Life Next Door (Love Not Included Series Book 2)

by J. D. Hollyfield

  With that, I take a step back and swing the door shut, slamming it in his face. A little disappointed at Trent’s lack of fight, he does exactly what I ask and leaves my porch.

  It’s quite sad how today started off so perfect and is ending so horribly. The good news I meant to share completely forgotten, I pull myself away from the door and head toward my bedroom. Maybe if I go to sleep, I will wake up tomorrow and this will all be a bad dream. I will turn over and see Trent lying next to me like he was just this morning when I kissed him breathlessly, like my life depended on it to survive.

  I make it to my room and see Jake sleeping on my bed. I don’t even change out of my work clothes; I just lie next to him and snuggle into his furry body. I do the one thing I really wish I wouldn’t do—I cry. I also mask my reasoning for the tears and swear my breakdown is caused by the fact that I will probably have to give back the dog.

  Chapter 27

  Apparently a good night’s cry does not make for a good night sleep. I wake up on Friday morning feeling horrible and living the same nightmare I fell asleep to. The more time that passes, the more flooded I become with emotions. I am practically drowning with regret, denial, loss…geez, you name it. I figure it’s the five stages of loss. Today is the beginning of stage one: denial and isolation. The first red flag is the moment I call Katie and fake sick to call out of work. She, of course, thinks it’s a prank, because me calling out of work means pigs are flying. Like everywhere. I explain a rare rash and that it’s just not safe to leave the house. Half of that story is true, because I cannot fathom stepping foot out of my safe haven and seeing the neighbor. And yes. He has been demoted back to neighbor.

  They say that in times of distress, your brain uses a defense mechanism that blocks out the bad stuff and attempts to avoid all facts. The shock of a traumatic situation (and the crash and burn of one’s love life definitely falls under traumatic) will help pull you through to the next stage. Therefore, I plan on spending a lot of time denying my situation. Life next door is a mere figment of my imagination. Glitch in the system. Neighbor who? I decide that being awake for stage one is overrated and I crawl back under my covers and go back to sleep.

  Elvis sang a song once (I know I'm turning into my parents) about time. Some mumbo jumbo about time healing broken hearts, then something about time standing still since being apart. Well, I hate Elvis, and time is not a concern for me at this point. It’s truly the least of my problems. The real problem is the annoying vibrating phone that won’t stop. Seriously, what don’t people understand about avoidance?! I sit up and grab at my phone.

  Him.

  I don’t bother answering or reading any of his texts. He doesn’t exist to me. I delete the abundance of calls and messages.

  Does. Not. Exist.

  I do get a text from Katie saying she really thought I was kidding and now she is worried because it’s seriously not normal for me to not come in.

  As I read on, her texts turn from worried to frantic because she doesn’t have enough stock to last the rest of the day, let alone make it through the weekend. I'm not sure if guilt is in stage one, but darn it, she just made me feel it. To make matters worse, I look over at Jake next to me who looks like he might waterfall urine all over my room if I don’t pull my shit together and let him out.

  “I'm sorry, my furry baby, you’re right. The world isn’t ending. People still need to pee.” I rub his head and get up. I do what’s right and text Katie that I will bake some stuff from home, knowing my kitchen is well stocked with sugar galore. If there is ever an apocalypse, I want to make sure I have close to a lifetime supply of ingredients so I can still bake. I am a baker through and through. I do what’s normal and practically crawl to the living room window to confirm the neighbors’ car is gone. Once confirmation is made, I stand with confidence and head back to the kitchen, letting Jake out the back.

  I spend the entire day and into the early evening baking. I zone out and focus on what comes naturally. I can turn off my brain no matter what, and my hands can still create anything with sugar. I always knew I was destined to become a pastry chef. From the time I knew what sugar was, I was obsessed with it. I would help my mother in the kitchen on the weekends and together we would concoct the most amazing creations.

  Baking is truly an art form. You literally take powder and liquids and in the end you create the most amazing sculptures, whether it’s small like a cupcake, or huge like a three-tier, magnificent wedding cake. I was lucky to find a culinary school near the community college, and while I was attending culinary classes during the day, I would take online business classes for entrepreneurship. I knew I wanted to run my own shop one day. And not to sound conceited, but I knew I had the talent to do it.

  I take my mind to a happy place and spend the entire day baking and rolling, shaping and icing. What seems like minutes is actually hours, and I finally text Katie that her goods will be ready for her to pick up after she leaves work. Of course, I told her I had to leave them outside on the swing because it wasn’t safe for her and I didn’t want her to catch what I had. If you translate that into “I don’t want to run into neighbor,” then oh well.

  At 5:30 that evening, I hear Katie pull up. I feel bad because I should just let Katie in. I could confide in her and she could help me get through this mess I call my life. But of course, I can’t show that I am weak, therefore I don’t. I watch her pick up the first couple of boxes and walk them back to her car. Like clockwork, I watch the neighbor’s Jeep pull into his driveway. I watch him get out and assess Katie’s actions. He stalls for a second before he is strutting over to my side of the battlefield.

  I’ve never claimed to be mature, and while I hide under the front windowsill, I stick my ear to the wall in hopes of hearing his voice. “She what?” I hear Trent ask.

  “She didn’t come in to work today. Says she has a really bad rash. So she baked from home and left everything on the porch for me to grab.”

  “Has she ever called in to work?” he asks.

  “Never. I'm a bit worried about her. Is she okay?” she asks him. Well, he should know the answer to that one.

  I hear Trent’s heavy sigh. “Shit, Katie, I fucked up. And she won’t talk to me.” Well, that’s the understatement of the century.

  In a voice I’ve never heard come from Katie, I hear her uncordially respond, “Well, it must have been pretty bad for her to skip work. Should have known you weren’t good enough for someone like her. She should be treated like gold. And her not showing up to work today means you obviously didn’t do that.” I hear Katie wrestle with the last of the boxes on the swing and then footsteps hit the porch steps.

  “Katie, wait. Have you talked to her? Has she said anything to you?”

  “You know what? I'm not sure she is any of your concern anymore, and if she is, I’m sure she will make a move.” At that I hear her start her car and pull out. I’m slumped against the wall. I haven’t heard him walk back home. What is he doing? I hear him mumble something into my door. Then he leaves without a fight.

  Bad dream. This is all a bad dream.

  I crawl down the hallway to my bed and climb in.

  I close my eyes and let his voice burn into my unconscious.

  Bad dream.

  Chapter 28

  Saturday was a tough day to get through. Saturday was stage two: anger. I missed him. I missed those eyes that look straight through me. I missed his smell, his smile, his touch, the way he breathes. I missed everything about him. I’ve hit pathetic. After everything that’s happened, I still miss everything about him. And that makes me mad. Madder than hell, actually. Every time I look around I see signs of him, little reminders of him around my house, and I can’t seem to get away from him. My safe haven is turning into my own personal hell and that makes me furious!

  What is wrong with me?

  I think I may be masochistic I am a glutton for pain. Because that’s what I’m putting myself through right now. I am in love with a man
who has destroyed my trust in him. I’m in a battle with my heart to knock it off and move on. There are independent women all over the place. Famous ones! I need to move on and focus on important things. Things that won’t ever let me down. And it’s the French, or Spanish, or anyone who manufactures wine. I tried avoiding medicating my sorrows with wine yesterday, but it’s about time I take the edge off. Anger is a dangerous thing, and right about now I need a buffer.

  I’ve always been impressed with my tolerance for alcohol, but mix it with emotions and it can tend to turn on you. I am not proud of what it did to me, but I can’t take it back. As the night went on, I just got angrier and angrier. By 10 p.m., I was having a full blown hate-a-thon. I don’t know who that she-devil thinks she is, talking to me the way she did. I’m the victim here! I may not be a fighter but I sure as hell believe in revenge.

  I spend the next two hours ordering porn off any site that Google comes up with and gifting it to everyone on Jeff’s contact list.

  By midnight, I am egging the neighbor’s house.

  Chapter 29

  Sunday isn’t any better than the previous two days. I wake up with my tongue glued to the roof of my mouth and no liquids in sight. I feel guilty about all the water bashing I’ve done in the past; I would kill for a nice glass of it right now. To just have a little taste again. A tiny little drop of what it was. To embrace it.

  So, I think I’m also past talking about water at this point.

  It’s like wishing for something that can’t be fixed. Sometimes when the damage is done, masking it, putting tape over the rip in the major issue, in the end, won’t keep it together. For the past two nights, I’ve hardly slept. I think that’s why when stage three (bargaining) hits me, I blame it on my lack of sleep and hefty hangover.

  Maybe if I just saw him, things would fix themselves. Maybe we can pretend it never happened and go on our merry little way and be happy and perfect again. Maybe if I just heard him out he would have explained to me that I completely misunderstood the situation. I spend most of my pitiful day making excuses for the neighbor. Stage three definitely doesn’t mess around when it comes to wreaking havoc on my emotions. I talk myself in and out of turning my phone on to see if he has called or texted. Just one little button is all I have to press and it will prove if he cares. And if he cares, it will be okay. The decision to turn on the phone wins and I hold my breath while it lights up. I wait a bit longer for the messages to come through, but they don’t. Just as I’m about to throw my phone at the wall, it dings. I look at the screen and see the text coming through. It’s from Katie. She wants to know if I will be at work tomorrow. He hasn’t reached out or tried to call me since Friday.

  Stage four starts a day early, and as I fall into a sad slumber, the depression sets in.

  Chapter 30

  I don’t really care what is wrong with the world, or the things going on in it. Just the fact that it’s Monday is the perfect reason to feel depressed. No one likes Mondays. It’s like totally proven that it’s the most hated day of the week, and nothing good happens on Mondays. I can’t avoid work or I might give Katie a breakdown, which blows because I really don’t want to leave my bed. At this moment, I regret having responsibilities; I want no part in them. Unfortunately, I know what needs to be done so I get up and get to it.

  I rush through my morning routine because it is important that I get out of the house before the neighbor comes out of his; I need to avoid a meet and greet. Oddly enough, when I make it outside, his Jeep is already gone. I make it to the shop an hour before Katie which gives me enough time to catch up on past due orders and inventory. I feel bad that I have neglected the expansion for the last few days and I see a pile of messages from contractors, venders—even one from Mrs. Weathers.

  I get to steppin’ because I know I have a long day ahead of me. I must say that stage four is the hardest. Being angry was easy because I expressed emotion. I let it out. Being in denial was the best because no one could touch me so way up in my head. Depression is just a sadness that hovers over you like an ugly dark cloud, blocking out any chance to get a glimpse of light. Regret is also a form of depression, and I feel a lot of that as well. I regret not giving him a chance to explain. I know I owed him that much. I know I’ve probably driven him away since he hasn’t made the effort to fight for me anymore. I feel sadness for that as well. I spend the whole week ahead mourning a relationship that is done and buried.

  I did not have a good week.

  I burned a lot of cakes that week.

  Friday was when acceptance finally hit me. I needed to get my shit together and learn how to cope with the loss. I was done being pathetic and sad or mad or just plain old unstable. What I needed to do was get over it. I’m a big girl. He lied and I was not okay with it. So move on. No one died. I’m not missing a limb and my health is still intact, physically at least. My mental health was still TBD.

  I decided that Friday was going to be the start of something new. I was moving on. Friday is when I made sure the neighbor’s Jeep was not in the driveway, and I returned the dog.

  Chapter 31

  I do something that I don’t normally do: I work on a Saturday. I bust my booty all week long to earn my weekends off. It was always the deal with May and I, and I never planned on changing it. But today, I have some fire in me, and I really need to catch up on the expansion. I’ve been blowing off Mrs. Weathers all week about confirming the interview and I really need to call her back so I don’t lose that opportunity.

  “Hi, thank you for calling May’s, this is Katie. How can I help you?”

  “Hi Katie, it’s Ce. Listen, I’m coming in today.”

  “Why? What’s wrong?” She sounds panicked. Like I said, I don’t do Saturdays.

  “Nothing’s wrong. But I’ve been a shit boss and a shit owner and I need to make some things right.”

  “Oh. Okay, CeCe. But if you’re not up to it you don’t have to come in. Everything is running fine here. And I would seriously like a day without the fire department making a bust through the place.”

  Like I said. I burned a lot of cakes.

  “Nope, I'm all good. I’ll be in shortly,” I confirm.

  “Okay then. See ya soon.” I disconnect and then call Mrs. Weathers to confirm the interview for two weeks from today.

  It’s amazing how painless the drive is without weekly traffic. I make it to May’s in record time. I walk into the store and witness Betty and Mayvis going at it by the register. I look over at Katie and mouth, “Really?” Is there ever a day that these women don’t bicker over sweets?

  I actually help Katie out up front for a couple of hours and I know she appreciates the extra hand. “This place is kind of crazy on Saturdays,” I say. I’m a little shocked and also in admiration of her that she is able to manage May’s on her own on such a busy day.

  “Yeah, it’s pretty much the same as the weekdays. I have a system, so it goes pretty smoothly.”

  I look at Katie in awe. She is definitely getting a raise. At lunch, she goes into explaining Jacob, the boy who she has decided is the best for the barista job. She sounds like she is halfway in love with him already and I’m glad for her. Apparently he has been in throughout the week, watching Katie work, saying he wants to learn everything he can about the shop before he starts. Ahh, young love.

  It’s late afternoon and Katie and I are investigating the damage to the viewing window and what needs to be replaced. Just as I jot down the vanilla bean and waffle fritters, the front door to the shop bangs open, practically ripping the bell of its hinge. We both jump instantly at the loud sound. We turn to examine our unhappy customer and in storms Trent. Now, I have seen many facial expressions on his face since we’ve met, but this one—one of complete anger—is a new one. I hear Katie mutter an “oh shit” under her breath. Before I can say anything he is in my face, throwing me over his shoulder, and storming into the back bakery.

  “Hey, put me down!” I wail. “You can’t just come in
here and manhandle me anytime you want!” Who does he think he is?! God, his hands feel so good squeezing my hips.

  Stay focused.

  He flips me back upright just as quickly, and traps me against the fridge. I open my mouth to argue but that look says maybe I should just keep quiet; he is looking pretty crazy right now.

  “I know. I get it. I know you’re fucking pissed with me and I get it. I thought giving you some time to cool off would do the trick, then I would come after you and force you to hear me out. Then you egged my damn house again and I needed time to cool off. I told you no more egging, Sweetcheeks.”

  “Don’t call me that,” I try to argue, but while processing his words, I am also staring at his juicy lips. My body is totally selling me out. I try to fight it but he can tell. He presses his body into mine and, holy shit, he is actually hard right now.

  “I let you hide in your head to try and work out whatever you thought was happening because I figured that’s what chicks do. They need time. But today? I get home from being away for a whole fucking week on a job and you know what I find, CeCe?”

  He’s got me. “No?” I choke out.

  “I find Jake back at my place. And that is going too far. Jake being back at my place means you’re done fighting with me. And I will never be done fighting with you. You’re gonna hear me out and you’re gonna understand why I kept what I did from you. Then we’re gonna move past this shit. Then I'm gonna bring Jake back over to your house, where he loves to be and belongs, and I’m gonna make you forget that you ever even thought of shutting me out.”

  He ends his final spiel with another push, connecting his goods with mine, and even if I wanted to argue or fight back, I don’t get the chance because he is slamming his mouth onto mine. God, it’s like heaven. His sweet mouth suckling mine, taking everything that he can. If anyone in my shoes has the mental capacity to remember what we were even fighting about with this kiss in full action, then they are better than me. I let go of the last amount of resistance I have and throw myself into this kiss. My arms go up and around his neck and I tug his head closer, needing more of him. I’ve missed this so bad. It’s almost more painful than it is pleasurable to be in his arms again.