Near Perfect

by Ashlyn Mathews

  She reached up and the movement drew his eyes to her straight form. Yep, there were no curves for a man to wrap his hands around.

  “Um, the ramen is up high.” She edged out of the pantry. “Do you mind?”

  He moved past her and grabbed the packages. The great thing about ramen was that the noodles cooked fast. They took their bowls and ate in front of the fireplace.

  “If you need to check on your workers, I can watch the fire,” she offered.

  “No need,” he said in between bites. “Once the snow piled, I called and told them to go home.” His workers were second family to him. Though the restaurant ran on generators, their safety came first.

  At his answer, she glanced away. Bryce understood exactly what she was doing. He wasn’t born yesterday. She wanted to search his place for the red book. No chance would she find it. He kept what was probably her diary close to his heart.

  After Lucy was done eating, she eyed the empty bowl in his hand. At the question clear on her face, he handed his bowl to her. She headed into the kitchen, and he lit her way with the flashlight. Candles left over from his ex-girlfriend burned bright on top of the mantle.

  As Lucy cleaned up in the kitchen, he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away. What she was doing in his kitchen was too personal, something friends did for one another rather than a woman ready to hunker down for a night without power with a guy she didn’t know or like. Strangers.

  The agent who had sold her the townhome lived in the unit next to Lucy. That old guy, Tom, and his wife, June, had somehow gotten on Lucy’s good side. She ran her mouth off to them about work and . . . family. Not just family but more importantly, Lucy’s stepfather.

  Apparently, Levi Peterson owned a technology company that wanted to get its name into the mainstream. Once Bryce had heard that, a larger than life idea had formed in his head. Get Levi’s company to sponsor him in the upcoming qualifications rounds.

  However, he didn’t consider his source a reliable one. Tom had given him that small bit of information after they’d downed too many beers together, their last shooting of the breeze before he’d see Tom and June again next year. His lips curled. Snowbirds. Must be nice to follow the sunshine.

  He might be right. That Tom was too drunk to get his story straight. But if he was wrong, he’d have the weight of regret sitting on his shoulders for a very long time. Worse than a cheating woman was the gnawing discomfort of regret.

  Two weeks after Tom and June had left for Arizona, Bryce had hit the send button for his email to Levi Peterson. He remembered that moment. A cold sweat had crashed over his body, and his gut had been in knots. Yet, he’d reeled from the natural high of a possible positive answer. He waited.

  A week later, he didn’t get an answer either way. He sent another email, and another. Nothing. Finally, he resorted to calling company headquarters in Palm Springs. At, “Hey, I’m Bryce Morgan,” Levi Peterson’s secretary had shot him down with a firm, “No, thanks.”

  Bryce hadn’t climbed to the top of his game by quitting. Sure, it was crappy of him to even entertain the idea of using Lucy’s diary to bribe her into getting him face time with her stepfather. But he wouldn’t let it get to that point.

  He’d use the power outage and the snow to get to know her better and vice versa. If Lucy would open up more, maybe she would realize he wasn’t the jerk she’d pegged him to be. Then he could ask her to set up a meeting between him and her stepfather.

  “Not working tonight?” he said.

  Work was a safe topic. Safe topic led to getting to know her better. Getting to know her better meant they’d be on better terms.

  She picked up her cell phone off the kitchen counter and began texting. “I don’t work again until Friday night, but I’m offering to be on-call.” Her phone buzzed. “My manager said not to worry.” Her brows pulled together. “She’s camping out at the hospital.”

  “You’d walk to work in this weather?”

  “If they need the help, why not?” she said without hesitation.

  The idea of her alone in the dark and cold didn’t sit well with him. Her size made her vulnerable.

  As though she’d read his mind, Lucy tipped her chin at him. “I’m not easy to take down. I’ve taken self-defense classes.”

  “Is that so, Buttercup?” Damn, why had he called her that?

  “Buttercup? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard come out of a man’s mouth. Buttercups are tiny, yellow weeds. Yellow is my least favorite color, and people hate weeds.”

  The words poured out of her, and up on his feet, he sauntered toward her. For some unknown reason, he wanted to understand why one innocent word hardened those soft hazel eyes.

  “Yeah, you’re right.” He stepped up to her until there was no space between them. “Butter. Cup.”

  Clenching her jaw, she shoved past him and claimed a spot in front of the dying fire. He followed, and snatching a large chunk of firewood from the stack, he chucked the piece into the fading flames. The fire flared.

  Staring into the fire, she crossed her legs and rested her elbows on her knees. “My ex used to call me buttercup.”

  The sharpness of her tone stumped him while the urge to pull her into his arms rattled him. He waited for her to say more. She didn’t. She sat like a stone figure. Inside she was a living, hurting woman. The throb in his right shoulder became a welcome distraction.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Lucy didn’t give him a sign that she’d heard. Hell, he would take anything, even a defiant tip of her chin. Frustrated with his “guest,” he grabbed the flashlight and headed up the stairs to his bedroom.

  Inside the bedroom closet, he found the two-person sleeping bag leftover from a camping trip with the ex. Cold air bit into him the longer he was away from the fireplace. Before he walked out, he grabbed extra covers and pillows off his bed.

  On his way down the stairs, his cell phone buzzed. Thinking it might be the manager of his restaurant, Bryce dropped everything and took the call.

  It wasn’t his manager, but a text message from his father. He shoved the phone into his back jean pocket. John Morgan would return from his vacation in less than two weeks. He expected a solid plan from Bryce regarding Bryce’s future. To Bryce, a solid plan in his father’s world would be to ditch the restaurant and concentrate solely on a comeback.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Lucy waited for him.

  “I put in another piece of wood. I hope you don’t mind.”

  She dripped syrupy words, and at that moment, he disliked his G-rated neighbor. What he needed was a woman who could tell him off, to demand he shape up and stop drinking his life away, and to stop riding his dirt bike into the ground as though the devil chased him.

  Instead, he got a wide-eyed doll with long, black hair and hazel eyes that would break under his weight and his words. He snatched everything he’d dropped off the floor and barged past her.

  “I know it’s only nine—” he unfolded the sleeping bag next to the fireplace “—but I’ve got an early morning. Crawl in or get closer to the fire.” He kept his back to her.

  Anger wasn’t something a man showed a woman he’d eventually need a favor from. For sure, his temper wouldn’t play him a winning hand. In his current situation, winning was what would fix his tense relationship with his dad.

  “I’ll stay by the fire.”

  She’d whispered the words, and they were soft and . . . timid. Yeah, Lucy was definitely not his type. He liked loud and confident women.

  “Fine,” he said. “Have it your way.”

  His tone had come off harsh, and he wanted to take back his words and apologize. But he’d already done right by Lucy when he had invited her over. There didn’t need to be an “I’m sorry for being a damn jerk.”

  Minutes ticked by. Her silence was like cold water thrown in his face. Finally, he turned and met her gaze head-on. He wasn’t ashamed of behaving like a jerk.

  She looked at him with those a
ll-seeing eyes of hers. In their depths, he caught a glint of hurt and . . . steel will. He broke eye contact. Lucy’s strength surprised him.

  “I’m a good listener,” she said in that soft voice of hers.

  A woman who offered to listen to him gripe about his personal failures? He tempered the smirk hinting at the corner of his mouth. Someone nice like Lucy couldn’t understand his struggles. She’d probably been sheltered her whole life.

  Without a word to her, he got into the sleeping bag and rested back on the pillow with his arms behind his head. Inside his inner jacket pocket, her diary pressed against his chest. Lucy’s secrets. He snuck a sidelong glance at her.

  She sat cross-legged with her knees inches from his hip. The flames from the fire flickered and cast shadows on her face. High cheekbones. Full lips. A pert nose. If his grandmother were alive, she’d say Lucy was adorable. If anyone declared Lucy as sexy, Bryce would laugh.

  “You don’t look French,” he said, again trying to make safe conversation. “You look more Asian.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “Our mail gets mixed up, remember?”

  She nodded. Bryce didn’t understand it himself. He’d own his place for over three years, and mixed up mail hadn’t happened with the last neighbor.

  “Badeaux.” She smiled. “My father was French, and my mother is Indonesian.”

  She’d spoken of her father in the past tense. He assumed her dad wasn’t alive. Death wasn’t safe to talk about.

  “Do you have family in Washington state?” Living family that was.

  She shook her head. “Palm Springs.”

  “Miss the sun?” Had he mentioned the weather was fair game when it came to safe topics?

  “No.”

  “How about your family?”

  “No.”

  “Can you give me more than a one word answer?” he asked, frustrated.

  “I would if you asked me open-ended questions.”

  He laughed. “Okay, that’s fair. Of all the places you could’ve moved to, why Bellingham?”

  “I like the small community. It’s walking distance to my job. I’m not the greatest driver,” she said with an unapologetic smile.

  “That’s an improvement.”

  She extended her arms behind her on the floor and leaned back, giving him a full view of her less than ample chest. “And, I moved here because of you.”

  “What?!”

  “I’m kidding.” She laughed, and the sound echoed through his place. “I didn’t realize my neighbor would be a cool Supercross star. You do something you love and you’re brave enough to share it with people you don’t know.”

  He studied her. Her laughter faded, but not the shine in her eyes. “What is it you love, Lucy?”

  “You’re a fast learner. I definitely can’t answer that one with a yes or a no.”

  She tilted her head and glanced up at the ceiling. Her tone was light when she spoke. “I love to read, to paint. I love long walks. After spending all my life living in the desert, I love the sound of rain hitting my window. And I love . . . I love my freedom.”

  Her last words piqued his interest. “Freedom?”

  A guarded expression crossed her face. “My family is very . . .” She glanced sideways and stared at a spot on the floor. “They’re different. My father died when I was ten. My stepfather is overly protective. My mother—” she balled her fists in her lap “—my mother only cares about appearances.”

  She didn’t say anymore. He would’ve pushed harder just to understand what she meant by “different,” but there were other things he wanted to know about her.

  “Is this ex of yours in Palm Springs? Or did you follow him here then ditch his ass?”

  A ghost of a smile hitched the corner of her lips. “Palm Springs.” She unclenched her fists. “And, he broke up with me.”

  She uncrossed her legs, and reaching over him, grabbed a piece of wood off the stack and threw it into the dying flames. “I’ll stay up and keep an eye on the fire. It’s the least I can do. You’ve done a lot for me tonight.”

  The hurt in her voice squeezed his chest like a vise. “If you get in, I’ll keep you warm. We won’t need to worry about the fire.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t crawl into anything—bed or sleeping bag—with a man I don’t know.”

  Prude. “It’s going to be a cold night. You get the sleeping bag. I’ll watch the fire.”

  Chapter Three

  “I’ve slept most of the day. Believe me, I don’t mind staying up,” Lucy said, trying her hardest to get him to fall asleep so she could look for her journal.

  “I’ll stay up with you.”

  She blew at a stray strand of her hair. There went her plan. For the rest of the night, they talked about the most random of topics. She wasn’t dumb. Bryce wasn’t interested in her, per se. He was taking advantage of the situation.

  After he’d gotten to know her better, he’d show his true self. She was certain of it. Once bitten, twice shy. Lucy’s ex made sure she’d always remember how he had fooled then dumped her. Again, what did she have that Bryce was willing to resort to bribery for?

  Maybe if she understood Bryce a little better, she’d dislike him less for using her journal as leverage. There shouldn’t be any harm from understanding one another, right? He was her neighbor and might be for a long time. Why not look at this chance as a good second beginning for them?

  They jumped from must-visit places to avoid-at-all-costs foods to movies.

  “Seriously, it doesn’t surprise me that the Mad Max movies are your favorites.” Forget Mel Gibson. She would rather see a kick-ass Bryce Morgan taking on a wasteland future. He’d look smoking hot clad in a body-molding motorcycle get-up.

  “What’s yours?”

  His question steered Lucy off the path her mind shouldn’t be traveling. Balanced on his elbow, he waited for her answer. She lay alongside him with a pile of blankets on her.

  “There’s too many. Go by themes,” she suggested.

  “Sci Fi.”

  “The newer Star Trek movies.”

  “Superhero.”

  “Thor. He’s to die for.”

  Bryce laughed. “Epic.”

  “Lord of the Rings.”

  “Slasher.”

  She groaned. “Not a favorite.”

  Giving her a sidelong glance, he waggled his brows. “Chick flick.”

  “Pride and Prejudice.”

  A comfortable silence settled between them. The fire crackled.

  “Does pride and prejudice separate us?” he asked after a few minutes went by.

  Her smile faded. Casual and random she’d take in her conversation with Bryce. But this . . . this was too personal.

  A second beginning.

  “Yes,” she admitted. “My first impression of you might’ve been a bit prejudiced.” Unfriendly. Inconsiderate. Arrogant.

  The rest of her answer she had too much pride to say out loud. Though Lucy didn’t like Bryce, she did like Bryce. God, how to explain the contradiction when even she, a self-proclaimed relationship virgin, couldn’t understand it herself? Why did she have a crush on a guy she didn’t like?

  She fumbled in the dark for her cell phone and brought the bright screen to her face. “Bryce, it’s almost two in the morning. Maybe we should call it a day.”

  Yawning, he nodded. He got off his elbow and lay on his back. Minutes passed and rolled into hours. The temperature dropped. She resisted the urge to move closer to Bryce’s body heat. He’d offered her the side closest to the fire. She’d declined. It’d be easier for her to sneak off if she had a clear path to the stairs.

  A snore resounded through his place. Finally. Slowly, she pushed off the covers and got on her feet. Light filtered in through the blinds. Daylight. Bryce had said today would be an early morning for him. Soon, he’d be up.

  She paced at the bottom of the stairs. Her journal had to be in his bedroom, possibly tucked between a porn magazine an
d a dirt bike magazine. Where else would a guy keep his stash of dirty reads except at his bedside?

  Her heart thudded out of control. The room closed in on her. To have Bryce read the hurt and humiliation of last year then judge her afterward when he didn’t really know or understand her . . . Feeling braver than she’d felt in a while, she took the stairs two at a time.

  At the open door to Bryce’s bedroom, she rushed inside and sifted through the stack of magazines on top of his nightstand. No red binding. She rummaged through the drawers. An old prescription for pain medications stalled her search. Pain medications. Jason had been popping those round the clock for an old knee injury.

  Memories of her breakup with her douchebag ex filtered into her mind. Jason had said he found it awkward to bring her to parties. She was socially inept—yes, his words—and an embarrassment to her socially sophisticated—again, his snobby words—stepsisters and mother.

  Inept and awkward, that’s what Jason had said repeatedly before he’d dropped the news that turned her life upside down. Jason, sexy and athletic surgical resident, had used Lucy to get to Bella—Lucy’s blonde, slender, full-busted stepsister.

  That humiliation was the final straw. The next day, she sent off tons of job applications. She’d gotten a handful of offers right away. After looking at her choices, she’d picked Bellingham for the reasons she’d given Bryce.

  She had scrambled to get everything perfect for her new place and new life, including buying her first home. Yet when she’d arrived in Bellingham, she had settled into her old routine. She kept to herself. Work was work with the occasional extra voluntary shifts or covering sick calls. During her time off, she drew, painted, or went bicycling or running.

  There was no going outside her comfort zone other than having girls’ days out with Ellie or dinner in with her neighbors in the unit next to hers. They were nice, June and Tom. Tom was an old friend of Ines’, Lucy’s grandmother.

  As a favor to her, he’d come out of “retirement” and helped Lucy buy her townhome. She doubted he’d ever really retired. He seemed to like his job too much. But Tom and June were snowbirds. They were in Arizona and wouldn’t return to Bellingham until late June, next year. In a way, she missed them.