly to plan a black-tie affair.”
“I’ve held events at B & A Warehouse several times. The staff is impeccable.”
“I read on their website they offer catering. Is that something you’d recommend?”
“I don’t usually recommend on-site catering from the venue, but they’re actually really good. And reasonably priced.”
“Ladies, excuse me for a moment.” That’s all Oliver says as he pushes away from the table, not waiting for a reply or permission from either of us.
His sudden departure is a little odd. And bordering on rude.
And then I figure out why when I watch him walk to the bar where a pretty blonde sits alone. Gee. That was a little asshole-ish to abruptly leave the table during a business meeting to go hit on a woman. No. It wasn’t a little asshole-ish. It was a lot asshole-ish.
Whatever.
Lawrence turns to look at her brother before leaning toward me. “I’m glad he stepped away. I was wanting to talk to you about planning a surprise birthday bash for him.”
“Surprise birthday parties are the best. So much fun.” Even for assholes. “When?”
“He turns thirty on July 16, so we’d finish BCC’s event and then we’d have to immediately jump into it.”
“It’s not a problem. Same questions. Venue? Theme?”
“I’m thinking about Bridge Street Gallery and Loft. It has enough space for everything I want: a bar, stage, and dance floor.”
“I think that would be the perfect venue for a large birthday party.”
“Ollie has a ton of friends and family from back home I’d want to invite. College friends. Fraternity brothers. Business associates. The list would grow quickly.”
“Big guest lists aren’t a problem, but we’ll need to discuss it later because he’s on his way back to the table.”
Oliver was either shot down quickly or arranged a hookup in record time. My money’s on the hookup.
Bohemian Girl (Southern Girl Series Book 1) Page 27