Only You Page 2

  “I’m on break.”

  “You just started your shift an hour ago!”

  “Never mind me—have you gone outside yet?”

  “I’m halfway to the curb.”

  “Do you see him?”

  “How could I see him?” she whispered, hoping her voice didn’t carry. “I’m walking away from our house.”

  “Ever hear of looking over your shoulder?”

  “I thought the whole point of this endeavor is to spy on our new neighbor without making it look like I was spying on him.”

  “Holly.” Melanie groaned. “Why do you have to be so literal?”

  She stopped at the curb and opened the mailbox door, keeping her gaze down.

  “Well?”

  “I’m getting the mail, Melanie!” She held the phone to her ear with her shoulder and pulled the stack of envelopes from the box.

  “Will you just look at his house already?”

  “Yeah…Oh!” she squealed in excitement.

  “I knew it! He’s hot, isn’t he? Does he have his shirt off?”

  “No. I just got a fifty-percent-off coupon to Bath and Body Works.”

  “Oh, my God, Holly. You’re killing me.”

  “I’m almost out of Wild Honeysuckle shower gel. And obviously you love it, too, since you’ve been using it.”

  “Will you focus? Look at the freaking house!”

  Holly darted her eyes up and saw a pair of denim-covered legs walking out the front door and toward the truck. The view of the top part of his body was obstructed by the tree limbs. “I can see him,” she whispered, her face feeling warm. “He’s got long legs.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, legs are nice, but at the moment, I’m more interested in the top half. What’s he look like?”

  “I can’t see his face,” she hissed, standing in the street with her shoulder shoved up to her ear. She watched him hoist a box out of the truck. “The overgrown trees are hiding him. Can I go inside now?”

  Melanie groaned. “No. That’s not enough. We need more information.”

  “He drives an old truck and wears jeans that hug his butt,” Holly said as she took several steps toward her house. He was carrying the box through his front door. “He has a very nice butt.”

  “I knew it!” Melanie shouted in her ear. “And it’s an ass. Even twelve-year-olds are too mature to say ‘butt.’ What else do you see?”

  “Nothing. He’s gone inside and so am I.”

  “That’s a great idea! Follow him inside.”

  “Not his house. Ours. Are you crazy?”

  “No, I suppose you wouldn’t. That’s okay.”

  Holly pushed out a breath of relief that her cousin was going to let this go.

  “You need an excuse.”

  “Melanie!” She shouted as she walked through the front door.

  “Oh! I know! The lasagna. Take it over as a welcome to the neighborhood offering.”

  Holly gasped. “You traitor! You didn’t make that lasagna for me! You made it for me to take to him!”

  “Calm down. I had no idea he was moving in today—only an idiot would move into that house—but why not use it to your advantage?”

  “If you think he’s an idiot, why do you want me to meet him?”

  “Maybe he’s an adorable idiot…with a rippling six-pack. I mean, he is flipping the house. Hot construction guy…no shirt…”

  “Am I meeting him for me or you?”

  “You, Sunshine. I’m with Darren right now, remember? Besides, no one said you were looking for your future husband. You’re just looking for a good time. Now go.”

  Holly tossed the mail on the kitchen counter. “I’m not sharing my lasagna.”

  “It’s a huge dish, Holly. You don’t have to take him the whole thing. Just take part of it.”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Come on. You know you want to…”

  She did. Kind of. But the thought of walking over with a casserole filled her with dread. All she needed was a large L painted on her forehead. The whole move reeked of desperation.

  “I’ll clean up the dishes for a week,” Melanie said.

  She leaned her butt against the kitchen counter. “Two.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Melanie asked in disbelief. “Why am I paying the price for you to meet a guy?”

  “I’m perfectly fine sharing my lasagna with Killer.”

  “When I come home I’m taking that lasagna over to him myself. All of it.”

  She would, too. Holly let out a guttural growl. “Fine. But if I do this, you can’t bug me about not dating for an entire month. I’m marking on the calendar in the kitchen in case you forget.”

  “Okay. One month, but you have to make an effort to talk to him, otherwise you can’t hold me to the date part.”

  “And how do you know I won’t just tell you that I did?”

  “Because you’re a terrible liar. I’ll know.”

  Holly pushed out a sigh. “Melanie…”

  “Text me when you get back.” Then she hung up.

  Grumbling, Holly pulled the thirteen-by-nine casserole dish out of the fridge. The question was how to take it to him. Cut some out and put it on a plate? That would look tacky. She could give him the entire thing.

  No freaking way that was going to happen.

  She found an eight-by-eight dish in the cabinet, then cut what looked like an eight-inch square in the pasta. The transfer was a disaster. Picking up a piece that big was unmanageable, and the lasagna broke in half. She put both pieces in and tried to pat them back together, but it was obvious it wasn’t whole. It was also obvious the lasagna hadn’t started out in the original dish—one look at the one-inch gap on one side was proof enough of that. She popped it in the microwave for five minutes while she started to throw together a salad, then stopped. If she wanted to impress him, salad wasn’t the way to do that. And damn her, but she did kind of want to impress him. She grabbed two beers out of the fridge and put them in a small brown bag. The microwave dinged and she pulled out the lasagna, trying to smash the cheese over the gaps, then gave up and covered the entire mess with aluminum foil. She tossed a plastic fork and a napkin into the brown bag with the beers then took a deep breath and headed out the door.

  Why was she doing this?

  She glanced back at the messy kitchen, pots and dishes from Melanie’s cooking filling the sink.

  She hated doing dishes.

  Killer followed her out the door, then let out his displeasure when she shut the door before he could get out.

  “I’ll be back, you big baby,” she said to the door, then started across the yard, the dog’s angry yaps following her.

  Great.

  She stood at the bottom of his porch, looking up at the partially open front door and listening to her cousin’s disgruntled dog. The casserole dish was burning her hand and she was having serious second thoughts. Her new neighbor was going to think she was a nutcase—which she was, courtesy of her cousin. All she had to do was dump this off, then head home. Sure she was supposed to try to talk to him, but she’d drop off the food, exchange a few pleasantries, then leave.

  Easy-peasy.

  She quickly climbed the two steps to the porch and sidestepped the hole in front of the door. This place was even more of a disaster than she’d thought. She rapped on the door frame and waited. Killer renewed his barking efforts and she glanced over at her house, worried that Mrs. Darcy would hear him and call animal control.

  “Hey.”

  She whipped her head around, her breath catching when she saw the man standing in the doorway. He had to be the most good-looking man she’d ever seen. He was tall—tall enough that she had to tilt her head to look up at him—but the view was worth the effort. His dark brown hair was cropped short, but the unruly short waves suggested he was growing it out or needed a trim, and while she didn’t care for men with beards, the few days’ growth of stubble on his face made her fingers itch to touch it. His chest and s
houlders filled out his light gray T-shirt, and the previously noticed dark jeans clung to his hips. Never in her twenty-nine years had Holly reacted to man like she was now. She was literally tongue-tied.

  His chocolate brown eyes swept from her face, down her body, then back up again as he stood in place waiting for her to say something.

  She’d heard of women doing this, acting like an imbecile over a man, but not her. Never her.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I…uh…” she stammered.

  Lines creased his forehead as he frowned. “Are you okay?”

  Oh, my God. She was making an utter fool out of herself. She cast her gaze to the floor, trying to get herself together. Say something, Holly. Anything. The hole in the porch floor caught her attention. “I can’t believe you’re actually moving into the Miller house. It’s falling apart.”

  The blood rushed to her face. Oh, my God. Did I really just say that?

  He laughed, but it sounded pained. “So I’ve noticed.”

  Why was she so awkward? Why couldn’t she be more like Melanie?

  He shifted his weight, his shoulder leaning into the door frame. “Unless you’re a very generous Jehovah’s Witness, I’m guessing that’s for me?”

  “Uh…yeah…” She looked down at the dish in her hand, now all too aware that it was still hot. She tried to shift it from her palm to her fingertips, the dish tipping sideways. It started to fall and she tried to catch it with her forearm, but the man grabbed it from her hand.

  “Whoa. Runaway casserole.” He chuckled. He stood in front of her now, so close she could smell his musky shampoo mixed with his sweat, which wasn’t as bad a combination as she would have expected. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Her chest tightened and she forced herself to take a natural breath.

  “Yeah…” Jiminy Christmas, Holly. Get yourself together. “It’s lasagna.”

  “Even better.”

  “I didn’t make it.” Brilliant. Just freaking brilliant.

  He laughed and lifted the loose foil. “So you got a frozen lasagna from Costco and stuffed part of it in this casserole dish and brought it over to impress me?” He grinned at her, his gorgeous brown eyes dancing.

  “What? No!” Oh, God. Could she just turn around and go home now? Did this constitute talking to him?

  He watched her, waiting for further explanation.

  “I…uh…” Then she remembered the bag in her hand and shoved it out toward him, punching him in the stomach. He released a soft grunt.

  Could this get any worse? She started to take a step back, but he shifted the casserole dish and grabbed her arm, pulling her forward until his chest stopped her. She rested her free hand on him, feeling his hard muscles under her palm.

  Oh, my God. She was touching his chest. His sexy chest.

  Panic washed through her and she tried to jerk away, but he held her firmly in place. She hadn’t dated in a while, and she knew a lot of the new dating apps had changed the rules. Did bringing a man food mean she wanted a booty call? She was going to kill Melanie.

  She narrowed her eyes, then said in a haughty tone, “I’m not ready to sleep with you yet.”

  An amused grin spread across his face. “While I’m happy to hear that’s on the agenda for later, that’s not why I’m holding you now. You were about to step into the hole.” He tilted his head toward it.

  Her eyes sank closed and her face combusted.

  He dropped his hold on her arm and took the bag, moving slowly like she was a skittish animal. “What’s in the bag?”

  “Beer.” She couldn’t bear to look at him, instead taking a couple of steps backward while making sure to avoid the hole. “Yeah…I…You’re busy. …”

  “I can’t accept your store-bought lasagna,” he said, sounding serious.

  Who didn’t eat lasagna? “What? Oh…you don’t eat meat? Oh! It’s not store-bought. My cousin made—”

  “It looks like there’s enough for both of us. I figure maybe we should have dinner together before we hop into bed.”

  “What? Oh.” This had moved well past disaster and was quickly moving into relocating to another state to avoid ever seeing him again territory. Her breath caught again at both his suggestion and the way he was watching her now—a mixture of curiosity and interest. Well, hello. She’d just let him know she was thinking about sleeping with him. Still, she’d never had a man look at her with such intensity, and a shiver ran down her spine.

  His eyes held hers and she felt herself melting.

  “There’s only one fork in the bag.” That was brilliant. Why was she still standing here? Run! But her feet had somehow become disconnected from her brain.

  His grin turned wicked. “We can share.”

  Her face burned at the thought of their mouths touching the same utensil. Her eyes shifted to his mouth and she suddenly wondered what it would be like to kiss him. Would he hold her tightly to his chest like he had moments ago?

  Oh, my God. She had just turned into every clichéd woman she’d made fun of since high school. What the hell was happening to her? Without another word, she spun around and ran back to her house, her foot catching on a tree root and making her stumble. She looked back at him, horrified to see him watching her, his amusement mixed with confusion.

  When she got inside the house, she shut the door and locked it, wondering if she could convince Melanie into building a six-foot privacy fence to run the length of their property.

  Because there was no way she could ever face that man again.

  Chapter Three

  Kevin watched the cute blonde run back to her house next door, tripping on a tree root on the way. He couldn’t help noticing the way her jean shorts clung to the curve of her ass. He was still standing in the same spot—grinning like a damn fool—when he heard her door slam.

  Stand your ground, marine.

  He let out a loud sigh and went back inside, casserole dish in hand. He was used to women falling at his feet, but there was a vulnerability to his neighbor he didn’t usually see in the women who came on to him, and he was intrigued. Intrigued enough to consider dropping his self-imposed six-month break from women.

  And that was a bad thing.

  If he’d learned nothing else from his last breakup, he had learned that he had absolutely terrible taste in women. He’d had a string of disastrous relationships, but the horrifying end of his last relationship had brought him to the conclusion that it was time to reevaluate his love life along with his career choice. So as he made the shift into civilian life, it seemed like a good time to shake up everything and self-impose a ban on women. He had plenty of other things to focus on: working on his house, re-acclimating to life in his hometown, and helping Matt reorganize his company.

  “Did I hear someone at the door?” Megan asked, coming out of the bathroom, the kitten in her hand.

  He lifted the casserole dish. “My neighbor.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “Oh, yeah? The little old ladies in the neighborhood already looking out for you?”

  He considered telling her the truth, but she’d give him more grief about his no-women rule. “Something like that.”

  He looked around his house and groaned, suddenly scared—and, after everything he’d seen, it took a lot to scare him. But he had a feeling this place was going to suck up more money than anyone realized. “Okay, let’s get this tour started.”

  Cuddling the kitten with one hand, Megan waved around the room with the other. “This is the living room.”

  The hardwood floor needed to be refinished, and the window moldings were small and skimpy, not to mention lumpy and chipped after multiple layers of paint. “Okay…”

  Megan shot him a glare. “This room is easy. Refinish the floor, repaint, add new trim, and you’re good to go.”

  He shook his head, then headed toward the kitchen.

  The dining room walls were covered with blue-and-pink floral wallpaper. The four-foot-tall built-in cabinets surrounding the window
were impressive, but the ugliest glass and brass light fixture he’d ever seen, which was currently hanging off center in the room, had to go.

  “The dining room.”

  “It’s hideous.”

  “Of course it is. But it only needs cosmetic changes, although I think we should get an engineer out to see if that wall is load bearing.” She pointed to the wall separating this room from the living room. “You could tear it down for an open floor plan.”

  “Someone’s been watching too much HGTV.”

  Ignoring him, she led him past a staircase, stopping at a door underneath the stairs. “This leads to the basement, but we’ll check it out later.”

  The way she announced it made him worried about what was down there.

  “And here is the kitchen.”

  He followed her through a small door and stopped in his tracks. “Oh, my God.”

  She gave him a tentative smile. “I know it looks bad, but it can all be fixed.”

  “Bad?” He moved into the room and spun in a circle. “You think this is bad? This is a freaking train wreck.” He took a breath, then wiped sweat from his forehead. “Why is it so hot in here? Is the air-conditioning not on?”

  “About that…”

  “What?” His voice was hard, but she seemed undeterred.

  “There is no air-conditioning, and the furnace probably needs to be replaced.”

  “Megan!” His voice boomed in the small room. “What the hell have you done?”

  She moved in front of him, the kitten still cradled in her arm. “I know it’s daunting, but you have no idea how much money you can make off this house. I did my homework. You can hire someone to do most of it and still make thirty grand profit.”

  That caught his attention. “How do you know that?”

  “I had three contractors come in and make bids.”

  He took a step back and ran a hand over his head. “Why the hell didn’t you lead off with that?”

  She laughed. “Because it was more fun watching you freak out.”

  He looked at the place with a new appreciation, although there wasn’t a single redeeming quality about the kitchen. Half the drawers were crooked, obviously broken, and several of the cabinet doors were missing. The pink laminate counter was stained and chipped. The sink was a shallow, scratched-up stainless-steel bowl. The range looked like it was original to the house—about fifty years old—and there was no dishwasher. “This room is a disaster.”