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Leanne: (laughing emoji, laughing tears emoji, books emoji, frog emoji) Let’s meet on Saturday. That’s only a few days away. And you can tell me everything about your hot neighbor. Deal?
I don’t know what the frog is supposed to mean. Unless she’s talking about kissing toads, in which case, I’m not sure if she means her or me. I didn’t tell her about the kiss. I want to, but she’s MIA. Or rather, “studying” or “writing” at the library with some unknown hot dude that she’s purposefully vague about. I need someone to talk to. I need to debrief. I need advice. I need my best friend. Text isn’t going to cut it. I could tell Leanne about the kiss, but I’m pretty sure it would come out all wrong over the phone. I’m not even sure it would come out right in person. At least not until we’ve each had a few glasses of wine.
My fingers are hovering over the phone—ready to try and spill everything about said kiss despite my better judgment—when the doorbell rings.
I nearly fall off the couch at the sound. My grandma was always jumpy, and I think I’m even worse. I jump up with my phone still clutched in my hand. I can tell it’s not Leanne playing a joke on me and actually coming over because I still have the cameras set up, and the one pointing at the front door is clearly displaying a very masculine form.
A very pleasing, gorgeous, smoldering, ultra-chiseled, faded jeans, tight t-shirt kind of form.
“Shit,” I mutter. I stand there frozen, staring at the camera. Even in black and white, the guy is insanely beautiful. My lips start tingling just by thinking about the kiss, and my body does this strange trick of getting hot and shivery all at once.
Wade has something in his hand. A case of something. Beer, I realize, when I inch closer to the camera.
He glances around, looks behind him, and looks back at the door. He seems uncomfortable, and then he shakes his head and turns to go.
I didn’t realize my feet could move so fast, but suddenly, I’m flying like I have one of those big fan boats strapped to my back. I reach the door in about a quarter of a second and fling it open.
Wade is on the first step, but he turns. He looks a little confused at first, then hesitant, but the sparkle returns to his eyes. His perfect lips—lips I’ve freaking tasted and know for a fact are like a freaking twenty out of ten on the perfection/hotness scale—curl into a cautious sort of smile.
“Hi.” He shifts, holding out the case of beer in one hand. In the other, which I didn’t notice before, is my pie pan and tea towel. “I wanted to bring these back. And—uh—see if you maybe wanted to sit outside and have a beer. Seeing as it still hasn’t cooled off at all.”
“You thought I’d be parched? Because it’s hot?”
“Something like that.”
I have to reach out and grip the door frame. Should I let him in? What will happen if I do? Will he try and kiss me again? Was he serious when he said we could pretend like it never happened? How can we pretend like it never happened? That kiss was the most amazing, incredible, and awesome thing I’ve experienced. In just about forever. Okay, maybe ever. At least when it comes to kisses.
“Uh—the back deck? We could sit out there.”
“That would be great. I don’t have a deck. I think I’ll build one, though. Might help the house sell faster when I’m ready to list it.”
That little reminder is like a slap in the face with a cold, wet noodle. It’s a reminder that this isn’t permanent. Wade is temporary. He’s only here to fix up his house, and then he’ll be gone. Right. So, this is just a beer. A beer with a guy who happens to kiss like it’s going out of freaking style but is going to vanish into thin air before I know it. He might not be a mobster, but there’s still plenty of good reasons for me to keep my guard up.
It shouldn’t involve me taking my pie pan and tea towel before showing Wade through the house to the patio door off the kitchen and onto the deck.
It shouldn’t involve me letting him sit down in one of the patio chairs I have out there, and secretly admiring how good he looks doing even the simplest of things.
It shouldn’t involve me sitting down next to him in my other patio chair and taking one of those chilled beers he’s offering, even though I don’t really like beer.
I crank it open anyway and take a sip. The heat is still oppressive even in the late part of the afternoon when it should be tapering off and giving way to the cooler evening part of the day. It’s like a smothering blanket, and even my tank top and shorts combo feels like I’m wearing a full-on snowsuit.
