Love Next Door

by Hunting, Helena

  “Thanks, Dad, I appreciate that. Look, I know this might be an odd question, but you wouldn’t happen to know anything about Grammy Bee’s will being contested, would you? You know if there are financial issues, you can always tell me.”

  The sound of typing stops. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “I just got a call from the lawyer. The will is being contested, but he doesn’t know by who yet. I’ve been working on having everything switched to my name, but that can’t happen until this is sorted out.”

  “Well, I have to admit, Bee leaving everything to you and only you was a bit unfair.”

  “Unfair? Teagan and Bradley both got checks out of the deal,” I snap. “Neither of them wanted the cottage. I’m the only one with an attachment to this place, and it was Bee’s decision.”

  “There’s no need to get worked up about it, Donovan. It’s not going to change anything. I’m just saying that it isn’t surprising that someone is contesting it. Although I honestly don’t understand why they would bother. That cottage is falling apart, and the land it’s on isn’t something anyone can develop, especially on that side of the lake. Not without red tape and years of battling the town for permits. It’s more of a headache than it’s worth. Bee made sure of that,” Dad grumbles.

  “Right. Yeah. Did Mom have any relatives who might think it’s worth something?”

  “It’s possible. Bee had a sister, but she’s long passed, and I don’t think Bee’s nieces and nephews had any real connection to the place. I can look into it on this end if you’d like, son. I know you’ve got more than enough on your plate already. I’m sorry you’re dealing with this too.”

  “Yeah. Me too. I’ll let you know if I get any more information on the who and why.”

  “I’ll do the same on my end. We’ll get it all figured out. I promise.”

  “Thanks.” I end the call more confused than ever.

  I head over to Bernie’s to sign what he needs, and I berate myself for not acting sooner. Bee’s wishes would’ve been honored had I not delayed doing this.

  On the way in I run into Billy. “Hey, Billy, how’s it goin’?” I hold the door open for him and glance around the parking lot, searching for Dillion or a familiar car, but I see neither.

  His brows furrow in confusion. He tips his chin up, eyes narrowing. “Who’re you? How do you know my name?”

  I’ve only met him a couple of times, and once he was so drunk he couldn’t see straight. “I’m Van. I live next door to you, in Bee’s cottage.”

  “Oh, yeah, right. You’re Dillion’s friend.” He nods once and glances around, eyes narrowing again. “What’re you doing here? Dillion didn’t send you, did she?”

  “Uh, nope. I’m just taking care of my grandmother’s will. I’m not sure how long I’ll be, but if you want to wait, I can give you a ride home.”

  “I’m okay,” he says quickly. “I got it covered.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “Yeah. Thanks, though.” He crutches past me and tosses them down the short flight of stairs, then grabs the railing and hops down after them.

  I’m not sure how he’s planning to get home, but I doubt he’s going to crutch back. It’s more than two miles, and half of that is dirt road. He takes out his phone once he’s at the bottom of the stairs, so I assume he’s calling a ride. I leave him to it.

  Forty-five minutes later, I leave Bernie’s office with all the papers in order, but no more information on who’s contesting the will, or how much leg they’ll have to stand on.

  Both Dillion and Bernie can attest to the fact that while Grammy Bee was definitely eccentric, she was of sound mind when she had the will drafted.

  When I get back to the cottage, I sit down and review all the documents again, trying to figure out what exactly is happening and if it’s possible for someone to take this place away from me. I don’t want to lose the last connection I have to Bee. I have far too many great memories tied up in this place and this town, both past and present.

  Dillion messages around six, asking if we’re still on for dinner. I’ve completely lost track of time. I fire one back telling her I absolutely want to see her, but we might have to do takeout of some kind. She shows up at my door five minutes later laden with grocery bags.

  “Hey!” Her wide smile falters. “Wow, did you get into the sauce last night?”

  “Are you telling me I don’t look runway fresh?” I motion to my jogging pants and ratty T-shirt attire. Which incidentally is what I wore to Bernie’s office this afternoon.

  She sweeps her thumb gently across my cheek, her gaze moving over my face. “You have circles under your eyes, and it looks like you’ve been trying to rip your hair out. Is everything okay?”

  I run my fingers through it, hoping to tame it. “Bernie called today to tell me someone is contesting the will.”

  She frowns as she sets the bags on the counter and then turns to me. “What? How can they do that? Hasn’t it already been put into probate?”

  “I signed the remaining paperwork today, but none of it has been filed, so technically it’s still contestable.”

  She takes my hand and leads me over to the couch, where she pulls me down beside her. “Who would do that? Not Teagan?”

  “No. Definitely not Teagan. She’d tell me if she had a problem with the will.” Grammy Bee left my brother and sister each a sealed envelope that had a cashier’s check in it. Teagan said it was fifty grand, and neither she nor my brother seemed upset at the time. I’m sure Teagan invested hers and Bradley spent his, since they didn’t have to wait for probate to cash it.

  “I figured that was the case. She doesn’t seem like she’d go behind your back. She adores you. What about your brother?” She shifts and pulls her knee up, her shin resting against the outside of my thigh, and runs her fingers through my hair, maybe trying to tame it, or soothe me.

  “Unlikely. That’s a lot of effort, and the only thing he likes to expend that on is golf or meeting women.”

  “Right. Okay.” She continues to run her fingers through my hair. “Is there anyone else you can think of? Some distant relative?”

  “Nope. None that I know of anyway. I called my dad, and he has no idea. I’m guessing it’s only a matter of time before we find out who.”

  “I’m so sorry, Van.” She links the fingers of my free hand with hers. “This is the last thing you need right now. What can I do? How can I help?”

  “I don’t know that there’s anything to do. I’ve been through the will so many times my eyes are crossing.”

  “What if we go through Bee’s files? We might find something.”

  “There’s a whole wall of filing cabinets.” Everything feels overwhelming. My head is spinning, this day having taken an unexpected turn. I don’t know who to trust or believe anymore. That Dillion is here, willing to drop everything and do whatever she can to help, is almost more than I know what to do with.

  “I know it’s daunting, but it’ll be easier if we do it together. And if you don’t want to tackle it now, that’s okay too.” She runs her thumb down the back of my neck, as if she’s trying to relieve the tension there. “Whatever you want, Van, I’m here for you. Tell me what you need.”

  “I don’t want to lose this place.” And not just because of the memories.

  “I know you don’t.” Her smile is soft. “And neither do I. We’ll fight whoever it is. You’re not going to lose more than you already have.”

  And it’s right now, in this moment, that I realize there’s more at stake than this cottage and the memories. And it took everything falling apart again, and Dillion being here to help keep me together, for me to see it.

  Because in such a short amount of time, I’ve fallen for Dillion. And I don’t want to lose her either.

  CHAPTER 22

  EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED

  Dillion

  The anxious look on Van’s face shifts to surprise, and then shock, or fear maybe, before it turns hot. And then he’s
on me. He cups my cheeks in his wide palms and tips my head back, mouth slanting over mine. I gasp and then moan as his tongue strokes inside. He pulls me to straddle him on a groan, and then we’re frantic hands, tugging and unbuttoning, pulling and pushing. He nearly knocks the lamp off the side table trying to get my shirt off, and I nearly face-plant into his chest when I shove my shorts down my thighs and kick them off. He slides forward, and I climb back into his lap, letting him arrange me how he wants. He kisses his way up my neck, and then our mouths are fused once again.

  He fumbles around with his wallet. I grab the condom as soon as he frees it, tear it open, and push him back enough that I can roll it on. And then he’s inside me in one deep thrust that makes my toes curl. His head drops to my shoulder, his back expanding and contracting with deep breaths. “Fuck, I love this feeling,” he mumbles against my throat.

  I loop my arms around his neck. We move together, a push and pull, fill and retreat that gains speed and vigor until we’re both panting and sweaty, battling our way to orgasms. I fall first, thankfully, and as soon I start contracting around him, he hisses a triumphant Yessss and pounds his way to his own climax.

  It lasts all of fifteen minutes, but my heart is slamming in my chest and I feel like I’ve just run a marathon. He flops back against the cushions, eyes closed, and exhales several long, slow breaths.

  “What the heck was that about?”

  He cracks a lid, and a sheepish grin tips the corner of his mouth. “Stress relief?”

  I snort a laugh, and his eyes crinkle at the corner. “One second we’re talking about the will, and the next we’re naked. Seems like a classic avoidance technique to me.”

  He looks away for a second, maybe embarrassed about being called out. When he turns back, he’s smirking, but worry lurks behind his eyes. “You call it avoidance, I call it stress relief, but it was an excellent distraction, even if it didn’t last very long.”

  I run my hands through his hair, smoothing it out. “Should we do something constructive? Look through Bee’s files and see if we can’t find something that might help?”

  “It’s probably a good idea. I don’t know how much I processed after Grammy Bee passed, you know? And just when I was ready to deal with everything, the money went missing from the foundation, and I lost my job.”

  “It’s a lot, isn’t it? Why don’t we make dinner first?” I ask.

  “Sure. That sounds good.”

  We get dressed, and I wash my hands before I pull things out of the grocery bags. Van and I fall into a familiar routine, standing side by side at the kitchen counter.

  “I’m sorry you keep getting thrown curveballs.”

  “It’s okay. I mean, it’s not actually okay, but I can handle it. And it’s not your fault. I feel like I’m at a crossroads in my life. Grammy Bee always believed things happen for a reason, but this whole thing—her dying; me being given this cottage; everything that happened with the foundation; coming here, getting to know you, and believing it’s possible to have a fresh start, and then being told it might all be taken away—I just want to know what message the universe is trying to send me. Let go? Hold on? I’m an asshole? I just don’t know.”

  “Well, I can tell you that you’re not an asshole.”

  “Thanks, but you know, when I really look at the life I was living, I honestly don’t think I was doing any of it for the right reasons. I liked my job, but I didn’t love it. It was more about the paycheck than it was about the gratification of a job well done. I should have found it rewarding, but I didn’t. This”—he motions to the cottage—“being here, working on the garage, fixing this place up like I’d talked about when I was younger . . . this is the stuff that actually means something, you know? This is what matters: making memories worth holding on to.” He shucks a cob of corn, getting silk all over the counter and the floor. “I’m starting to sound like a freaking Hallmark movie, and I’m at risk of having to hand over my man card if I keep it up.” He shakes his head, as if clearing the heavy subject matter. “Is everything okay with your brother? I saw him today at Bernie’s.”

  “You did? I didn’t think he had an appointment. Or not one anyone told me about. Was he with my mom?”

  “No, he was on his own. I offered to drive him home, but he said he was fine, and he called someone to pick him up.”

  “Huh. I honestly don’t know what that would have been about. I think there’s a lot going on with him, and while he’s always been the kind of person to dance to his own beat, he’s been doing some strange things lately.” I shake my head. “Ugh. You know what? Let’s not talk about this either. Oh, and about the garage, I know you know what you’re doing, but you can always talk to my dad about the renovation. I’m sure he’d be happy to help out.”

  “I keep meaning to have Aaron come by, but he’s been busy. I’m going to give it a go on my own, but it’s good to have backup if I run into any snags along the way.”

  “Makes sense. How was the rest of your day? What else is going on? Make any new discoveries since your brother and sister left?”

  “Actually, I found a stack of ones in the old butter dish in the china cabinet.”

  “Really? I thought you couldn’t find the key for it.”

  “I couldn’t. I used a bobby pin to get it open.”

  “Ah yes, the old bobby pin trick! I bet Bee has a million of those hanging around. She was forever wearing her hair up.”

  “Oh yeah, there was an entire basket full of them in the bathroom medicine cabinet.”

  “It blew my mind that she could put those in without even looking at her reflection, and her hair was always perfect.” I pull three sheets of aluminum foil free, then drop a dollop of butter on each and a sprinkle of salt before I add a cob of corn and roll them up.

  “She wasn’t big on pampering, but she hated when her hair didn’t look good.”

  Van and I talk about Bee while we prepare dinner. Once the corn and vegetables are on the barbecue, we pull out the will and estate documents. There’s an older version where the cottage was supposed to go to Van’s mother, but that obviously was updated after she died.

  Three hours and a mountain of scoured files later, we’re still in the dark. Van is frustrated and discouraged, so we call it a night, and I take him to bed. I might not be able to solve the problem for him, but at least I can provide a distraction.

  I get the answers Van is looking for the following night, when I come home from work to find a rented black SUV parked in front of my trailer with windows tinted so dark I can see nothing but my reflection in them. For a moment I wonder if my dad and my uncle have gotten themselves into financial trouble without my knowing. These McMansion renos can be expensive, and a few years back my uncle took out some loans that weren’t from the bank. It was right around the time they almost went bankrupt. And it didn’t help that my uncle took some of the money to the slots to see if he could make a little extra on the side. Luckily we survived that mess, and quietly too. No one knows about it, and I’d like to keep it that way.

  I look around, for what I’m not sure. Backup, maybe?

  The driver’s side door opens, and a head appears, followed by a body. It takes me a moment to recognize Bradley, Van’s brother. He’s wearing dark sunglasses and a full suit. It happens to be over eighty degrees today, so it’s a lot of heavy fabric.

  “Hey, Bradley. Is Van not home? Is he okay? Did something happen?” Panic hits, fast and hard, making it feel like I’m choking. My heart clenches, and I realize that I’m genuinely afraid. If something has happened to Van, I’m not sure I’ll be okay, because the feelings I’ve been trying to ignore have only grown stronger the more time I spend with him. I glance toward the trees, but they’ve filled in with the summer heat, so I can’t see much except for the roof of Bee’s cottage.

  “He’s fine and not home. I’m actually here for you.” He smiles, but it’s stiff. “Do you have a minute to talk? I need your help with something.”

  �
�Oh, like a surprise?” I have no idea when Van’s birthday is. I hope I haven’t missed it.

  He smiles again, wider this time. “Come, let’s have a chat, Dillion.” He moves toward the trailer, which I don’t bother locking since the only thing of value in there is usually a six-pack of beer and occasionally my laptop, but mostly where I go, it goes.

  He opens the door for me and follows me inside. Bradley seems like a pampered, spoiled younger brother, based on my impression from last weekend. I don’t dislike him, but he’s hard to get a read on. I can’t tell if he was joking about being the better-looking brother, or if he actually believes it.

  I can see the similarities between him and Van. They’re definitely brothers. But where Van has a square jaw and slightly more rugged features, his brother is . . . softer, maybe more refined. He wears the suit like he belongs in it. Whereas Van looks best in a T-shirt and ripped jeans.

  “Can I get you something to drink? I only have beer or water, but we have other stuff in the house.” I thumb over my shoulder.

  “I’m fine, thank you.” He looks around the trailer, and I can practically feel the judgment oozing out of him. “So, this is where you live, Dillion?”

  “For now, yup.”

  “Dillion’s an interesting name.”

  “It’s androgynous.” Might as well state the obvious.

  His gaze moves over me. I’m still wearing a polo with the company logo—the ones in my size finally came in—and a pair of jeans and flip-flops. I leave the work boots at the office. “There’s certainly nothing androgynous about you, though, is there?”

  “Okay, if you can dial your creepy back a few notches, that would be great. I’m not sure if you need a reminder, but I’m dating your brother, so this, whatever this is”—I fling a hand in his general direction—“needs to stop now.”

  “I thought you were just sleeping with him.”

  “We’re a thing. Which means we’re doing more than sleeping together.”

  Bradley chuckles. “I can see why my brother likes you.”