Covet thy Neighbor

by Denise Carbo

  Nerves jump in my stomach. How the heck am I going to make it through this date when I can’t even decide what to wear?

  Standing in front of the open folding double doors of my closet, I scan the racks and shelves. What says casual, but still sexy? Not too sexy though. Understated sexy? Damn it. I want to be attractive, but not like I’m trying too hard. It’s our first date and he’s never seen me dressed up so I want to make a good impression. The kind that might lead to more of those sizzling kisses.

  But not advertise for it either. I drop my face into my hands as I stand there in my bra and panties. Basic white, of course, because I don’t want to be tempted to let it go beyond kissing yet. If I wear sexy underclothes, I might think twice about it. It’s too soon so I need safeguards in place. I even thought of not shaving this morning so I would have a surefire stop pass burned into my brain, but then I would only be uncomfortable if I did so other measures must be taken.

  Three freaking years without sex and my libido is on a constant simmer around my neighbor.

  The last time I impulsively had sex, I ended up pregnant and married. Even though I’d been on the pill, I’d still managed to beat the odds. Apparently, antibiotics lower the effectiveness of the contraception. I really wish someone had let me know that little tidbit ahead of time.

  So, no impulsively jumping the neighbor’s bones.

  Jeans—not regular—but white. They say casual, but a step up. I pull them off the shelf and hold them against my waist while I scan the shelf for a sweater. Something fitted and a little flirty. I snag a robin’s egg blue one with a V-shaped neck and walk over to stand in front of the mirror once again.

  Holding the clothes in front of me, I tilt my head side to side. The combo should look good. I pull on the sweater while clamping the jeans between my legs and then shimmy into the jeans.

  I twist side to side and check out how my ass looks. Not too bad.

  Okay, clothes selected. Now what the heck am I going to do with my hair? The custom ponytail is out. I should have gotten that haircut I’ve been meaning to get. Something short and sassy. Sighing, I wander into the bathroom and brush my blonde locks in every direction I can think of to come up with some sort of style.

  Nope, my hair is straight as a pin. It hangs down against my cheeks. Well, it will have to do. I don’t have time to curl it today, not if I intend to wear makeup.

  I put on brown eyeliner and a touch of blush on my cheeks—more than the mascara and lip gloss I usually wear. I check the time and rush downstairs.

  Luke strolls up the front walk as I reach the bottom of the stairs. Damn it. I thought I would have more time to prepare.

  I open the door with a smile. He stops with his foot on the bottom step and scans me from head to toe. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” I smooth the front of my sweater over my abdomen.

  He steps back. “You ready?”

  “Uh, yes.” I reach around the door and grab my purse from one of the hooks on the wall. I follow him to his sedan parked in my driveway. Is it too much to ask for some tiny compliment over my appearance after all the time I spent? Of course, he has no idea just how long I took to get ready and he never will if I have anything to say about it. But, seriously, don’t I at least warrant a “you look nice”?

  I climb into the passenger side while he walks around to the driver’s side. My father would call the car a foreign money pit. He values nothing unless it is American made. I’ve never seen Luke drive the car he keeps in his garage. Does it not run?

  I glance at him out of the corner of my eye while he starts the car and puts it in drive. He’s dressed in a navy polo shirt and jeans. A little dressier than I’ve seen him in the past. I think my choice for attire was sound. I’d be surer if he showed some interest and appreciation though.

  “Barb was reading the new book for your book club.”

  “Oh? I haven’t started it yet. Does she like it?”

  What was the book pick this month? Damn it. I’ll have to ask Franny.

  “Seemed to. I think she likes the getting together part the most. Thanks for that again.”

  “Well, that’s really the best part for everyone I think.”

  We arrive in the village and Luke turns down the road towards the docks. The parking lot in front often fills up during the summer and it is hard to find a spot, but he’s able to find one near the restaurant. The summer people have been filtering out over the past several weeks, but the leaf peepers are in full swing.

  Billings Creamery perches in the middle of the docks. The white building with red awnings has a wide-open view of the lake from every side. A family waits at the window for ordering ice cream or takeout on the right side of the building. We walk towards the main entrance on the left.

  The sign says to seat yourself so I follow Luke over to one of the empty shiny wooden booths with two benches by the front windows. The lake laps against the pier a few feet outside the window.

  A server wearing black jeans and a red T-shirt with the restaurant logo on it hurries over with a smile and a couple of menus. “Can I get you something to drink while you look over the menu?”

  I take the menu and open it. “Diet cola for me, whichever brand you carry.”

  “Same, except non-diet.”

  “I’ll bring those right out to you.” She turns and strides towards the kitchen. I peruse the restaurant. Only a couple of tables are empty. The place is busy for an October weekday.

  Luke closes his menu and leans back against the bench. “I’m having the lobster roll and a side of fries.”

  I close the menu and stack the two of them at the end of the table. “Me too. The restaurant closes this month so I won’t be able to get another one until they open in the spring. Will you share a few fries?”

  “Depends. When you say a few, do you actually mean a few or will you devour the whole plate and leave me with nothing?”

  “Territorial over your fries, are you? I promise not to take too many. The lobster rolls are huge and filling.”

  She returns with our sodas and takes out a pad of paper from her short black apron after placing the glasses on the table. “What will you have?”

  “We’ll both have a lobster roll.” Luke glances at me and back to her. “How big is an order of fries?”

  She tucks the pad of paper under her arm and holds her hands about a foot apart. “The plate’s around this big and it’s filled with a mound of fries.”

  “Then we’ll take one of those too.”

  She writes it down. “Got it. Your order will be ready in a jiffy.”

  Luke takes a drink of his soda while I unwrap the utensils tucked inside the napkin and set them on my placemat which advertises local businesses. Would it benefit The Sweet Spot to advertise here? Franny may have already checked into it and found it cost prohibitive, but I don’t think she’d mind if I asked. She’s always been open to any ideas or questions I have concerning the bakery.

  I fold my arms over each other on the table and lean forward. “So, what do you do?”

  His long fingers fiddle with the straw wrapper. “At the moment, not much.”

  Oh crap, he’s unemployed and I’ve just nosedived the date into depressing territory. Is it because of his leg? Is he on disability or something? I barely notice the limp most of the time. Could it be worse than it appears?

  I take a sip of soda. “I’m taking courses at the community college. I dropped out when I got pregnant and finally got around to enrolling again. Did you go to college?”

  “Yeah, I got my bachelor’s degree in business. It seemed like the thing to do at the time. What are you taking classes in?”

  “Management and Marketing actually. If I need help, can I pick your brain?”

  “Not sure how much help I’ll be, it was a while ago, but I’ll give it a try.”

  “I’ve got midterms coming up and I’m nervous. I haven’t taken a test in a long time.”

  “I can help you study if you want.” />
  “Thanks, I might take you up on that.”

  The server delivers our food. “Anything else I can get for you?”

  Luke glances at me and I shake my head. “I’m good, thanks.”

  She nods and walks over to the table behind me.

  He picks up the ketchup bottle on the end of the table. “Okay if I put some on the edge of the plate?”

  “You’re a dipper then?”

  He hesitates with the bottle open and hovering over the plate and cocks his eyebrow up.

  “I mean some people like to squirt the ketchup all over the top of the fries and others, like you, make a puddle and dip the fries in.”

  “Didn’t realize there were categories of fry eaters. Which one are you?”

  “Oh, I’m a dipper too.”

  He shakes his head and pours the ketchup while I take a bite of the lobster roll. It’s buttery and rich, just the way I like it. There’s more lobster than bread so I get a nice mouthful with every bite.

  He takes a bite of his roll and I wait until he’s finished chewing. “You like it?”

  “It’s good.” He takes another bite.

  His roll disappears in a few bites while I’m still working on most of mine. He moves on to the fries. After eating one, he looks out at the lake and then back to me. “I’m a writer, but I haven’t written much since the accident.”

  A writer? I put my roll down and wipe my mouth with my napkin. “It’s understandable. You’ve suffered a significant loss. It’s bound to affect you. What kind of writing do you do? Books? Articles? Instruction manuals?”

  Luke cocks his head to the side and lifts an eyebrow. “Instruction manuals?”

  “That’s a thing, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose someone has to write them. But no, I write books.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever met an author before. What kind do you write?”

  “Thrillers mostly. That’s why I have the collection of weapons. Wyatt gave me my first one when my first book was published. It became a tradition after that.”

  “That’s really sweet. He must have been so proud of you.”

  He shrugs.

  “Thrillers, huh? Do you write under a pen name?” That internet search I did didn’t pull up anything about books. Of course, it didn’t show anything at all.

  “L.H. Morgan. It’s my initials and my middle name—also my mother’s maiden name.”

  “Aw, your mom must appreciate that.”

  “Yeah, she gets a kick out of telling her friends.”

  “When it’s my turn to pick a book for the club, I’ll have to pick one of yours.”

  He smiled and popped a fry into his mouth. “Barb said the same thing.”

  “Oh, of course, well maybe we can both suggest one.”

  He nods and nudges the plate of fries closer to me. “Aren’t you going to have any?”

  “I don’t know. Are you sure you want to spare a few?”

  “For you, I can make the sacrifice.”

  “Well now, I feel flattered. You’re willing to share fries with me.”

  A smirk spreads across his face. “I think I’ve made it rather clear I’m willing to share more than fries.”

  My cheeks heat and I glance away before meeting his gaze.

  “You’re blushing. That’s cute.”

  “A curse of my fair skin.” And the image of him and I in my kitchen yesterday which popped in my head.

  I pick up a fry and drag it through the ketchup.

  “What’s the deal with the ex? You seem to have an amicable relationship.”

  The fry lodges in my throat and I grab my soda to guzzle a drink.

  “You okay?”

  I nod and hold my napkin in front of my mouth while clearing my throat.

  “Not so amicable?”

  “No, no, we’re good. The divorce was final almost two years ago and we were separated for a couple of years before that. We work hard to make it good for the kids’ sake.”

  “Is that typical for it to take so long?”

  “Never been married and divorced?”

  “Nope, not even close.”

  “It’s probably a little longer, but we were married so young and we wanted to try everything to make it work if we could. My parents pressured us to give it every effort too. We were better off apart, so we moved forward with the divorce.”

  “Are you going to finish that?” He points to the rest of my roll.

  There’s a couple inches left. My stomach is full and a fry feels like it’s lodged in my throat somewhere. “No, I’ve had enough.”

  “You mind?” Luke’s hand hovers over my plate.

  “Oh, no, go ahead.”

  He tosses the piece into his mouth. I pick up the plate and place it on the end of the table.

  Ryan would never have dreamed of finishing my meal. He wouldn’t even let me take a sip of his soda. Of course, his predilection went beyond food, he didn’t like to share any of his things. Perhaps it comes from being an only child. Oli and I grew up sharing pretty much everything.

  “Your leg seems much better.”

  He shrugs. “Physical therapy has helped a lot. It usually only bothers me when I over do it.”

  “Does that mean with time, it should heal completely?”

  “Only time will tell, but the odds are in my favor.” He looks out the window.

  The waves are choppy today. There’s a sailboat crossing in front of one of the many islands inhabiting the lake.

  A rattle of dishes interrupts the low hum of conversation filling the restaurant as a server clears a nearby table.

  “Did you hope moving here away from Pennsylvania would help with your writer’s block?”

  “It was more like there was nothing left for me in Philadelphia. I wanted to be there for Joey as much as I can. Someone has to.”

  “That’s admirable, not every uncle would step up and be involved like you are.”

  “He’s my family and he’s pretty much all I’ve got. There’s nothing more important to me than that kid.”

  “I feel the same way about my boys. They’re always my priority.”

  Luke nods. “You all set?”

  “Yeah.”

  He signals the server over and asks for the check. I pull out a twenty for my share but he shakes his head.

  “Are you sure?” He said he wasn’t working. Do writers receive a regular income? I suppose it depends on whether or not his books are successful. I’ll have to search his pen name up when I get home and order a few of his books.

  “I asked you, remember?”

  “That doesn’t mean we can’t split the bill.”

  “It does in my book.”

  “Okay. Thank you for lunch.”

  He gives the server cash and tells her to keep the change. I stand and sidle out of the booth. He places a warm hand on my shoulder blade as we walk out of the restaurant together. Heat pulses from the area and spreads over my skin.

  Is he going to ask me on another date? Should I ask him? I nibble on my lip as we walk to the car. His hand drops from my back. The spot chills from the loss of his touch.

  The scenery blurs out the window as I stare at a water spot on the windshield. Will he kiss me on my doorstep? Or drop me off in the driveway? Should I invite him in? Is that too presumptuous, will he think I mean for sex? It’s much too soon for that step. I would like more of his kisses though.

  Luke turns onto our road. A range of colored leaves fill the trees from rust, maroon, bright red, sunset yellow, and bright green. They’ll fall and cover the yard soon. Every year I promise myself I’ll get around to raking them up, yet each time I never do.

  He pulls into my driveway and parks the car. The engine is still running so he must not intend to get out of the car.

  “Thanks for lunch.” I smile and grab the door handle.

  “See you.”

  Okay, no mention of another date either. I thought we had a good time, but perhaps it was just me.<
br />
  Chapter 17

  Is she kidding? The saleswoman holds the dress by the hanger with a polite smile on her face. The dress is super mini, strapless, and deep purple. Is she pranking me? I glance between her and the dress. Her light brown hair with thin blond highlights flows over her shoulders. Tasteful makeup, not overly done, understates her attractive features. If she’s playing a practical joke on me, it doesn’t show in her polite but distant expression. “This is the bridesmaid dress Violet chose?”

  “Yes, it’s a special order she picked out when she and her other attendants were in last month.”

  Last month? Of course, they all came together to pick out the dress. Violet sent me an email last week instructing me to stop by Dress to Impress to get measured for the bridesmaid dress. Since I already had an appointment today with Franny here to look at dresses for her wedding, I came in a little early to handle my cousin’s dress choice.

  I’ll be tugging the bottom to cover my ass while simultaneously yanking on the top so my boobs don’t pop out. A tug of war the dress doesn’t appear strong enough to endure.

  “Ready to try it on?” She carries it over to one of three dressing areas and pulls back the thick, white, velvety, curtain over the opening. At least no one will be able to see me since the curtain stretches from the floor to a foot below the ceiling.

  “Sure.” I walk over as she hangs the dress on a hook inside the changing space. It’s as wide and deep as a small walk-in closet with a floor-length mirror hanging in the corner. At least I won’t be bumping into walls while I cram myself into the dress.

  “Do you need any undergarments?”

  “An industrial sized corset maybe?”

  The polite smile cracks and she laughs. “I don’t think you’ll need that, but you will need a strapless bra. You’re a…” She glances at my chest. “34B?”

  Dead on. “You’re good.”

  “It is my job. If I wasn’t able to estimate women’s sizes quickly, my shop would be in trouble.”

  “This is your shop?”

  She nods and holds out her hand. “Kelly Tanner.”

  I shake her hand. “Olivia Banner. Any chance there’s more to this dress somewhere in back that you forgot to attach?”