Page 6 of Matched with the Playboy Next Door

CHAPTER 3

ETHAN

It’s been a week so far in Bardstown and I’m not sure how I thought this would go, but so far, small-town life is a lot harder than I expected.

I wake up early, partly out of habit and partly because there’s something about the quiet here that makes me feel like I’m wasting the day if I don’t get a jumpstart. I know, I know—people in these towns probably sleep until noon, but I didn’t exactly move to Bardstown to nap through life.

But as I walk out onto the back porch, my fingers wrapping around the cold metal of the old mower that the previous owners left, it hits me that maybe I’ve made a mistake.

The grass is long, maybe too long. It’s like the lawn’s been holding its breath for weeks, just waiting for someone to take care of it. I pull the mower’s cord, the engine sputtersto life, and I start cutting, feeling a little bit like a real man in his element, which is ridiculous because I’ve hired landscapers before to do exactly this in New York.

The thing is, the mower is loud—loud enough that I don’t hear the sound of footsteps getting closer, and I cringe when I look up to see Riley heading my way, looking half-asleep and fully annoyed. Yeah, maybe I could’ve checked the time before firing up the mower.

Great job, Ethan—off to another stellar start with the neighbor.

“Are you serious?” she yells, the words cutting through the hum of the mower like a knife.

I wave, trying to look nonchalant. “Good morning!”

“Good morning?” Her voice is incredulous. “It’s six a.m.! Some of us value our sleep, you know?”

I wince. I didn’t consider the time. “I thought it would be a good time to get things done,” I say, grinning a little sheepishly. “You know, beat the heat.”

She marches toward me, her hands still on her hips, looking like she’s about to give me a lecture that’ll make my ears burn. I can already tell she’s unhappy with me, and I have no idea how to defuse this.

“Beat the heat?” she repeats, her voice rising. “It’s a weekend, Ethan! People like to sleep in on the weekend. Some of us actually value our mornings of peace.”

I stop the mower, hoping I can talk my way out of this, but it’s already too late.

“You know, I’m sorry, but next time, maybe you should be a little more considerate before you start rattling thewhole neighborhood awake,” she continues, her tone sharp. “Or do you just think the world revolves around you?”

I can feel my irritation flaring. She’s right—I should have checked the time, but the New Yorker in me won’t back down when spoken to like this. “I’m not trying to ruin your precious Saturday,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “Just thought I’d get the yard cleaned up for the week. It’s not like I’m doing this every day.”

Her eyes narrow, and she steps closer, her jaw clenched. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, city boy. You don’t just show up here, take over, and think everyone’s going to fall in line with whatever you want.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not taking over anything, Riley. I’m just trying to do the right thing.”

“By mowing the lawn at six in the morning?” she scoffs, incredulous. “Yeah, real thoughtful.”

I shake my head, the frustration seeping in. “You could’ve just asked me to stop, you know. No need for the theatrics.”

“Theatrics?” she snaps, her face flushing with anger. “You think this is a performance? You’re completely out of touch with people around here. It’s not about you, Ethan. It’s about basic respect for the people you share this space with.”

The words sting, and I can feel my temper start to rise. I try to keep it in check, but I can tell we’re both headed for a blow-up.

“Okay, fair enough. I didn’t realize itwas that early,” I admit, raising my hands. “Won’t happen again, I promise.”

Maybe I should bake her cookies as an apology—do people still do that here?

Riley opens her mouth to respond, but before she can, I turn and grab the mower, wheeling it toward the garage. I’ve had enough. This conversation isn’t going anywhere good, and I’m not about to fight with her first thing in the morning. This is not how I saw myself behaving, but something about Riley stirs up my argumentative side.

Later that afternoon, after the whole lawn-mowing disaster, I head to the hardware store. I figure if I’m going to spend time here, I might as well get some tools to keep up the charade of “small-town living.” It’s not like I have a lot of other options for places to buy what I need.

As I drive through the small town, everything feels so different from my former life. It’s almost like everyone here is one big extended family; I can see the familiarity in everyone’s faces from how they speak and interact with each other. Kids and their parents at the park are having a great time, while a group of old men are nestled together in cozy rocking chairs on the sidewalk, reading the paper and chortling about days gone by—or at least, that’s what I assume based on my limited knowledge of small-town conversation.

I finally pull into the hardware store, step out of my car, and walk through the door, the bell above it jingling as Ienter. My eyes immediately land on her—Riley, standing behind the counter. She’s scribbling something in the register, but as soon as she notices me, she freezes. Her eyes narrow, and I can practically hear her thoughts:Not this guy again.I’m pretty sure the universe has conspired to make me bump into Riley again, but I try to play it cool.

I flash her my most disarming smile, trying to be the charming, playful guy I’m known to be. “Hey there, Riley. How’s the rest of your day going?”

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