Page 4 of Matched with the Playboy Next Door

“Argh,” I groan, slamming the fridge door shut after grabbing a bottled water.

The sound of humming floats in from the back door. Aunt Dotty’s in the garden again, trimming her roses and chatting with her plants as if they’re old friends. I take a deep breath, reminding myself to keep my voice even. She doesn’t need to deal with my mood swings.

I step out onto the porch, and the late morning sun washes over me. Aunt Dotty is in her usual spot near the rose bushes, her floppy sun hat casting a shadow over her lined but warm face. A watering can sit by her feet, and she’s holding pruning shears like a painter with a brush.

When she looks up and sees me, her smile falters. “Well, what’s gotten into you, sugar?” she asks, her Southern twang as soothing as ever. “That’s not the kind of face you wear on a beautiful morning like this.”

“That’s the face you get when your new neighbor blocks your driveway with his oversized truck and acts like it’s your fault,” I say, plopping onto the wooden bench by the garden bed.

Aunt Dotty chuckles softly, cutting another rose and adding it to the basket on her arm. “Oh, so you’ve met Mia’s cousin, then?”

I blink. “Wait, Mia’s cousin?”

“Mm-hmm,” Aunt Dotty says, still focused on her roses. “She mentioned he’d be moving in soon. Ethan. She said he needs a fresh start, bless his heart.”

I groan, leaning my head back against the bench. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Mia? That explainseverything. He reeks of a ‘city boy trying to be rustic.’ I bet he thinks owning a flannel shirt makes him one of us.”

Aunt Dotty hides a smile behind her shears, but I catch it anyway.

“I mean, have you seen him?” I press on, crossing my arms. “Perfectly tailored pants, not a single hair out of place. Probably spends more on his skincare than I do on my entire wardrobe.”

Aunt Dotty hums in response, which only makes me more determined to vent.

“And the way he talks,” I continue, my voice rising. “All polite and smooth, like he’s trying to charm his way out of anything. I don’t care how rich or successful he is—he’s just another spoiled city boy who thinks he can stroll in here and fit right in.”

Aunt Dotty finally turns to me, her expression calm but amused. “Now, sugar, don’t you think you’re being a little harsh? You’ve only just met the man.”

I shrug, my fingers twisting the hem of my shirt. I willnotmention how handsome I find the new neighbor. That would only add fuel to Aunt Dotty’s fire. “Maybe. But guys like that always seem too good to be true, you know?”

Aunt Dotty shakes her head, walking over to the bench and sitting beside me. She pats my knee gently. “Riley, you’ve got a good head on your shoulders, but sometimes you’re a little quick to judge. Why not give him a chance? Maybe this ‘city boy’ isn’t as bad as you think. Stranger things have happened.”

I snort. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Aunt Dotty lets out a soft laugh, leaning back and looking out at the garden. “Well, if he’s anything like Mia, he’ll be persistent. You might want to pace yourself, sugar.”

The bell above the door jingles as I step behind the counter, the familiar sound filling the hardware store. The faint smell of sawdust and metal is oddly comforting, grounding me in a place where I’m in control. My sanctuary.

“Morning, Riley!” old Mr. Harper calls out from the aisle, squinting at the wall of nails. He’s one of my regulars, always tinkering with something in his workshop.

“Morning, Mr. Harper,” I reply, flashing him a quick smile. “Let me know if you need help.”

He waves me off, muttering something about “getting it right this time.”

I glance at the clock and sigh. It’s been a slow morning, which isn’t unusual for a weekday.

The bell jingles again, and a harried-looking woman with a toddler on her hip rushes in, glancing around like she’s on a mission.

“Hi there,” I say, stepping out from behind the counter. “Need some help?”

“Yes, please,” she says, shifting the squirming toddler to her other hip. “The lock on my backdoor’s busted, and my husband’s out of town. I don’t even know where to start.”

“Don’t worry,” I say, already moving toward the aisle with door hardware. “I’ve got you covered.”

She follows me, balancing the toddler while rattling off details about the door and the lock. I nod, pulling down a sturdy replacement lockset. “This should work for you. It’s durable, easy to install, and comes with instructions.”

Her shoulders slump in relief. “Oh, thank you. But… I’ve never done anything like this before. What if I mess it up?”

I smile, grabbing a screwdriver set from the shelf. “You won’t. I’ll show you exactly what to do.”

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