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

by Annah Conwell

It’s not stalking if they’re your neighbor , I think to myself as I peer through the slats of my blinds. A tall man with dark hair slides out of a sleek, pitch-black sports car. I follow his movements, my eyebrows raising in appreciation. I’ve heard men frown on being called beautiful, but that’s exactly what he is. He opens the door to the storage container that was delivered yesterday–I know this because I was spying then too–and lugs a large cardboard box out. He’s wearing a long-sleeve black t-shirt, but I can tell by the fit that he’s hiding all sorts of muscles beneath the material. The scowl on his face has me tipping my head to the side. Maybe he doesn’t like moving? He does seem to be doing everything by himself. I remember doing that same thing a few years ago. I was probably scowling too.

I wish he would start moving furniture. Since I don’t have x-ray vision, I can’t tell what’s inside cardboard boxes. But I can decide what kind of man he is based on his furniture, as one does. “I bet everything he owns is modern and black,” I tell Murphy, my golden retriever, while still staring out at the ridiculously attractive man stalking across his yard like he’s mad at it for existing at all. Which is quite sad, considering how lovely our little neighborhood is.

I gasp. “That looks like an antique end table!” My knees shift on the cushion beneath me as I try to get a better look at what he’s carrying. Murphy lets out a low but loud ruff when the blinds rustle. The man’s head whips toward my house and I squeak, falling down onto the couch. The brown plaid skirt I’m wearing flops up with the movement and I quickly jerk it down as if the mysterious neighbor can see me through my walls. Murphy huffs from his dog bed and I roll my head over to look at him. “Don’t judge me. You know Peach Hollow never gets any new people. I’m desperate to talk to someone below the age of seventy-five.” Murphy seems unaffected by my plight for youthful human interaction. It’s my own fault, really. I chose Peach Hollow because it embodied safety and peace at a time I needed it most. At the time I didn’t care that there were no people my age, except the occasional grandkids who visited. I just cared about being in an environment opposite of what I was in before. Now, years later, I work from home running my Etsy business selling invitation templates and stationery …. and have no friends. None. Well, except my best friend Caroline. She lives hundreds of miles away though, so we only see each other through video chat. I could move, but the thought of starting over again scares me, so here I stay, bored and in dire need of conversation.

“I think we should check the mail,” I tell Murphy, even though I know the mailman, Leonard, came and went already with nothing for me. But my neighbor wasn’t here when the mail truck came by, so he wouldn’t know that I’d already gone out and checked. I run my fingertips through my hair and then smooth down my cream sweater. Even though I rarely see anyone but myself in the mirror each day, I still like to dress nice. Growing up, I couldn’t wear what I liked, so now I take advantage of every freedom I have. The bite of January air hits me as soon as I open my door and I tuck my arms around myself to brace for the cold. My outfit isn’t exactly conducive to spending any more than a few minutes outside. Murphy trots dutifully beside me as I walk to the end of my driveway. I don’t look to my right even once, for fear of drawing more attention to myself. But when I get to my mailbox, I angle my body toward my neighbor’s house and try to sneak a glance while pretending to check the mail. The man from earlier meets my gaze as he walks out of the cottage and beams at me, waving as if we were lifelong friends. I blink in surprise at the contrast between his earlier scowl and now. I give a tentative wave back and open my mouth to say hello, but the greeting dies on my lips when a carbon copy of the man I’m waving to walks out of the cottage. Twins. It’s then that I begin to catalog the differences between the two. One is smiling and the other scowling. One has artfully messy hair whi...

“Sorry about him!” Smiley twin yells across the yard. “He gets nervous around beautiful women.” My face heats at his forward compliment. “Grayson!” Scowly twin barks and I duck my head, giggling. “If you’re here to help, help. If not, leave.” Grayson winks at me then goes to help his brother carry in a gorgeous apothecary cabinet.

letting Murphy sniff around the yard to buy me some time. They don’t seem to struggle at all carrying the large antique by themselves, made known by the fact that Grayson is chattering as if they were carrying an empty cardboard box. His brother says nothing, but I don’t think it’s because of overexertion. I’m forced to walk inside when Murphy paws at the door. If I don’t let him in, he’ll start to whine and draw attention. My living room is nice and warm when I return, making me aware of how cold it is outside. I was too distracted by the twins to notice. The differences between the two brothers were interesting, to say the least. My new neighbor does not seem to be a people pers...

“You can do this, Juliette,” I coach myself in front of my gilded mirror. “All you have to do is go over there, give him the plant, and introduce yourself. Then you can run back to your hobbit hole and overthink the entire interaction.” I pull a face and groan. I have got to start giving myself better pep talks. This is what happens when you live alone for too long–your awkwardness grows and multiplies like a weird fungus. My hands tighten around the tea tin I turned into a planter and I start toward the door. He might not be a plant person, but when I made cookies for Darren to welcome him to the neighborhood he said he was allergic to chocolate. I told him that was sad, which probably wasn’t the best thing to say. He didn’t speak to me much after that. So, I decid...

After taking a deep breath, I knock on his door, then take a step back and try to look more confident than I feel. The door opens and every carefully crafted word I’d agonized over is burned from my brain by the piercing blue gaze of the man before me. His lips are a flat line, which doesn’t bode well for my presence here, but he’s also not exhibiting any other signs of anger or frustration. His arms are by his side, and his posture is relaxed. He’s an intimidating man by default, but he isn’t capitalizing on that. Interesting. “I’m your neighbor,” I blurt out because even though I can decipher emotions like a professional, I’m not elegant in the slightest. “My name’s Juliette and I came over to welcome you to Peach Hollow.” I hold out the basil plant in front of me. He looks down at it but doesn’t make any move to take it from my hands. This is not how I pictured this interaction in my head at three in the morning when I couldn’t sleep. “It’s a basil plant,” I explain. “See, the guy who lived here before you, Darren, well I tried to bring him cookies to welcome him to the neighborhood. But he said he was allergic to chocolate chips, so I was afraid to bring you anything food related, worried that you might be allergic to something. So I brought you a basil plant.” I pause, but he still says nothing, and then it dawns on me. “Oh no, you’re not allergic to basil, are you?” I start to pull the plant back toward my chest, but his hand reaches out lightning-fast and grabs my a...

Water flows from the kettle and the scent of steeping tea permeates the air. After a morning run around the lake, I’m going to soak up the tranquility and solitude of my new neighborhood while drinking my favorite Earl Grey. I moved to Peach Hollow because of the peace it emanated when I found it. After living in apartments in major cities for the majority of my adult life, this small cottage is a welcome reprieve. My eyes catch on basil leaves in the morning light while I wait on my tea and I scowl at the plant perched on my windowsill. If only looks could make a plant wither. Every time I see it, it’s a reminder of the weakness I indulged. I planned on sending Juliette back to her home, plant in hand, but she just kept talking. It was as if she was unaffected by the leave me alone message I was sending her. It’s no good to have her thinking I’m anything more than a quiet neighbor who keeps to myself. There is something different about her, though. Something about the combination of those innocent green eyes blinking up at me and how soft she looked with her fuzzy navy sweater. Probably more than all of that, was the secretive smile she wore as she took me in. As if she wasn’t concerned with my flat look or lack of conversation skills. She seemed to find me entertaining. My breath creates a white fog as I walk out onto my back deck. Maybe the below thirty winds will give the memory of her smile frostbite, so I never have to think of it again. That secret smile has plagued...

My brother Grayson and I left our government jobs in order to start our own private security company so that we could work less and settle down. We’re both thirty now, so it makes sense to think of finding a wife and starting a family. But relationships don’t come easy for me. I like being alone, and I don’t trust easily. I was burned one too many times during my stint in the CIA. After having so-called friends use the minor details about my life I gave them against me, it’s hard to trust anyone, much less become vulnerable enough to make a lifelong commitment to someone. So as pretty as Juliette is, I’m going to steer clear of her. There’s no way that someone as sweet and naive as she appears could handle all of my skepticism.

Right as I’m taking a sip of my morning tea, a loud crash pierces the air, making me startle, and my tea slosh out of my mug and onto my shirt. “Why me?” I hear a familiar feminine voice whine and without thinking, I rush down my deck stairs, abandoning my mug on the railing. I jog in the direction of the crash but stumble to a halt when Juliette comes into view. She’s frowning down at my tipped-over trashcan, her arms crossed over her chest. Her beige satin pajamas shimmer in the light as she shifts from foot to foot. Does she always look this unbelievably soft? A look of determination washes over her and she bends down to grab the edge of the trashcan. Her face scrunches up as she attempts to lift the mostly-full can off the ground. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from chuckling. “Juliette,” I say and she jumps, dropping the trashcan, getting more debris on my driveway in the process. “Adrian,” she breathes out and an unwelcome tingle skips down my spine. “I am so sorry, did I wake you up?” Her green eyes rove over me. “Oh, you went on a run around the lake. I’m glad I didn’t wake you, but I feel so bad. The trash truck is about to come and I noticed you hadn’t brought y...

“Don’t worry about the trash,” I say instead of acknowledging the lake run. “I’ll clean it up and bring it down, thanks for letting me know when trash day is.” “No, it was my fault, please let me help.” She starts grabbing the trash with her hands and I don’t miss the disgusted purse of her lips as she does. “It’s fine. Just let me do it.” I try for a stern tone, but she continues on as if she didn’t hear me. “Juliette, stop.” My voice is hard, more of a command than a suggestion this time around. An empty takeout container tumbles from her hands and clatters against the concrete. Slowly, she straightens to standing, her green eyes lifting. I expect to find them shining, perhaps a bit glassy, but I’ve braced myself for nothing. Her eyes are as serene as the surface of the lake I was just gazing upon moments ago. The silence between us is punctured only by the rustling of the wind in the trees as she regards me calmly. “I wanted to fix my mistake,” she says, and I hate how her tone has changed but I hate even more that it bothers me. Earlier she sounded like a rushing waterfall, gushing and bubbling with life. Now, she’s flat as the ground beneath us. “But if that would make you ...

“Uncle Adrian!” My twelve-year-old niece Maddie yells as soon as she gets out of MJ’s SUV. “Hey, Mad Dog,” I say with a smile and let her attack me into a hug. She’s one of the limited few who get to hug me. My sister MJ married Maddie’s uncle Sebastian last year, but Maddie views both Sebastian and MJ as her parents since she never knew either of hers. When I first met Maddie, it was at her dance competition where we showed up for moral support. My brother Grayson gave her the nickname Mad Dog, and she conned us into doing a TikTok dance with her. She’s had me wrapped around her finger since the moment I saw her. “This is a nice neighborhood,” MJ says, shutting her car door. “Grayson wasn’t exaggerating when he said it had Hallmark movie potential.” “Since when do you watch Hallmark movies?” I ask and she spears me with a look. MJ has always had an aversion to the overly romantic, but her husband Sebastian softened her over the past few months. He dotes on her obsessively. While I think he’s a great guy, I can’t stand to be in the same room as them for long. It’s nauseating how much they love each other. “I have a daughter now, she loves them.” “One time I c...

I’m not one for small talk and neither is MJ, so our conversation dwindles after that. But as Maddie is opening every drawer in the apothecary cabinet I converted to storage for tea, MJ speaks up. “You got a plant.” My spine stiffens. The thing about my family is that our observant nature is in our blood. All three of my brothers and my sister are incredibly attentive to our surroundings. My dad is the same way, and my mom was too before she passed away. This means that rarely anything goes unnoticed. “Yes, I did.” “You told me you didn’t want any plants. We have plenty I could have given you.” “We have a lot at home,” Maddie adds with a nod. “I didn’t buy it.” I pause. “It was a gift … from my neighbor.” MJ raises a dark eyebrow. “The pretty blonde one?” “Grayson told you about her,” I deadpan. “Of course he did. He tells me everything, too much, actually. So, who is she?” She crosses her arms and eyes me. “Her name is Juliette. She’s my neighbor. She has a dog.” “That’s all?” “Yes.” “Can I meet her?” Maddie asks, reminding me that she’s listening to all of this. “Maybe one day, but I wouldn’t count on it,” I say and she pokes her bottom lip out in response. “I want to meet her dog, though. Mom and Dad won’t let me get a puppy.” MJ sighs as if this has been a well-discussed topic in their home. “We didn’t say no, we said we would talk about it.” MJ pulls her phone out of the pocket of her paint-splattered jeans. She’s an artist, and it’s rare she’s without at least a spec...

“I can be there in a few hours to beat him up for you.” Caroline’s voice sounds through the earbud in my right ear. I’m walking Murphy around the lake and I always keep one ear free to listen to my surroundings. The company I run sells digital wedding invitation templates, so that means a lot of my work day is spent with my eyes glued to my tablet screen while I craft new designs. So, I try to get outside at least once a day. “It would take you more than a few hours to get here from California. And I don’t need you to beat him up, he wasn’t that bad. Also, there’s the fact that you have no fighting skills whatsoever.” I’ve just told Caroline about the trashcan incident and she has jumped–as usual–to physical violence as a solution. Murphy buries his nose in a pile of orange leaves and I stop to let him sniff around. The lake and trees are bathed in golden light this evening. Sunset is my favorite time of day to walk the lake and when I time it just right I arrive back home before it’s too dark out to see. I’m not a fan of darkness, so I make sure I’m safely inside before it falls. Caroline scoffs. “Who needs fighting skills when I have a giant muscly husband who can do the beating on my behalf?” “I thought Josh told you to stop entering him into duels.” My best friend has a tendency to let her rambunctious personality get the best of her and at times that means others get angry with her or she gets angry with them first. This leads to her yelling loudly for everyone to hea...

Caroline has been my best friend since we were in preschool. She was the only person I was sad to leave behind in California. She’s also the only one who knows where I live now. So to have her on my side helps ease some of the loneliness that has plagued me over the last year. The first few years after moving to Peach Hollow were full of life and joy. I relished in the weight of my circumstances being lifted. But now, I look around and see I’ve made few connections here. I need friends that don’t live thousands of miles away. I also wouldn’t mind having a boyfriend, but that seems far-fetched for someone who hasn’t dated since high school. “I know, Care. But nothing is wrong, he was just a little moody is all.” Truthfully, I’m more frustrated with my reaction to his stern voice than his gruff refusal of my help.

“What do your spidey senses think of him?” I groan and the noise makes Murphy look up from his study of the grass. “You’ve got to quit calling it that.” “Would you rather me ask what your intense observancy and forced empathy that stems from childhood trauma revealed to you about him?” I snort and shake my head even though she can’t see me. “That is a mouthful.” “Exactly. So, what was his vibe?” Murphy abandons his leaf investigation and we continue our walk again. There are a few residents that we pass who I nod to with a smile. I glance down at the watch on my wrist to be sure we’re making good time. While I love letting Murphy explore, I’ll haul him back to the house if it means avoiding the dark. “He wasn’t trying to intimidate me in a cruel way in either of our interactions, but he also wants nothing to do with me. Doesn’t seem like much of a people person. I mean, he moved to Peach Hollow and he looks like he’s around thirty. That would lend to him wanting to avoid most social interactions considering everyone here is elderly and only leaves home to go to the market or church.” “You moved to Peach Hollow and you aren’t a total hermit.” “I moved here to escape, Care. That’s different.” “Do you think he could be escaping something too?” I lift my eyes and gaze across the lake at Adrian’s cottage. There are no lights on inside. He’s usually not home until after dark; sometimes I’m already in bed when he pulls into his driveway. I know the sound of his return well. The s...

Warm air scented with cinnamon and nutmeg washes over me as I enter my favorite café, Peaches and Cream. I’ve visited Atlanta–or the city as it’s called here in Peach Hollow–plenty of times, and no café there compares to this one. The pastries are delicious beyond belief and the tea selection is always rotating, making it the perfect place to try new things. It’s run by Poppy Wilkes, a fifty-year-old woman with a demeanor sweet enough that you’d think she was a pastry herself.

Poppy smiles at me from behind the counter, and her warm welcome gives me a false sense of security. That security is ripped from me when I spot none other than my stoic neighbor himself at the counter. It’s not like I thought we wouldn’t run into each other eventually, but he’s been elusive all week. I didn’t expect to see him at my favorite place, to say the least. “I’ll be right with you, honeybunch!” Poppy says and Adrian glances over his shoulder. His gaze lands on me and I scan him for any clues of discomfort or anger. I notice the tightness of his jaw, but the rest of him seems to be relaxed. Without so much as a hello, he turns his attention back to the menu hanging above the counter. Well, fine then. I didn’t want to talk to you either. Except that’s not entirely true, because I’m still unbelievably curious about him. Which is why while he peruses the menu, I peruse him. He’s wearing fitted black pants, a black pea coat, and a cream turtleneck I can see poking out beyond the color of his coat. The darkness of his attire further accentuates his pitch-black hair and the barest hint of stubble speckling his razor-sharp jawline. It’s rather annoying how gorgeous he is. Even...

I gape at him behind his back. Why does he have to like tea? He’s gorgeous, dresses like the men on my fantasy life Pinterest boards, has antique furniture, and likes tea. If he wasn’t so ornery, I’d think he was my future husband.

He pays with a card, then drops a few bills in the tip jar shaped like a peach and stalks over to a booth by the window. My booth by the window. It has the perfect view of the town square with a sliver of the lake in the distance. And he’s stolen it from me. My face scrunches up in frustration and of course, this is the moment he looks over at me. He raises an eyebrow. My face heats and I whip back around to meet Poppy’s knowing gaze. “I’ve got your croissant in the warmer already. What tea are we thinking today?” I study the seasonal menu and I’m instantly annoyed that the one Adrian chose sounds the best for my mood. I know I can try it tomorrow without him here, but then my routine is off even more than it already is and I’ll have to deal with the post-church café traffic. The place fills up fast with a bunch of angry old sloths–aka the residents–grumbling and shoving each other in slow motion. “I’ll take a mint chocolate tea latte,” I grumble and ignore Poppy’s twinkling brown eyes. Just because Adrian chose it doesn’t mean I’m going to miss out on a delicious mint tea latte sweetened with homemade dark chocolate sauce. My grudge against him does not beat my love of chocolate. If it can even be called a grudge. What would I say if he asked me why I was mad at him? I’m upset because you refused to let me pick up the trash in your driveway and also your commanding voice made my knees weak. Yeah, that wouldn’t make me sound weird at all. “Sure thing, sugar. I’ll have it o...

I walk over to the booth that borders Adrian’s. It’s still by the window, but there’s a pillar that mars my perfect view. What I should do is sit with my back facing Adrian, pull out my book, and pretend he doesn’t exist for the next few hours. But something about this man makes me want to do the opposite of what I should do just to see how he reacts. So, I plop myself down in the booth facing him and drop my tote bag on the table, the loud thump garnering his attention. His cool blue eyes watch me under full black lashes as he types away on a grey laptop in front of him. Under the weight of his gaze, my plan to unnerve him seems rather foolish, but I’ve already committed. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” I ask him as I pull out my worn copy of The Great Gatsby. I’ve read it many times and it never gets old. There’s something magnetic about the tragic tale. Adrian responds with a grunt. Poppy waltzes over to deliver tea to each of us from the serving tray on her shoulder, then an almond croissant to just me. I sip my delicious drink and watch him over the rim of my mug. I prefer to drink tea out of ornate tea cups when I’m at home, but here Poppy serves them in bowl-like mugs. “This t...

I slide out of the worn leather booth I’ve been occupying for the last three hours, content with the work I accomplished. My main job is to assess our clients’ needs and match them with the right team to protect them. Then, while our company is working for them, I get updates from the teams to be sure everything is going well. Our clients are typically wealthy and high profile like athletes and heiresses, so managing them at a high level is important. It’s easy to spend hours in my email inbox each day, no matter the day of the week. And even though working on a Saturday makes me seem like a workaholic, I prefer to keep my work outside of my home. The boundary line between the personal and professional areas of my life helps me feel in control. So, that’s how I found myself in the quaint cinnamon-scented café, Peaches and Cream. The same café that–based on her and the owner’s rapport–Juliette must frequent. A fact I will note for the future.

I walk to the door right as Juliette is looping her bags over her arm. Her honey-blonde hair is radiant today, bathed in the sunlight cascading through the windowpane. Like everything about Juliette, it looks incredibly soft. It took every ounce of my self-control earlier to not touch her skin while handling her burn. I shouldn’t have gotten up at all, but pure instinct took over when I saw the flash of pain in her bright green eyes. The same green eyes that are watching me with too much curiosity as I stand frozen by the door. I’ve been caught staring, which is unusual for me. I’m used to blending into the background and being careful enough to observe from a distance. My job required it. But Juliette seems to have this uncanny ability to make me stumble. I push open the shop door as she approaches, a gold bell tinkling overhead. Juliette smiles and glides past me out into the brisk January air, murmuring a quick thanks. Since it’s almost noon, the sun takes away some of the bite that this morning had, but it’s still cold enough to have me tucking my hands into my coat pocket and huddling into my coat. Winter in Georgia might not compare to the northern states, but it’s cold enough to make you want to be anywhere but outside. I start off toward my house. It’s a short walk, and the parking situation in this community is dismal. Everyone seems to walk everywhere instead of drive. I don’t mind the exercise, though. “Mind if I walk with you?” Juliette’s soft voice comes from ...

“Julie!” he barks and Juliette flinches. I scan the elderly man, not noting anything threatening in his demeanor beyond his attitude. “Are you coming to the community meeting next week?” “Yes, Mr. Kipton,” Juliette says with a polite smile. She doesn’t seem to be afraid of him, so I wonder why she flinched at his initial greeting. “Good. I’m counting on you to be the deciding vote on getting rid of those pesky ducks around the lake. They are always making a ruckus when I’m trying to sleep!” “I’ll be there,” she says, not giving any opinions on the duck situation. Mr. Kipton nods and passes us, grumbling incoherently. “You don’t like him,” I observe aloud as we cross the street. The lake comes fully into view now, not obscured by any of the buildings. The peace this place emits is truly amazing. I can’t help but breathe a little deeper each time I take it all in. “Mr. Kipton? He’s a bit of a grouch, but I don’t mind him,” Juliette responds with a shrug. “You flinched when he said your name.” It’s a risk to let her know I was watching her so closely, but I can’t help the desire to satisfy my curiosity. She grimaces and the expression seems out of place on her. “He called me Julie, not Juliette. I don’t like that nickname.” There’s something about the way she says Julie that leads me to believe it has more to do with her simply not liking the name. It must have a connotation attached. But I can’t be so forward as to ask her. “I see.” “It probably seems childish of me to disli...

Our cottages come into view, looking like a matching set. The only difference being that mine is gray while hers is a pale blue. I pause with her at the end of her driveway. “Thank you for a pleasant walk,” Juliette says with the formality of a royal. I dip my chin in a nod. She smiles in that secretive way again, the kind that makes me feel like she knows something I don’t, before turning and walking to her door. My eyes trail over her, the delicate curve of her hip, her black tights stretched over her legs. Each time she takes a step the hem of her plaid skirt lifts and falls in the most tempting way. She pauses at her front door and looks over her shoulder with a smirk. Heat burns the tips of my ears and I swiftly turn on my heel to walk to my own driveway. I keep my head down as I stride for my front door, going inside my cottage without so much as a glance in her direction. Being around Juliette is like keeping a candy jar on your desk: you know you shouldn’t reach for more, but it’s right there, taunting you. Every interaction with her ends up with me doing something out of character. I need to stay away, but it’s difficult when she lives barely ten feet away from me. I shed my coat and throw it onto the couch, then immediately pick it up again and walk it to my closet. My muscles are twitching with pent-up energy. I scan my house, looking for anything I can clean or organize and come up with nothing. It’s not difficult to keep a tidy home when it’s just me. I yank o...

Deeming the area neighbor-free, I jog down my wooden porch steps and out to the path that winds around the lake. I run harder than usual, chasing the burn. After one lap of practically sprinting, my lungs are aching from inhaling the frigid air, but my mind is no better off than it was when I set out. I slow to a gentle jog, letting my eyes bounce around the lake. A family of ducks paddles across the water, making me think of Juliette. I pass a couple sharing a croissant, my mind drawn once more to Juliette. Growling, I pick up my pace again. No matter how much I push my body though, Juliette’s laugh won’t leave my brain. In fact, I think she’s made me delusional because I swear I hear it over the whipping wind. It’s only when I see her golden hair in the distance that I realize I’m not delusional, just incapable of escaping her. It seems I’d have to move to be rid of her. She waves at me from her place on the metal bench by the lake. A large blanket is draped over her legs, thankfully hiding them from view. Murphy trots around, occasionally stopping to paw at the wet sand close to the lake. “Are you stalking me, Adrian?” she teases as I slow to a stop next to the bench. My breathing is still ragged from my sprint, making me have to lift my hands up to my head. Cool air nips at the skin above my waistband. I don’t miss the way her eyes rake over me, pausing at that exposed skin for a second too long before bouncing back up to my face. My blood heats and I drop my arms, sho...

Henry opens his mouth to move on to the next subject when the doors at the back of the room swing open. No one is ever late to a community meeting. It’s impossible to sneak in, because the large oak doors are heavy and scrape the floor when you push on them. All of the heads in the room–including mine–swivel toward the door. You could hear a pin drop in this silence, well maybe only I could hear it drop since most of the people here are hard of hearing, but still. A familiar tall and muscular form fills the doorway, making my heart skip. Adrian lets the thick door slam shut behind him, the noise reverberating throughout the sanctuary. I let out a little sigh as I take him in. I can’t help it. The man is torturously attractive. He’s wearing a suit for crying out loud. A dark navy suit tailored to perfection, with a crisp pinstripe shirt underneath. And–goodness gracious–the top two buttons of the shirt are undone. “We do not tolerate tardiness, boy,” Henry says, trying to stand tall at the front of the room. It’s hard to look intimidating compared to Adrian though. “The flyer said 6:15.” Adrian’s low voice echoing through the silent room has my pulse fluttering. “We changed the meeting to six, it was on the community Facebook page,” Henry says, haughtiness coating his scratchy voice. “I don’t have Facebook.” A chorus of gasps filter through the crowd and I can’t help but giggle. Adrian’s blue eyes snap to me and I bite my lip to stifle my laughter. I think I see amusement f...

The only reason I come to these events is because it gives me a form of entertainment besides reading, plus the chance to be around people. Adrian shifts beside me, his arm splayed awkwardly on the wooden end of the pew. It looks as if it was meant to be an armrest, but it’s got this odd curve that doesn’t make for a nice resting place. “You can relax, I don’t bite,” I whisper, leaning toward him. There’s ample space between us that he seems determined to keep. 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. The thought sends a tingle down my spine–but doesn’t come to fruition. “They should vote for new pews,” he mutters and shifts once more. This time, he lets the arm closest to me rest on the back of the pew, then sets his left ankle on his right knee. He looks like he belongs on the cover of a magazine, or in a board room commanding people. I know I’d listen to him. “We only vote on pointless matters,” I whisper back and the corner of his mouth quirks up. On the outside, I’m smiling softly, but on the inside, I’m doing an awful winner’s dance. There are lots of hip shaking and flailing arms, maybe even a sprinkler move or two. Because seeing Adrian even come close to smiling at something I said feels worthy of celebration. The sound of Henry’s gavel rapping the podium drags my attention back to the subject at hand. “All in favor of capturing the ducks and relocating them say aye.” “Aye!”...

“That was a fairly short meeting,” Adrian comments, surprising me with small talk. I half-expected to blink and him to disappear before my eyes as soon as the meeting was over. “Count yourself lucky,” I say as I grab my caramel-colored coat and shrug it on. “The previous meeting lasted two hours.” Adrian steps out into the aisle and waits for me to walk with him. It’s hard to keep my smile restrained so I don’t grin like a maniac at his simple gesture. I want to be friends, not scare him away. “What on earth could constitute a two-hour meeting?” We bypass the horde of people crowding around the cookie table. I’d rather pay for a cookie than stand in that line. Adrian seems to share my sentiment. He holds open the large door, and a brisk wind nips at my cheekbones when we exit the building. It’s nighttime, but I didn’t drive here because I like to leave the spots to the residents who can’t walk home. Town meetings during the winter months always end up with a walk through the dark, holding my phone flashlight and using each streetlamp as a checkpoint. The pepper spray tucked in my right coat pocket is usually already brandished before my foot even leaves the last church step. I’d like to say I wasn’t always this cautious, but that would be a lie. From the first moments I can recall I’ve always kept my footsteps light and been aware of my surroundings. Growing up in a home full of chaos and uncertainty will do that to you. Suddenly you know your mother’s emotions by the way ...

Adrian’s discerning blue eyes watch me from the bottom of the church steps. I realize I’ve been standing here for a moment too long … and that I haven’t answered his question. “The main cause for debate was whether we should allow a food truck to park near the lake once a month,” I finally answer him and hop down the remainder of the steps. We walk side by side toward our homes and I feel safer than I ever have. I still turn on my phone flashlight, thankful when Adrian doesn’t ask me why I need one when there are street lamps. It’s odd that this taciturn man could feel safe to me when many of the men I’ve encountered tend to feel the opposite. Maybe it’s just a result of not interacting with men close to my age in years, though. “What was the decision?” We turn a corner and our arms brush through our coats. The meager touch makes my stomach flip. Yep, I think I need to get out more. Maybe I’ll give in and try that awful dating app Caroline is always telling me about. I shouldn’t feel this way over a simple occurrence. Poor Adrian is merely walking home next to me and I’m deluding myself into thinking there’s chemistry between us. I don’t even know what romantic tension feels like, so it’s unlikely that I’m capable of labeling our interactions as anything more than neighborly. “It was split for a while, hence the length of the meeting. But Poppy ended up convincing someone on the negative side to become a supporter. Now a barbeque truck comes once a month. It’s not the best...

“For the last time, I’m busy,” I growl at my brother Grayson and push past him into my office. He’s just invited me to one of our employee’s birthday parties. I’m pretty sure it involves karaoke. Needless to say, I won’t be attending. “Busy doing what? Staring at your ceiling?” Grayson falls onto the leather couch to the right of my desk and splays himself out. He has no concern for the amount of space he takes up with his body or his personality. “Working.” “All of our clients are safe and happy,” Grayson states, sliding a rubber band ball out of his pocket and tossing it toward the ceiling. On top of the many differences between Grayson and me–our style, hobbies, and overall demeanor–he’s also incapable of being still. “Yes, and I’d like to keep it that way. Which is why I need to manage our company.” While I manage the placement of our teams and their day-to-day concerns, Grayson takes care of making sure the clients are truly happy. He also finds us new clients by networking at events I’d never willingly attend and schmoozing people in general. His easygoing nature and ability to hold a conversation with anyone makes him perfect for that side of the job. “The point of starting this business was to put down roots and have lives outside of work.” “I know.” And if I didn’t know, I’d come to realize it rather quickly with how many times Grayson mentions it in a week. I have put down roots. My house in Peach Hollow attests to that. But Grayson thinks that my life should loo...

you don’t have to come to Kylie’s party with me, but you have to leave work before six today or else I’m staying here with you.” I glower at him, but he looks unphased. That’s the unfortunate part of growing up with my co-founder: he’s not intimidated by me in the slightest. Even if I threatened bodily harm, he’d hold that easygoing grin while dodging my every punch. “Fine. I’ll leave before six. Doesn’t it bother you that your most effective threat is your own presence?” He throws the ball in the air and catches it. “Nope. I know the real problem is not my personality, but that you’re unsociable.” I clench my jaw and turn my attention to my computer monitor. Maybe if I ignore him, he’ll leave. It hasn’t worked in the past, but one can hope. “Oh, I’m making an amendment to our agreement.” I cut my eyes to him. His grin makes my scowl deepen. “You need to do something outside of your house after work. Shake on it or else I camp out here on this couch for the rest of the evening.” “I do this and you leave me alone about social events for at least a week,” I counter, knowing I won’t get him to commit to anything more than a week. “Deal!” He propels himself up off the couch and sticks a hand across my desk. I shake it, ignoring the smug grin on his face. It won’t be hard to fulfill my commitment. I’ll go for a walk around the lake then go back home and try not to pull my laptop out until it’s time to fall asleep. Grayson saunters out of my office and I pinch the bridge of my n...

It’s an unseasonably warm day for the end of January, which means that my evening stroll is far more crowded than I would like. I’ve been stopped three times now by people I recognize from the town meeting last night. I shouldn’t have gone to the meeting, but my curiosity got the better of me. I knew I’d see Juliette there. My steps falter when I recall her green eyes sparkling as she whispered next to me during the meeting. I wanted to do more than talk when I looked down at her, that’s for sure. But getting close to Juliette would be a mistake. Trusting anyone but family has always been a mistake for me. Not to mention the fact that Juliette is clearly hiding something. Her admission about her nickname, the way she’s always on guard, and that haunted look in her eyes when we left the meeting all combine t...

I jog the final stretch of my usual trail, but I halt when I see Juliette outside. She’s lying on her stomach on a picnic blanket by the lake. Her attention is focused on the book in her hands as she kicks her bare feet absentmindedly. Murphy is sprawled out beside her, sleeping. I swallow as I approach her, my throat feeling tight. The warm hues of the setting sun make her look ethereal in her cream sweater and cuffed jeans. Her blonde hair resembles spun gold and it’s a breathtaking view. I’m once again struck by how soft and sweet she looks. Her head turns and I’ve been caught staring. The sunny grin she gives me makes my heart give an odd thump in my chest. “This is a rare sight,” she calls out, not moving from where she’s splayed out on the blanket. It feels awkward staring down at her like this, so I take a few steps forward and sit down in the grass beside her blanket. Her grin widens and I feel as though I’ve fallen into some sort of trap. “What do you mean?” I ask as she shuts her book. The Great Gatsby, the same book she was reading in the café. The spine is fraying and the copy looks like it’s been bent open and folded over several times. I haven’t read it in years, but I have a sudden urge to pick it up again and see what the woman beside me finds so enthralling about it. “You’re usually not home until much later, sometimes I’m in bed when I hear your car pull in.” An image of Juliette curled up in those satin pajamas of hers flits through my mind and I sink my...

“What do you do?” I ask instead of responding to her observation of my vibe. “I run my own stationery company,” she says with a bright grin that shows how much she loves her job. “I design wedding invitations and stationery sets and sell them online.” The sun has dipped below the trees now, taking the golden rays with it. Juliette pushes the rest of the way up to standing and tugs her quilt out from under a disgruntled Murphy. He huffs and trots off toward her back deck. I stand up as well but don’t make any move to leave. “Stationery sets? Do people even write letters anymore?” I ask as she shakes out the blanket, leaves and grass catching in the breeze. “You’d be surprised how many people buy them. Though I will admit it’s a bit of a lost art.” A wistful smile tips up her lips and she hugs the quilt to her chest, staring off toward the lake. “There’s just something about a handwritten letter. It shows this level of care and thought that can’t be captured in an email or text.” “I don’t know if anyone has ever written me a letter,” I say and immediately regret the admission. It sounds like I’m asking her to write me one. This is what I get for trying to make conversation. I’m going to blame Grayson for this, even if he’s not here. “I haven’t received many myself.” She folds her blanket up, still staring out at the lake. “That’s partly why I started the company, to bring back something lost. But I also love calligraphy, which lends to designing invitations. Those are my mos...

About once a month, I convince myself I’m a better woman than I actually am. This usually occurs after watching too many self-help YouTube videos, the ones that tell me how to be that girl. These videos convince me that I’m the type of girl who is going to wake up before sunrise, work out, drink green juice with a smile on my face, and write in my planner everything I want to do that day … then do all of those things. So, I’ve decided to be that girl today, and in the dim morning light, I am already regretting my decision. Working out right now sounds about as appealing as walking over hot coals, and the fact that I drug myself out of bed at all instead of hitting snooze is a miracle. My shoulder hits my closet door, eliciting a grumble as I balance on one foot, sliding a fuzzy sock on the other. Fuzzy socks and oversized sweaters are not workout clothes, because there will be no working out today. But I will at least stay up and watch the sunrise. I actually think the sunrise is prettier than the sunset, but I hate waking up early. Murphy doesn’t even lift his head as I shuffle by him on my way to the kitchen. He doesn’t do mornings either. I yawn as I fill up my electric kettle. Tea will make this morning better. It makes everything better.

I lift my eyes to where the sun is beginning to rise above the treeline. Pastel pinks and soft blues tint the sky, making everything resemble a watercolor painting. The tea warms my palms and when I gingerly take a sip I start to think this early morning stuff might not be too bad. Peach Hollow has always been a place of peace for me, but in quiet moments like this, the feeling is magnified. The sound of leaves crunching draws my eyes away from the sky. My breath catches in my throat when I see Adrian running toward his own back deck. His head is down, so he doesn’t see me snuggled up here. As much as I’ve loved talking to him the past few days, I am perfectly okay with him not noticing my existence right now. My hair is in a bun on top of my head that resembles the stuffed hedgehog toy I got Murphy for Christmas–the one he ripped in half so that all the fuzz spills out. And even though I have on a giant sweater and three blankets, I’m not wearing a real bra, just a thin bralette. Somehow, knowing that is embarrassing enough to have me sliding further into my cozy cocoon, keeping just my eyes out. I set my tea on the ground beside me so I don’t spill it. Adrian walks up his back steps, pausing on his deck and stretching his arms above his head. I watch, enraptured, as he does a few more stretches. In the back of my mind, I know it’s wrong to watch him without him knowing, but I can’t bring myself to speak up. Watching his muscles bunch beneath his tight running shirt has m...

“What tea are you drinking?” he asks. I want to back up and ask him if he was flirting with me, but I’m too embarrassed to bring it up. I’m not used to male attention, so I don’t know how to handle it whenever I think too much about it. And I tend to overthink … a lot. So, I’m going to treat this interaction as friendly, or else I might hide under my blankets again. “What if I’m drinking coffee?” He gives me a flat look and I smile at him, laughing a little. I think I see a ghost of a smile come across his lips, but I can’t be sure. “English breakfast tea sweetened with coconut sugar and a splash of cream.” I pause, then decide to take his question as an opening for a conversation. “What tea are you going to have this morning?” “I was thinking of making a London fog, but now you have me reconsidering.” “Do you have a favorite English breakfast tea?” He tilts his head to the side like he’s thinking about it and then shrugs. “I can’t say that I do.” I push myself up out of my blanket nest. My sweater falls off my shoulder and I push it back up, blushing at the thought of Adrian seeing the strap of my bralette. “I’m about to introduce you to your favorite,” I say with a smile. “I’ll be right back!” Warm air hits me as I walk inside, ensuring that after this conversation I’m going to curl up on my couch with Murphy and work from there the rest of the day. It’s too cozy not to. It'll be the perfect atmosphere to design a custom invitation for a bride getting married this fall. ...