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Arms come around me, catching me from a painful landing. I look up and Rockwell has me from behind. He gazes down at me over my head, but he isn’t laughing at how ridiculous I am. In fact, he looks annoyed. Though besides his grumpy face, his hair is combed, and he looks incredible.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his tone far more sincere than I expect.
I force a smile. “Yeah, I’m good. Thanks.”
He lifts me up so my foot comes all the way out of the flowerpot and releases me once I’m steady.
My heart is pounding faster than jingle bells—I know because the song was on repeat in my class today. “I was . . . you know . . . checking on you. Like any good neighbor would.”
“Through my window?” He leans to the side to examine the window, and I notice he hasn’t shaved today. Oh, right, his place has no water. I focus on what he’s looking at. He’s probably thinking of boarding up all his windows the first chance he gets. Travis won’t let it fly, but I don’t say anything because Rockwell talks first. “I don’t think good neighbors are peepers.”
“Ha ha ha.” My laugh stutters. “Actually, I was worried you were frozen to death in there. I did knock first.” I’m not sure how I missed him in his car, but he had to have been in there when I drove up. Does that mean he witnessed me deliberate on the porch like a moron? Great, he probably thinks I’m stalking him. His frown deepens, so I quickly blurt, “You should thank me for caring enough to peep—I mean, check on you.”
He raises one brow at my slip. “It was cold, but the sleeping bag did its job.”
“Good.” I can’t think of anything else to say. I guess I’m waiting for him to suddenly crack a smile. The old Rockwell would have produced a wide, reassuring grin right about now and teased me some more. Not that his serious face isn’t doing anything for me. Being near Rockwell leaves me simultaneously happy and flustered. These kinds of feelings are exactly why I can’t commit to regular guys like Will Butler.
Rockwell points to his door with his thumb. “Travis said the utility guys are on their way. I should get inside.”
“Oh, of course. I just got home from school, and I have a lot to do.” I don’t really, besides wrapping books for the kids. I could do it later tonight, or even tomorrow. Gabby’s words echo in my mind, and I know I’m going to regret not saying anything. “Stop by later if you want some dinner.”
My delivery is cool and chill and very neighbor-like. I’m impressed with myself. After falling out of a flowerpot, I need a win.
Rockwell’s jaw tightens. It’s more defined than it used to be, and the movement might be subtle, but I catch it. He’s hesitant. I don’t blame him. I’m a nervous wreck myself.
“Uh, sure. What time?” he asks.
I try not to act surprised. My eyebrows might have twitched, but at least no drool came out of my mouth. I mentally calculate what I have in the freezer and how long it’ll take me to make it. “I usually eat around five thirty, but I’ll keep a plate warm for you if you get busy.” Do I sound desperate? I am, but I back up a few steps so I don’t show it. I reach for my doorknob and miss it. I look down so I can connect my hand with the right place. I wish I had a fancy pin-code lock, but it’s an old-school key entry, which means it’s time to dig through my purse for said key.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Rockwell pull his key from his pocket and let himself inside. It’s then I realize I own another copy of his key if Rockwell ever does come near dying again and needs me to rescue him. I almost laugh at myself, but I finally find my key ring and slip into my living room.
I rub my hands together, gearing up to make lasagna and a salad. While Rockwell might be a successful finance guru, my hunch is he hasn’t mastered many cooking skills. He’ll appreciate my choice. I’m not trying to win him over with homemade food or anything. I’m doing the neighborly thing by helping out a guy who has no working kitchen.
Actually, I’mtotallytrying to win him over with food. Rockwell is acting standoffish and cold, and I might need to examine these negative traits a little closer if I intend to get over him properly. I can’t read him well yet. It’s been so long, and yet, seeing him again brings the old times to the present. I’m nervous about messing with a part of my past I should’ve made peace with long ago. Hasn’t this part of my life already been decided for me? Regrets can go both ways, and I hope I’m not about to regret inviting Rockwell over.
Chapter 4
Rockwell
SeeingBriepeeringthroughmy window made me forget about the jug of water in my car. I need it to flush my toilet. I’ve heard of Christmas surprises before, but this is next-level. The room feels colder than outside. But no matter how brisk the room temperature is, it beats showing up at Mom’s house. I still haven’t told her I’m in town. I’m dreading seeing the farm again too. It’s been too long.
I promise myself to stop by tonight. She needs to see me before it gets around that I’m back—which won’t be hard with the small population in Bearwood. I’m worried Mom will think I’m changing my mind about this place. Things have been rough for her the last few months, and I hate that I have to disappoint her. I’m stalling for another reason too. I have too many memories at our house for me to hurry over there. Memories of her and Dad—of an idyllic childhood that ended up being all pretend. Nothing has been the same in my life since the day they split. I’m as good as I will ever be now, and I aim to keep it that way.
I grab my water jug and a few grocery items from my car and make sure everything is set for the utility guys. It doesn’t take long since the house is relatively empty. I glance around at the cold emptiness and remind myself that I’m here for a reason. After I talk with Mom and see to Travis’s job, I can wash my hands of the place for good.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s Travis. I swipe to answer and hold the phone to my ear. “Checking to see if I’m still cursing your name? The answer is yes.”
Travis laughs into the phone. “Is this a bad time to tell you I sent over some bank statements and spreadsheets to your email?”
My stomach growls. I think of Brie and her offer for dinner. “Yes, a very bad time.” I can’t believe I blurted out that I was going over to eat. Her invitation caught me off guard. Can you blame a guy? I’ve been railroaded by Travis since I arrived, and my game is off.
Travis hums into the phone. “You ran into Brie again, didn’t you?”
“Maybe.” I bet he couldn’t guess I held her in my arms less than seventy-two hours after our initial unplanned reunion. But I’m not volunteering any information to him. He doesn’t deserve it.
“I’ve been telling you for years that you two are meant to be together. You know I couldn’t help but set you up.”
“You always were great at apologizing,” I growl.
