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Just as soon as I was done unpacking my kitchen.
CHAPTER FOUR – IMMY
Cupid Called, He Wants His Pension
“I can’t believe you did that.”
Grandma stirred her tea—hot, if you please—and peered at me through thick, black eyelashes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Imogen.”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. Mason. Sweet tea. A fancy walk home for the entire fifty yards between our front porches.” I shoved the fridge closed as if it was the reason for my frustration.
“Wow. What did the fridge ever do to you?”
I glared at my cousin and one of my best friends. “It was in my way.”
Hannah smirked, flicking her long, curly brown hair over her shoulder. “It was just sweet tea.”
“It was more than sweet tea. I know more about the man’s dating life than I do about my own.”
“Well, you don’t have a dating life.”
“Neither do you.”
“Girls.” Grandma shook her head, tapping her teaspoon against the side of her china cup. “You’re both shit daters. Don’t fight about it.”
“It’s so nice to have your support, Grandma. I don’t know what we’d do without it,” Hannah drawled. “Don’t you have anything to do?”
“No. It’s one of the great pleasures of being retired. I can piss you both off for as long as I like.”
“And on that note, I’m going to work.” I abandoned the coffee I was in the middle of making and shot Hannah a look that said, ‘Come with me!’
She didn’t need telling twice. She directed a weak smile at Grandma before she kissed her cheek and hurried after me outside. We both got into our own cars, and I waited a minute for her to leave so I could get out. The delay meant that my eyes collided with a shirtless Mason taking out the trash.
I swear to God, I almost crashed my freakin’ car.
Look, I was a human being. I could appreciate a good-looking man—asshole or not—and I was fully allowed to get momentarily distracted by a six-pack and grey sweatpants.
Especially the sweats.
The important thing here was that I didn’t crash my car, despite said distraction.
I swerved a little, true. I was pretty sure he noticed because I caught a glimpse of a smirk before I focused back on the road like I was supposed to.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say he did it deliberately.
In fact, I did know better, and I wouldn’t be surprised.
I didn’t believe in coincidence. That’s why I didn’t believe that he’d just happened to buy the house next to mine. Sure, there was a chance it had happened, but I just didn’t believe in it.
For an artist, I was terribly pessimistic.
It was a curse.
Or a blessing. It meant I was never disappointed when the worst happened, after all.
I pulled into the three-car parking lot behind the store and got out of the car. I’d beaten Hannah here, and I was willing to put my entire life savings—not a particularly large number, in fairness—on the fact she’d stopped to get a caffeine fix.
If she didn’t bring me a coffee, I was disowning her ass.
I unlocked the back door to the store and let myself in. By the time I was done with the morning routine of turning everything on, Hannah had shown up with two coffee cups in a holder. There were twenty minutes until opening, so we headed through to the art room and sat at a table covered with half-painted ceramics from my Saturday class.
“What is that?” Hannah asked, pointing at a neon-green penguin.
“A neon-green penguin,” I replied. “She thought black and white was boring.”
“She’s not wrong.” She sat down and looked at me. “So. Mason.”
“No, Mason,” I said immediately. “I’m not talking about him. I don’t know why he’s my new neighbor. But I don’t care. It’s all in the past.”
“Is that why you swerved your car looking at him this morning?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I swerved mine.” She smirked, lifting her coffee cup to her lips. “Immy, it’s been a long time, but you can be confused, you know. It’s a shock to see him again, and he has a daughter?”
I sighed, cupping my takeout cup and letting the warmth seep into my palms. “Grandma said he’s not married. Not even close. His ex is engaged to someone else, and it’s all very friendly and lovely and the kind of shit you see on that patronizing social media pages where everyone’s life is perfect.”
“Wow. Tell me how you really feel.”
“Shut up.”
“Is it so hard to be nice to him? I know how he hurt you. We were roommates in college, remember?” She raised her eyebrows. “I spent a lot more time studying that you did.”
I flipped her the bird. I was an art major with a minor in biology; I was studying the human body four evenings a week. It just happened to be a live body with a great penis and a mouth that could make a pornstar cry.
