by L. B. Dunbar
“Just what are you suggesting? I thought I was being nice, helpful even. It’s only next door. It’s not like they wandered out to the street or down to the lake. It’s not like I’ve told them to get lost. I kept them safely within eyesight.”
Admittedly, other than friendly waves and brief words, I don’t know my neighbors. I’m aware someone recently died as I saw the black attire and endless visitors. I hate how familiar I’ve become with such clothing and gatherings. The only person I’ve officially met next door is Mason, who lives over the garage. One day, he felt the need to introduce himself. His words, not mine. Just being a friendly neighbor, he flirted with a blinding smile. He’s too good-looking for his own good and has player written all over him, but he was harmless enough.
Hot Daddy swipes a hand through his hair in frustration and glances away from me for a moment.
“I’m sorry.” He blows out a breath in exasperation and lowers his voice. “They’re . . . a handful.”
My brows lift, surprised at his assessment. The boys have been a joy. When I first heard small voices in the yard, I thought I was losing my mind because I didn’t see them right away. I hadn’t thought to look up, but instead gazed out across the lawn leading to the cliff’s edge. When I finally glanced toward the tree, my first concern equaled their father’s. It wasn’t safe up there, but I’d been on the platform myself, and the second I heard their laughter, my worry eased. I came outside to introduce myself and learn who they were. Admittedly, I did hesitate, wondering how they’d entered the yard and if a parent really did know where they were. While I wasn’t opposed to bribing, I wasn’t about to give candy to a stranger’s children to coax them out of the fort. Plus, they were playing, using their imagination, enjoying the outdoors. It was a marvel and a rare commodity among the children I knew.
Eventually, curiosity must have gotten the best of them because the slightly smaller of the two wandered down to me, asking if he could help. Pulling weeds can be tricky business, but I love the satisfaction of a clean flower bed and didn’t mind getting my hands dirty. Oliver was a little thinner than his brother, and between that and his eye color, it was the only way to tell the two apart. He was so sweet in the way he hesitated as he asked me, almost as if he was afraid to offer or suggest he might help me. Quickly, the boys got carried away, tugging anything and everything green, so I suggested they return to the fort, calling it a ship—a pirate ship. I told them the weeds were treasures I was handpicking, and I needed them to look out for potential invaders who might want my bounty.
“They’ve been very helpful.” I smile at the boys who have stopped playing to watch us from their perch in the tree. Their father immediately snorts in disbelief. His forehead furrows, and he breaks into a strangled laugh while he scrubs at his head. His entire face shifts, hinting at the potential to dazzle. My lips slowly grin at him.
“I’m River, by the way.”
“I know.” His tone lowers, and the sudden shock in me cannot be masked. While my shoulders fall a little, I keep a smile plastered on my face. I don’t want to ask how he knows my name. The rumors don’t bother me. I know the truth, and it’s nobody else’s business.
Straightening my back, I continue the forced grin. “Well. Trevor and Oliver are welcome over here anytime I’m in the yard. It’s a treat to have little people use that fort.” I don’t have children, and I don’t consider Quincy’s grandchildren mine either, so having little ones around to use what might have once been a beloved play space warms my heart.
“Just keep your clothes on.” His direct tone and abrupt words startle me.
“Pardon me?” I blink in surprise, wondering why he’s returned to such a sharp tone.
“Your clothes. Keep them on.”
My mouth falls open, but he points up at the second-floor window facing my yard from the side of the house next door, and I instantly understand his meaning. I’ve never seen the light on in that room, and most of the time, the blinds are lowered, so I didn’t think the space was used.
“Have you been spying on me?” My voice drops all pretense of friendliness, my tone incredulous. My hands fist at my side.
“It was an accident.” Not a drop of contrition marks his voice.
“You accidentally saw me in my own yard?” Naked, I don’t add.
“Well, it’s not like the room faces another direction.” His answer is doubtful. The position of that corner room suggests it most likely has a window facing the lake. Look in that direction, pervert. Not to mention, if he’s a father, there must be a mother somewhere, which means he shouldn’t be checking me out. I cross my arms as if it hides what he’s already seen. His gaze drops to my breasts. Wearing a tank top, I’m certain the thin cotton is streaked with perspiration and dirt. Folding my arms only seems to accentuate my chest, and his glare intensifies for a second before he quickly shifts his gaze to the left and growls out the boys’ names once more.
“Trevor. Oliver. Now.”
It isn’t my place to question how people parent their children, and I’ve heard tones of frustration, anger, and grief, but this man’s growl doesn’t sound like any of those emotions. He sounds like he’s being strangled or tortured, and once again, I can’t imagine what I’ve done to him. Our exchange has only been a few minutes at the most.
“Are they really yours?” The juxtaposition between those squirrelly, active boys and the man digging fists into his pockets as though he’s trying to hold back from I don’t know what isn’t meshing in my head. Then again, I’m not a stranger to parents and children who appear in opposition. Appearances can be deceiving. I know firsthand about passing judgment without explanation. It’s happened to me.
“Yes,” he hisses. His jaw clenches. His eyes narrow. It’s time for him to leave my yard.
As the boys haven’t responded to their father’s demanding call, I address them. “Trevor. Oliver. Sweets, come down please. Your daddy says it’s time to go.”
“Do we have to?” Trevor whines. He’s been the alpha of the two, encouraging his brother to take risks and follow his lead. His whining is addressed to his father, but I interject.
“Remember what I said.” My voice remains softer with the boy as I remind him of the promise I made his brother and him. “You can visit the tree fort anytime, but when time is up, it’s up. No complaining.” Trevor’s little shoulders fall in defeat. It’s hard to face disappointment in a child. I’ve seen it too often lately. It’s been nice to see the tree fort get some use.
“Okay, Miss River,” Oliver offers, scooting himself off the platform to the ladder. “How did you do that?” Their father’s voice isn’t more than a whisper. He’s completely baffled by how easily the boys acquiesced, and I’m puzzled by his reaction. I watch as the twins sullenly stalk toward their father, whose gaze remains on me before his irritation zeroes in on them. “I wish they’d listen to me like that.”
The words are so quiet I’m not certain I’ve heard him correctly.
“Back to the house,” he suddenly demands with a gentle nudge in the direction of next door. As soon as they take a step away, he stops them each with a hand on their shoulders and pivots their little bodies toward me. The poor boys are so confused. “What do you say?”
“Thank you for having us,” Oliver says.
“Thank you, Miss River,” Trevor adds.
“Or Mrs. . . .” Hot Dad pauses. His expression shifts, returning to that puzzled glare.
“Miss River will do.” Squatting so I’m at the boys’ level, I continue to speak to them. “And it was my pleasure having both of you here. Remember, anytime as long as Dad here approves.” I wink at them, hoping they know I’m not upset with them when clearly Grumpy Daddy is. To my surprise, he strokes a hand down Oliver’s hair and squeezes the back of his neck, softening his expression as well as his touch. The boys then turn on their own, and with slumped shoulders, they walk to the side of my house and disappear around the corner.
I stand, crossing my arms w
hile I watch the boys exit my yard. “I’m sorry, I still didn’t get your name.” I point at their father before tapping my chin.
“Mr. Weller will do.” His formal retort is another strike against him. He’s so uptight and a shit dad judging by first impressions, and while I shouldn’t be judging, I am.
“When did the fence go in?” The question surprises me, and I gaze at the fence behind him. I’m assuming he means the metal chain link dividing this property from the one next door. As I haven’t lived here for very long, I have no idea.
“I don’t know.”
He nods once as if he doesn’t like my answer. “How did they get over here?” He questions next as if I know that answer any more than I can answer about the fence. One minute, I’m in the kitchen cleaning up after my breakfast, and the next, I look out the window to see two little beings in the tree fort.
“Shouldn’t that be my question?” I pause, taking him in once more. Too bad he’s hot and a dad. “Maybe, just maybe, rather than casting a stone at me for allowing them into my yard, you should examine how they got away from you in the first place.” Or why?
His expression is more than shock. He looks like I punched him in the stomach. Slowly, his face morphs, cheeks drawing edgier, eyes shifting darker.
“They’re my children. I’ll worry about them, thank you.” Sarcasm does not suit his pretty face.
“You do that,” I remark.
“I will.” His hands slip into his khaki shorts.
“Fine,” I hiss.
“Fine,” he snaps. We remain at this impasse. He should be leaving, yet he isn’t moving. His eyes spear mine, digging deep into them. The stare is a bit unnerving, but I don't try to evaluate it as I just want him out of my yard.
“Well?” I question, arching a brow and wondering what he’s still doing here.
“Right,” he mumbles, swiping a hand through that sandy hair. He shakes his head, tugging his gaze from me. Turning, he gives me his back, and I note the snug fit of his dress shirt across his shoulders and the firm muscles of his calves as he stalks to the side of my house.
“And it’s my yard, so I’ll worry about keeping my clothes on or not.”
He stops in his tracks. Somehow, that sounded better in my head. I should be warning him to keep his eyes to himself. He shouldn’t be watching me in my yard. That’s just creepy. However, I’m a little bit flattered. Did he like what he saw? Quickly, I dismiss the thought. He shouldn’t be looking over here, especially if he’s married and has children.
He spins to face me and takes two steps back toward me. “Keep your clothes on,” he hisses, his voice dropping to the harsh tone he used with his children. Jeez, chillax.
“Keep your eyes off me.” I take two steps toward him and don’t miss his gaze sweeping down my body. It’s the kind of glance that suggests he likes what he sees. He bites his lower lip and holds the pose, and a shiver ripples up my middle. A good kind of shiver that hints I might like his eyes on me. Then I want to kick myself for such thoughts.
He’s probably married, I warn myself.
“The window faces this direction,” he reminds me, his voice dropping, released from the growl but definitely an exasperated groan.
“Whatever makes you feel better,” I snark, but I’ve lost a little of my own bite. Suddenly, I’m feeling a bit defenseless against this man when I’m typically good at holding my own with disgruntled parents.
“You . . .” He stops, clenches his jaw, and fights against whatever he planned to say. He turns away from me, fists at his sides, and stalks around the side of my house.
Good riddance, Grumpy Dad. But suddenly, without explanation, I’m a little disappointed to see him leave.
5
[River]
That night, I enjoy a glass of wine in the summer breeze of my backyard. Other than the low glow of light streaming through the kitchen window, the yard is submerged in darkness. I don’t need a nosy neighbor spying on me, even if I have my clothes on.
Unfortunately, I can’t seem to shake this morning’s altercation with said neighbor. Arrogant. Insufferable. Uptight. He’s everything I’d never want in a man. In my profession, I’ve encountered quite a few like him. The doctors I work with can be jerks. Even patients can act uppity, but when people are sick and vulnerable, their attitudes shift. Eventually, they become apologetic and forgivable.
Quincy had been like that. He’d been such a beast with everyone but me.
Lifting the glass to my lips, I sip the sweet flavor of a Michigan favorite. As I drink, my eyes drift upward to the second-floor window facing my yard from the house next door. I haven’t given much thought to that home, as I mainly keep to myself. There are a couple teenage boys over there and a little girl. A couple plus Mason. I don’t understand the dynamic, but I don’t need to. I’ve seen people come and go over there in the year I’ve lived here, and what a year it’s been.
Slowly, I take another sip of wine, swallowing the rich berry flavor as I stare at the dark window. Is he up there? Is he watching me? I’m confident he can’t see me as the yard is dark. I don’t have the outside lamps on, but a single light inside illuminates the kitchen. The gleam through the window highlights only the patio.
As I sit in the chaise lounge in the center of the dark yard, I’m wearing a summer maxi dress that falls to my ankles, but it’s wrapped over my legs like a blanket this evening. Perfectly covered, I snark in my head. With my eyes lifted, the bushes rustle, and I turn in the direction of the lake, assuming the noise is a nocturnal animal. I close my lids and allow the breeze off the water to caress my face. I love this location, and I love this house even though it needs so much work.
Quincy had let aspects of the house fall into disrepair. He’d hardly visited the place because he’d used it as a rental property. Most of the inside is outdated, but the yard has been my first priority.
When I turn away from the lake, a figure stands near the corner of my house. My breath hitches, and I nearly drop my glass of wine. Sitting upright, I stare at the outline of someone lingering just beyond the glow of the kitchen light.
“It’s only me.”
“Mr. Weller?” I question, although I’m already certain it’s him. The masculine tenor shouldn’t be recognizable after only one meeting, but it is. My heart races, and I chalk it up to being startled and not the fact he’s such an attractive man. As he steps into the light, he wears another button-up in white, this time along with dark jeans. Flip-flops are on his feet, and it dismantles the stick-up-his-ass appearance of him just a little bit.
“It’s Zack, actually,” he corrects.
“Are you lost?” Balancing the glass of wine on top of my bent knees, I sit on the chaise lounge, recalling the question I asked his boys earlier. Their immediate response was to ask me if I was.
All who wander are not lost. Sometimes those who stand still are.
“I just . . . I wanted to apologize for earlier.” He scratches the back of his neck as he speaks. The apology comes as a surprise. Leaning back on the lounger, I take another sip of my wine, eyeing him over the rim. Zack doesn’t move.
“And what exactly are you apologizing for?”
He swipes a hand through his hair while the other slips into his pocket.
“A few things.” When he still doesn’t move, I wave a hand, suggesting he take a seat. Two upright outdoor chairs sit near the foot of the lounger.
“That’s an interesting seat.” He nods at the chaise as he approaches. Running a hand over the cushion, I smile to myself. The old chaise lounge cushion is one of the first things I replaced in this yard. New fabric and a quick stain job to the wood base brightened up this little slice of heaven. Made for more than one person, it’s not quite big enough for two.
“I call it a person-and-a-half lounger.” Tipping my head back, I look up at the star-filled sky and close my eyes, luxuriating in the space on this thing. When I open my eyes, Zack has moved to the foot of the expanded seat.
&nbs
p; “Want to try it?” I pat the space next to me before realizing what I’ve said. I don’t know this man. He insulted me in more ways than one this morning, and he’s probably married. Yet as he climbs onto the seat beside me, he looks as vulnerable as his children. Tension rolls off him in waves so strong I’m surprised I’m not forced off the chaise. And I’m reconsidering the invitation as our arms press against one another.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” I offer, holding up mine. The bottle sits beside me on the grass, and I’ll need to retrieve a glass for him from the house. Without a word, Zack boldly takes my glass from me and sips. I see where his children have learned their sense of propriety and manners.
He tips his head back and closes his eyes to the dark sky overhead. Releasing a deep sigh, he relaxes only slightly.
“That was my glass,” I mutter, directing my gaze forward toward the dark yard.
“Oh, I thought we were sharing.” A tease that wasn’t present in our first meeting laces his tone.
“Wine stealer,” I mumble, and his head sharply turns in my direction. Side-eyeing him, I notice his eyes narrow at the side of my face.
“So, what are you apologizing for again?” I need to understand better what he’s doing here, and I give in to the pull to look at him.
“I came off a little strong earlier, and I’m sorry. The boys . . . they elude me sometimes. I’m a terrible father.”
The words almost break me as they’re said with such honesty and regret. Perhaps he needs to apologize to them for being so harsh.
“Why would you say such a thing?”
“So many reasons.” He gazes forward, staring off toward the house next door.