But He's My Grumpy Neighbor (But He's a Carter Brother #1)

by Annah Conwell

This is for the girls who spent their lives hiding in the shadows and walking on eggshells. The ones who grew up to become women that dance in the sunlight and draw boundaries in permanent marker. In case you haven’t heard it lately: I’m proud of you.

I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.”

Maybe that’s just the loneliness talking, though.

They’re a disconcerting kind of blue. The kind that makes you think of glaciers and frigid temperatures.

it’ll be intentional on his part.

Something tells me he needs a friend, and lucky–or unlucky, depending on who you ask–for him, so do

There’s no way that someone as sweet and naive as she appears could handle all of my skepticism.

Earlier she sounded like a rushing waterfall, gushing and bubbling with life. Now, she’s flat as the ground beneath us.

“Would you rather me ask what your intense observancy and forced empathy that stems from childhood trauma revealed to you about him?”

No, she doesn’t. I’ve been careful my entire life. Even my escape from California was painstakingly cautious. Not for the first time, I wonder what it would feel like to be carefree.

gape at him behind his back. Why does he have to like tea?

Protective instincts, nothing more. I’d do this with any woman walking beside me.

Juliette flinches. I scan the elderly man,

She doesn’t seem to be afraid of him, so I wonder why she flinched at his initial

a risk to let her know I was watching her so closely, but I can’t help the desire to satisfy my curiosity.

“You can relax, I don’t bite,” I whisper, leaning toward him.

He looks down at me, something glittering in his blue eyes. I can imagine him in another life leaning down and whispering but I do.

From the first moments I can recall I’ve always kept my footsteps light and been aware of my surroundings.

Suddenly you know your mother’s emotions by the way she grips her coffee cup, and your father’s mood by the sound of his footsteps on the stairs. When no one communicates effectively, you pick up other methods of discernment. And I used that knowledge to make myself as small of a target as possible.

bring back something lost.

sound of my name on her smiling lips is addictive. It’s a shot of whiskey with a honey chaser.

It makes me want to do anything to get her to smile like that again, to hear her inject pure kindness into my name in a way I don’t think anyone else has.

His mind probably has fifty levels of security clearance and I was just given a level two pass.

Even with all his gruffness, he’s never given any cues that would make me feel less than secure.

“When did you know that he wasn’t a good guy? I know you saw through him.”

My parents didn’t physically abuse me often–they preferred psychological tactics–but there were a few occasions when their tempers got the best of them and they grabbed me. It was usually only to pull me to another room to yell at me, but it still left a mark on my mind, even though my body is free of scars.

“Do you want to move to our booth?” My heart picks up speed at the thought of anything being ours.

Fall in love with the idea of a life that isn’t theirs and then when they step into that life, suddenly it’s different than what they thought. Duller than they imagined.”

it was like I was paralyzed by the notion of living. How do you function in peace when all you’ve ever known is chaos? So, I built a sanctuary and a fortress in one, staying safe, never risking more than I thought I could handle losing.

“But one of the best parts of life is that you can start over each day.

I’m certain that my heart couldn’t handle the destruction he’d bring if I fell in love with him in the process, but maybe it’s worth

and I don’t know how to trust someone enough to love them.

“Aw, cheer up Sunshine, tonight will be fun.”

“Too late, that’s your new nickname. Remember what I said about not getting to choose nicknames?”

He shoots me a glare, but it has no heat behind it.

The sight of the sunflowers makes my throat tight.

“My mother loved sunflowers—they were her favorite, actually. She died from cancer over a decade ago, but they always remind me of her.”

The event is the reason I’m here, but I’d much rather snuggle up under this delicious-smelling blanket and read the copy of Emma I saw on Adrian’s shelf. What does it say about him that he owns multiple Jane Austen novels? Is he secretly a romantic?

If it all goes down in flames, I’ll know I walked into the fire willingly. That choice alone is more than I’ve ever been given in life.

“Wow, you must really care about her.” I do, too much. “She’s my friend.” “I hear friendship makes a great foundation for marriage.”

it’s no more possible than surviving without the sun or oxygen.

You’re like a sunflower, always growing toward the light.

I’ve never admitted my loneliness out loud, even to Caroline. My tendency is to make everyone think I’m doing great even when I’m not.

“You have me.”

As I fall back asleep I do the grounding technique I taught Juliette for her anxiety, except instead of using it to calm down, I’m using it to catalog every detail of this period in time. I can hear the wind in the trees, Juliette’s soft snores, and Murphy’s loud ones down the hall. I feel the brush of her blonde hair over my skin and the way my heart is beating to a new rhythm just for her. I commit it all to memory, because I don’t want to miss a thing.

But I’ve come to accept the fact that while I can’t be who you deserve, neither can any other man. So, I’m asking for permission to fail you.

“It’s because of you, Jules. You’re worth holding onto.”

“I’ve never felt worthy before, I’m not sure I believe I am.”

“Then take your time. I’ll be here showing you your worth every day, until you see it too.”

Perhaps they were cold at one point, but now staring into them feels like swimming in an ocean of adoration.