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“That’s good.” He nodded, almost to himself, and ran a hand over the back of his head.
“Agreed. I consider it a good day if I haven’t been murdered.”
He stared at her for a moment as if at a loss for what to say to that, and she was momentarily struck by how well his beard suited his tense jawline, by how long his eyelashes were, how his brown eyes had flecks of green in them.
“I’m sorry if I scared you,” he said finally. “But maybe not so loud on the movies. I’m trained to respond to screams.”
Somehow the wordstrained to respond to screamssounded dirty to her ear, and heat bloomed in her cheeks.God.What was with her tonight? She cleared her throat. “Right. And maybe not so loud with the tractor music?”
His mouth hitched up at one corner, a lazy tilt of a smile. “I played no songs about tractors. There was no farm equipment referenced at all.”
She crossed her arms again and gave him a knowing look. “What about mommas, trains, trucks, prison, or gettin’ drunk?”
A low chuckle escaped him, and he coughed, as if trying to cover it. “Touché. No promises there.”
“Fair enough. So, you’re the neighbor,” she said, trying to disregard the warm honey sound of his laugh. There was no way she needed to entertain anyHey, how you doin’feelings about the dude who lived next door. She couldn’t even think of the box of nightmaresthatwould open up.
He straightened a little, and his serious face returned. “Yeah. Hill Dawson. Sorry I haven’t introduced myself before this. I’ve been…busy with things.”
“I’m Andrea—Andi,” she said, keeping one arm crossed over her chest and putting out her other to shake his hand. “Writer. Podcaster. Watcher of loud horror movies.”
He took her hand, his grip big and warm around hers, and gave her a businesslike shake. “Nice to meet you.”
“Yes, at midnight. In our pajamas. Exactly how I planned it.” Well,herpajamas. He had tennis shoes on, so he probably hadn’t been in bed.
She almost missed it, the quick flick of his gaze back to her outfit, but he seemed to catch himself and not let the look linger. He dropped the handshake. “It won’t happen again.”
She let out a breath and dropped the prickly attitude. This wasn’t who she was. Being scared and caught off guard had brought out her sharp edges. “Look, I appreciate you coming over to make sure everything’s okay. I guess we both need to be aware of how thin the walls are.”
“Yeah, I didn’t realize that until tonight either. Your side has been pretty quiet since you moved in. I’m glad you weren’t being murdered.”
She smiled. “Me too.”
He nodded. “Well, good night, Andi.”
“’Night, neighbor.”
He grabbed the bat, setting it against his shoulder with the practiced ease of someone who’d played the game, and then tipped his head toward the pepper spray clutched in her left hand. “Also, that’s decent if you’re trying to deter a dog from attacking you, but you should look into the pepper gel for real protection. That’s what my cop friends suggest. It won’t blow back on you and is stronger.”
“Oh.” She looked down at the pink tube.
“And sorry to use the fire department thing. I didn’t mean to scare you. I figured that’d be the quickest way to get you to open the door.”
She sniffed. “It worked.”
He shrugged. “It usually does.”
“Next time, you can just say it’s Hill, so I don’t think I’m about to die of a gas leak.”
His lips curved slightly, but there was a glimmer of sadness there—or wistfulness—before he turned back toward his side of the porch. “G’night.”
“’Night.”
Andi leaned against her doorway, maybe enjoying the view of his backside in a pair of sweats more than she should. He walked a little stiffly, like he had a knee bothering him or something, and headed back into his house without a backward glance.
She slipped back inside, locked her door, and leaned against it, her heart still beating fast—from the earlier scare, but also maybe from something else. She didn’t want to examine that too closely. In her darkened living room, the paused movie was the only light. Drew Barrymore was frozen in place, lying on the ground with Ghostface above her. Andi scanned the room—the single indentation on the couch, the afghan for two, the cold cup of tea. All were waiting for her to return.
But a weird urge to go back outside and knock on Hill’s door, invite him to watch the movie with her, came over her. Maybe he had trouble sleeping like she did. Maybe he liked scary movies, too.
