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He’s never given me any indication that he’d want to be more than being neighbors. He’s never asked me any personal questions nor have I asked anything of him.
From local gossip, I found out he bought George’s mechanic shop in town. Although I’ve seen his bike in the parking lot, I’ve never seen him outside of the business, talking to coworkers and customers. I’ve debated bringing my car in for an oil change in order to confirm he actually works in the building, but I thought it may be too awkward if I barge in and start tapping mechanics on the shoulders.
Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him talk to anyone. He’s never had anyone over when I’ve been home. No late night suitors or women doing the walk of shame, early in the morning. The onlysocializationI’ve seen him do is with his dogs.
Even with his unruly canines, I’m oddly drawn to him. Especially the times I’ve seen him working in his garage on his motorcycle, wearing those tight, worn jeans that leave little to the imagination. When he bends over, they hug his delectable ass. After getting an eyeful of that, I always have to check my chin for drool.
I shake my head free of those fantasies and focus on my current situation. “It’s okay, Gid. It really is, but I’m running late.” I hope I’m not coming off as an ass, but seriously, why did this have to happen today of all days?
“Mickie, I…” he begins as he halts in front of me.
I hold my hand out to stop him from saying anything else. I don’t need an apology, what I really need is more time. I scan my body to determine if my uniform can be salvaged. It can’t. I was hoping it was merely dirt which I could easily rub off, but the mud I find instead creates a whole different obstacle. When I glance at Gid, he’s checking me out too, but for a completely different reason than I am. I must be hallucinating because there’s no way his gaze lingered on my breasts. Was that a glimmer of interest I saw sparkling in his sapphire eyes?
Probably not.
Only a crazy person would want what I have to offer. I’m five foot five inches tall, long, curly black hair, and a somewhat trim body from being on my feet all day. At the age of thirty-seven, I know I’m still attractive, but It’s challenging not to worry about my looks with the perpetual bags under my eyes. Or the fact, I’m always wearing scrubs and my main accessory is the kids hanging on me.
This has been my life since my divorce from Kevin two years ago. As far as I can tell, Gideon is way out of my league and I have no chance with him. Not that I have the mental capacity to start any kind of relationship. But god, I do miss sex.
I swallow down that thought and concentrate on the present. “Gid, it’s fine. Really. But I don’t have time. I have to go back inside to change,” I puff out in exasperation.
Without waiting for his response, I yell for Lincoln to watch his siblings as I scramble back to the house. What the fuck am I going to wear now?
Discarded clothes mark my path as I make my way to the bathroom. I hold a white washcloth under the faucet then use it to wipe the paw prints off my arm. From the tiled floor of my en suite bathroom, I grab a dirty scrub top and bottoms. I do the smell test and don’t find them to have an offensive odor so I should be safe. They’re not matching, but I don’t give a single fuck at this point. I swiftly yank them on then take a moment to pause and check my reflection in the mirror.
Thankfully, there's no mud on my face. A wisp of my curly hair has escaped my ponytail, and I tuck it behind my ear. I wish I had time to at least swipe on some mascara. When getting ready this morning I didn’t know I would be having a face to face with my hunky neighbor.
Ensuring I’m as presentable as time allows, I sprint back to the car.
“If you bring your finger any closer to me I’m going to break it off,” Lincoln yells, I’m assuming at Maddox. I inhale deeply and calmly turn to defuse whatever’s going on. Sure as shit, Maddox is trying to poke his finger into Lincoln's ear, and it’s dripping wet with saliva. Successfully, I’m able to hold myself back from cringing at that spit laden finger.
“That’s enough,” I say sternly without raising my voice. “Maddox, I’m adding wet willies to the list of things you’re not allowed to do. Get a fast food napkin from the pocket behind my seat and clean off your finger,” I command before directing my attention to my other son. “And Lincoln Christopher, if I hear you threatening your brother one more time, I will change the Wi-Fi password so fast you’ll never play video games with your friends again. You got that?” He nods his head in response.
I check on my baby girl, her jet black hair catches the sunlight, making it look like she’s wearing a halo. She’s giggling and smiling in her booster seat, enjoying the chaos. She was enjoying the show so much that she had kicked one of her little sparkly pink sandals off. At least I hope this happened in the van so I’m not delivering her to daycare with only one shoe.
Once I’m satisfied all is in order and everyone is buckled in, I put the car in reverse. As I back out of the driveway, I lock eyes with Gideon through my driver’s side window. He has a shovel in one hand, and gives me a two finger salute with the other. True to his word, he is in front of my failed attempt at a flower bed, filling in the dog induced divots. My colorful impatiens lay limp in my yard but I’m really not that upset about it. Especially since I get a good view of his ass in those jeans as he bends to replant them. His dogs lie contently at his feet and I swear one of them gives me a wink. I begrudgingly chuckle to myself and make a mental note to reward them with a treat later. Not for the ruined scrubs and causing me to be even later for work of course, but for that view of my neighbor’s sculpted derrie air in my front yard.
I turn my concentration on my current task of getting my kids to daycare. I’ll have to race if I am to get them there in twenty minutes when normally it takes me at least forty.
Hopefully, the end of my day is better than the beginning.
two
If there wasn’t a waiting room full of people I’d chuck my phone across the reception desk. Kevin and his texts have a way of pulling that emotion out of me. I was married to the man for eight years. Eight fucking years! I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am. I guess surprise isn’t the feeling I’m experiencing. It’s disappointment. But not for me, it’s for the kids.
Kevin: Something came up. I’ll be late picking up the kids.
I shake my head, bringing my fingers to my temples and rub. The tension headache I’m trying to keep at bay is causing a dull throbbing behind my right eye. I don’t need this right now.
I should be immune to this. I’ve had lots of experience with Kevin and these situations. Kevin and I met when we were twenty-five. It was good while we were dating. So good that after only five months, he asked me to marry him. I accepted. Shortly after we wed, we had Linc and I thought everything was perfect. However, after the stress of being new parents, our relationship changed. I kept trying to make the relationship work, giving him what he wanted. What I thought would strengthen our relationship. But after the birth of Tillie, everything became a downward spiral of destruction. It became a toxic routine of him pulling away, coming home and spending more time with his bourbon than his family. I no longer enjoyed spending time with him. I was over trying to fix what was broken and more concerned with the effect his drunken behavior had on the kids. Then there was the whole thing of me walking in on him fucking another woman, but I block that out when I can. It makes me too angry. Needless to say, the transition has been hard on the kids, especially when it comes to Kevin not making his kids a priority. Like today.
He was supposed to get the kids from school and daycare. Tuesdays have been his scheduled day since we drew up our custodial agreement. It has been this way for at least a year. Something always seems to come up and it’s wearing on the kids. Thankfully, our babysitter could get them up and keep them until Kevin could pick them up at seven.
He’ll keep them overnight and drop them off at school tomorrow morning. I’m sure all three of them will probably be in mismatched clothes and Tillie's hair won’t be brushed but I'll take it in stride like I always do. The grins on their faces as they run into my arms is priceless. I don’t work for the rest of the week so I’ll have time to get my Betty Crocker on and make some cookies for them during the day.
It’s nice to have the free time while the kids are gone but once the cleaning is done, the house gets eerily quiet and my heart aches with how badly I miss them.
As I pull into the driveway, my headlights reflect off the graying white paint of my front door. Ever since the divorce, I've slacked on the house's exterior. Between having to be primarily responsible for the kid’s welfare and doing the little things Kevin did around the house, like mowing the yard, my time is limited.
