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“You can’t own a truck.”
“We borrowed it since we’re moving in.”
“Moving in?”
I knew the house next door was available to rent but I figured it would be a while before anyone rented it. The place has five bedrooms and the rent is five times what I’m paying. Who can afford it?
He crosses his arms over his chest and grunts.
I ignore those muscular arms and concentrate on the problem here. He’s going to be living next door. The man who thinks he can tell me how to raise my child. Hold on. Maybe there’s a silver lining here. Maybe he has children who are Isla’s age.
“Do you have children?”
He grunts again.
“Grunting is not a proper answer.”
“No children.” He motions to the four men standing on the porch watching our encounter.
He’s living with four men? Are they roommates? Are they going to be loud and disrupt Isla’s sleep? I didn’t move to this small town to have a bunch of frat boys living next to me.
One of the men waves and I realize I recognize him. He’s Cash from the rock band Cash & the Sinners. I narrow my eyes and study the rest of the men. Holy smoke! It’s the entire band.
The man standing in front of me isn’t just some grumpy neighbor who thinks he can tell me how to parent my child. My mouth starts to drop open but I snap it shut. I am not fangirling over the grump.
“Are you in the band?” I ask, although I already know the answer.
He nods. No wonder he’s sex on a stick. He’s a freaking rockstar.
A rock band is living next door to me and my daughter. The young woman in me wants to squeal in excitement. The mom in me knows better.
I narrow my eyes at him. “You better not throw parties at all hours of the night.”
“I don’t party.”
I motion to the guys on the porch. “What about them?”
He frowns. “No parties in the house.”
“Good. Thank you.”
I grasp Isla’s shoulder and steer her toward the house. At least, I try to. She plants her feet and refuses to move.
She stares up at him in wonder. “Are you a rockstar?”
He smiles at her and a dimple pops out on each cheek. Oh my. The sexy grump becomes devilishly handsome when he smiles.
“I’m Fender.”
“I’m Isla.” My daughter points to me. “This is my mom, Leia.”
“Your mom should make sure you don’t run into the street.”
We’re back to this again, are we?
“And you should keep your nose out of other people’s business,” I tell him before smiling down at my daughter. “Let’s go.”
“But I want to meet the band,” she whines.
