Neighbor Girl (Southern Girl Series Book 2)

by Georgia Cates

  “Adelyn.” I turn at the sound of Lawrence’s voice. “Everything is perfect. I couldn’t have asked for a better event to celebrate the beginning of our cider company.”

  Lawrence is literally one of the most gracious people I’ve ever met. Kind. Grateful. Unlike most of my clients who act so damn entitled. It’s a nice change.

  “I’m thrilled that you’re pleased with the way everything turned out.”

  I went the extra mile for Lawrence. I wanted this event to be perfect for her and Oliver since BCC is a reflection of Iron City.

  “I can’t wait to see what you come up with for Ollie’s birthday. He’s going to be so surprised.”

  Oliver’s thirtieth birthday is going to be a night he’ll never forget. “I promise you this—good times will be had.”

  “I have complete faith in you.”

  I occupy myself with a bit of this and that and fight the urge to search for Oliver because I’m afraid of what I might see. Or might not see if he’s slipped away with Miss Bootylicious in the tight red dress.

  I leave the kitchen and come face-to-face with Oliver, minus the curvaceous brunette. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” I echo.

  “Do you have a free minute?”

  I’ve been dying to talk to him all night, but I didn’t want to make the first move since these are his people. “Absolutely.”

  “I have someone I’d like to introduce you to.”

  My heart plummets to my toes when I realize his intention for finding me. “Oh, yeah. I’d love to meet your friend.”

  “What friend?”

  “The woman you were dancing with. Red dress.”

  “That was a client and not who I want you to meet.” He takes my hand and loops it over his arm, leading me across the warehouse. “You’ve topped anything our former event coordinator ever planned for Iron City.”

  It’s always good to hear praise, but coming from Oliver’s lips, it feels like a welcome caress. “I’m glad you like the things I chose.”

  “Our clients are impressed. That makes me very happy.”

  Mission accomplished.

  “We aim to please since that tends to be good for business.”

  “I would agree.”

  We approach a man and woman, both appearing to be in their sixties. “These are my parents. Quentin and Libby Thorn. This is my neighbor, Adelyn Maxwell.”

  Mrs. Thorn surprises me with a hug. “It’s very nice to meet you, Adelyn. We’ve heard a lot of wonderful things about you.”

  From whom? Lawrence or Oliver?

  “It’s nice to meet you too. I’ve heard nothing but good things about you as well.”

  I’ve learned many things about Oliver Thorn throughout the last few weeks and one specific piece of information stands above all others. He loves his parents and Lawrence very much.

  Quentin and Libby Thorn. A childless couple from Savannah who took a broken little boy and girl and used love and compassion to make them whole for the first time in their lives. That’s a true love story.

  “How long are you in town?”

  “We have to leave for home in the morning.”

  That’s too bad. “I’m going to issue you a rain check for breakfast next time you’re in town.”

  Mrs. Thorn lights up when Oliver puts his arm around my shoulder. It feels like he’s saying I’m his even if I know I’m not. But I still like it. “This woman bakes some of the most amazing bread you’ll ever put in your mouth.”

  “Then we definitely have to take you up on your breakfast offer next time we visit.”

  “I would love that.”

  Oliver squeezes my shoulder. “Is it against policy for the event coordinator to accept a dance invitation while on a job?”

  “Maybe but I am the boss. I don’t think anyone will call me out on it.”

  “What about it, sweet Lib?” Oliver’s dad takes his mom’s hand in his and kisses the tops of her fingers. “Does my beautiful girl wanna take a whirl with me on the dance floor?”

  Oh my God. They are absolutely adorable.

  I see exactly where Oliver gets his charm. Mr. Thorn is a sweetheart. A real gentleman.

  Mrs. Thorn’s brows lift. “Beautiful girl, huh? Sounds like someone is buttering me up so he can get lucky later tonight.” Oliver’s mom leans over and winks at me. “And I bet he does.”

  Freaking. Priceless.

  Mr. Thorn tugs on his wife’s hand. “Come on, my beautiful girl. Let’s show these kids how it’s done.”

  Oliver’s mother uses her free hand to touch my arm. “In case we don’t get to talk later, it was lovely meeting you, Adelyn.”

  “You, too. And I’m serious about that rain check.”

  “Look forward to it, darling.”

  I can’t not smile as I watch the Thorns take the dance floor by storm.

  Oliver reaches for my hand and tugs. “Come on, my beautiful girl.” He’s repeating his father’s words to be funny, but they still turn me into a puddle on the floor.

  I’m still grinning when we find a spot on the floor. “Entertaining, right?”

  More than entertaining. “Your dad is so sweet and romantic.”

  “He’s good to Mom but no better than she is to him.”

  “Still madly in love. The world sees too little of that today.”

  “I’m glad they’re still in love but sometimes they act like teenagers going at it. It’s embarrassing.”

  “Aw. I think it’s wonderful.”

  “It’s not wonderful when your friends are spending the night and they can hear your parents’ headboard slamming against the wall.”

  I burst into laughter, and he pulls me against his chest. “Okay. Done talking about that.”

  “Dear Trouble” by Correatown is playing. The song is slow and perfect for being pulled close and moving together. “This is a nice song. Good for slow dancing.”

  Oliver’s hand is low and tight on my back as he leads me in a slow sway. “I’d like to ask you something.”

  People don’t usually say things like that unless the question to follow is a hard one. And that makes me nervous. “Okay. Ask away.”

  “Have you dated since Martin?”

  Oliver and I have been hanging out for several weeks. He knows my deepest, darkest secret about the man who abused me, and I’m curious why he’s only now asking me this question.

  “I’ve been on some dates but not many.” All four were disasters. “I’ve not had a relationship since him.”

  “Because you’re not interested?”

  I’d love nothing more than to find someone to love and spend my life with. But I’m sort of fucked up in the faith department after nearly being killed by a man who was supposed to love me.

  “Relationships require trust. I placed trust in the wrong person once, and it did not serve me well. It’s a lesson I won’t soon forget.”

  “How long since you’ve been on a date?”

  There would be some math involved if I tried to figure it out. “A long, long, long time. What about you?”

  “I was in a relationship three years ago with a woman I loved very much. I was only days away from asking her to be my wife when I came home early and found her in bed with another man.”

  Ho-ly shit. What the hell was wrong with her? Oliver is kind, generous, funny, and sexier than any man I have ever known. What a stupid woman.

  Her loss. My gain.

  “I can’t imagine what that felt like. It must have been brutal.”

  “Huge kick to the gut. And balls.”

  “I bet.”

  “I placed trust in the wrong person once as well. And I feel like I need to be really honest with you about where my head’s been the last few years. It’s not the most upstanding place it could have been.”

  He worries I’m going to think he’s dishonorable? Me? “Have you not yet figured out that you can be honest with me and I won’t judge?”

  “I wasn’t in a good place after Eden’s bet
rayal. I went through a lot of booze. A lot of women and meaningless relationships. Do you remember the drunk woman from the restaurant when we met for lunch about tonight’s event? She’s only one of many. I did other things, too, which don’t make me very proud.”

  I don’t love hearing how he went through women but it’s his past. And he’s being honest with me about it.

  “You placed your trust in Eden, and she betrayed you. You had no choice but to put caution tape around your heart and not allow anyone in.”

  “I love how you get me.”

  “I love how you get me.”

  I lean in and press my face to his chest as we sway because I’m afraid he’ll see too much if he looks into my eyes.

  Warm breath hovers above my ear and I erupt into chills. “Would you consider going on a date if the right person asked?”

  I bite my bottom lip and suppress my smile against his chest. “Maybe.”

  “What would it take to be the right person?” His voice is low. Tantalizing.

  “Well… he’d need to be kind and considerate. Respectful of me and my many boundaries. Trustworthy. Handsome would be a plus.”

  Oliver takes a step away from me, and I’m no longer able to hide my face against his chest. “Am I any of those things to you?”

  “You are all of those things to me.” And more. So much more.

  “You make me laugh. Smile. Feel.” He pauses for a brief moment. “I like being with you. I like who I am when we’re together. I like… you.”

  Admitting feelings like those is a scary thing. But Oliver did it, not knowing what kind of reaction he’d get from me. He is handing over his trust to me. It reminds me of the leap we took when we confessed our secrets to one another.

  I have the same feelings for Oliver. He makes me laugh. Smile. Feel. I like being with him. I like who I am when we’re together. I like him. But admitting those feelings may be even more frightening than sharing my secret. “I like you too.”

  “I have a wonderful family, great friends, a successful business. But my personal life is an empty shell. I want that to change, but I worry too much has happened. I’m afraid I’m incapable of the things a relationship requires.”

  It’s as though he crawled into my mind and extracted those words from my brain. “We like each other. We like being together. Maybe we just go on a date and not worry about all the other stuff?”

  “I’d like that. Does Saturday night work?”

  I rarely have a free Saturday. It’s the price of having a successful agency. “I have an event. With my line of work, I’m usually tied up late Friday evenings until the end of the event. Sometimes they’re two and three days long.”

  “I didn’t want to wait a week anyway. Let’s do it tomorrow night.”

  That’s very soon. And exactly what I want. “Okay.”

  “Whatever you want to do, I’m in. Name it.”

  A normal first date typically involves dinner in a restaurant. Maybe a movie at the theater. Boring.

  I don’t think normal or typical fits Oliver and me. Our unfortunate life experiences have seen to that. “I have an idea, but I don’t know how you’ll feel about it.”

  “I’m open to whatever you want.”

  I don’t know about that. “Maurice performs at a club on Sunday nights.”

  Oliver’s brow wrinkles. “What kind of club?”

  “Exactly the kind you’re thinking.”

  “Oh. What kind of act?”

  “He sings. In drag. While impersonating Whitney Houston. He goes by Wet Me Houston.”

  Oliver tells me Lawrence is unconventional so he’s used to different. But Maurice is… Maurice. I highly suspect Oliver’s never experienced anything like him.

  “It’s all very over the top. Sequined dress. Wig. Dramatic makeup. Boobs. But he’s incredible. It’s an a-ma-zing show.”

  Oliver looks unsure. Or terrified. I can’t decide which. Madame Dragonfly’s establishment could be a little much for a first date. I don’t want to push him into something that’ll make him uncomfortable, but I am an eclectic person and this is part of me. Supporting my biggest supporter.

  “I understand how all of that could be awkward for you. We don’t have to go there.”

  Oliver exhales deeply through pursed lips. “Maurice is important to you. He’s your friend, so yeah. Let’s do it.”

  “Really?” He isn’t all in. I can feel it in his tense posture but he’s doing it anyway. For me.

  “Absolutely. I’m sure it’ll be a blast.”

  “The show starts at nine.” I’m thinking I should surprise Maurice on this one, so telling him isn’t going to happen. “Want to come over to my place for dinner first? Maybe have some homemade pizza?”

  “Only if you let me help.”

  Cooking together. That should be fun.

  “Only if you bring the beer.”

  “I think I can handle that. Thick or thin crust?”

  “Thin.” I snap my teeth. “I’m a texture girl. I like crunch.”

  “Me too. Red or white sauce?”

  “Depends on my mood.”

  “I like both.”

  “I make a really good margherita or a roasted artichoke and spinach on white. Sometimes, I add grilled chicken to that one. There’s no rule that says we can’t make both.”

  “I vote for both. You know how I love to eat.”

  The man can shovel it in. “I sure do.”

  “If I’m not careful, you’ll put some pounds on me with all your goodies.”

  “Why do you think I go around giving all of it away? I gained ten pounds when I started baking and it took four months to lose it. It comes on way easier than it comes off. It’s one of the worst therapies anyone can have. I don’t know why I couldn’t get the itch to clean or something like that.”

  “The baking bug bite is far gentler than the itch to use your fists.”

  Oliver told me about the incident with his father, but he didn’t mention anything about fighting being an ongoing problem.

  Huge fucking red flag.

  “Physical violence is your outlet?”

  “No, Adelyn. No. I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant at all. I train with a boxing coach. A punching bag is the only thing to ever feel my aggression. Never a woman.”

  He said he itched to use his fists. His words.

  “Look at me.” He holds my chin between his thumb and index finger, guiding my face so we’re eye-to-eye. “Never. Not once have I ever hurt a woman. Tell me you believe me.”

  This is important. I can’t afford to be wrong again. I can’t afford to believe lies. I can’t afford to fall for a man who will hurt me.

  But Oliver won’t. I sense it in everything about him. “I believe you.”

  The song ends and he’s still holding my face. His thumb skates across my bottom lip. “The only reason these lips should ever be swollen is because they’ve been kissed long and hard.”

  I instinctively lick my lips.

  Kissed long and hard.

  Those words do so many things to my insides.

  “I could go for some of that.” And so many other things.

  “Sorry to interrupt, Adelyn, but Michelle needs your help in the back.”

  Dammit to hell. I think he was going to kiss me.

  I sigh, gathering patience before replying. “I’ll be right there.”

  Oliver releases me. “Duty calls.”

  “Duty calls with extraordinarily bad timing.”

  “It’s okay. We’ll finish this when we have all the time in the world.”

  Yes, we will.

  7

  Oliver Thorn

  Entering Adelyn’s kitchen, I hold up a six-pack in each hand. “I come bearing beer.”

  “Nice but I think we’ll be tanked if we drink all that.” Her eyebrows lift toward her hairline as she laughs. “Or is that part of the plan because of where we’re going later?”

  I think Adelyn is far more worried than I am about
the drag club. Sure, I wouldn’t choose to do something like that on my own, but I’ll go for her. “It’s for fun. I’m cool with it.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way. I think you’ll be surprised by how entertaining it really is. It’s like Miss America meets Broadway meets Cirque du Soleil minus the acrobats. Very theatrical.”

  I place two opened beers on the island before putting the rest in the fridge. “I brought a new kind for you to try. Saison.”

  “I’m going to be a beer expert before too much longer.” She takes a drink and nods. “It has a nice flavor.”

  “I thought you might like it. The carbonation is high and the essence is fruity.”

  “You’re getting to know my taste buds pretty well.”

  I don’t know her taste buds nearly as well as I’d like, but I plan to know them—her tongue, mouth, and lips—a lot better before tonight is over.

  I survey the ingredients lined up on the island. “No Chef Boyardee crust, huh?”

  “Nope. We’re making these bad boys from scratch.”

  I slap my hands together. “All right. Let’s do this.”

  Adelyn holds out a measuring cup and container of white powder. I guess she’s instructing and I’m doing.

  “First lesson in making a thin pizza crust. Use bread flour. It makes it crunchier than all-purpose.”

  She shows me how to level the cups of flour with a straightedge knife and then watches as I dump them into a large mixing bowl. “Good job. Now we’re going to add the kosher salt, sugar, and yeast.”

  A light dust of white spins into the air when she briefly turns on the stand mixer. “Just giving that a little twist to mix the dry stuff before the wet goes in.”

  Adding the water and olive oil, I watch as the powder transforms into a gooey ball. “Are you sure this is going to make two pizzas?”

  “It’ll be twice as big after it rises.”

  She’s an experienced baker. I should know better than to question her. “Right. Because of the yeast.”

  “We can work on our sauces while the dough does its thing.”

  Adelyn guides me step by step through mixing, sautéing, and simmering both pizza sauces. “I can see where cooking could be therapeutic.”