Page 7 of Matched with the Playboy Next Door

She doesn’t even look up at me at first; she shuffles through a few receipts. “Fine,” she replies, her tone colder than I expected.

I take a few steps closer, trying to close the gap, but she doesn’t make it easy. “I’m in need of a few tools for the yard,” I say, my voice warm, like I’m doing her a favor by showing up. “I was hoping you could help me out. I’m still getting the hang of all this, you know. Mowing the lawn and all that… not really my forte.”

Her eyes flick up for a split second before she lets out a barely audible sigh. She doesn’t smile and doesn’t respond with any playful banter. Instead, she starts rattling off a list of tools I need. “Lawnmower fuel, hedge trimmers, garden rake… oh, and a shovel, probably.” Her voice is still all business, and there is no sign of the easy chemistry we should have.

I raise an eyebrow. “No problem, just thought I’d ask the local expert,” I say with a grin, stepping a little closer to the counter. “You must know all the ins and outs ofthis stuff by now.”

Riley nods, her focus still on the register. “Yeah. Been working here long enough.”

“Long enough to teach me a thing or two?” I joke, trying to keep the mood light. “I’m sure there’s some trick to using these tools without breaking them.”

She hesitates, finally looking at me. “You’ll figure it out,” she says, handing me a basket with a few tools.

She’s efficient, I’ll give her that. If there were an Olympic event for shutting people down, Riley would be a gold medalist.

I take the basket from her, playing along. “Well, if I do mess it up, I guess I can always count on you to bail me out.”

I lean in just a little too much, smiling with that same charm I know works on most people. But Riley gives me a flat look, her expression unreadable. She glances over my shoulder as if searching for something more interesting in the store.

As I glance down into the basket, I notice that some of the tools are way too advanced for someone who’s never used them before. I look back at her, slightly confused. “Hey, Riley, are you sure these are the right ones? I might need something more… beginner-friendly?”

“Uh-huh.” She doesn’t sound like she’s really listening to me.

Just as I’m about to say something else, the doorbell rings, signaling a new customer. Riley immediately turns to help them without so much as a glance in my direction. She’s been in the store all day, and now she’schoosing to deal with someone else right in front of me?

I watch, feeling my patience thinning. She gestures for the new customer to follow her as she walks toward the tools section, explaining something in detail as if I’m not even standing there. The way she talks to this guy—so focused, so attentive—just rubs me the wrong way.

She turns to him, crouching down to explain something about garden shears with the same precision she’d used with me earlier. I stand there, trying to keep my cool, but I’m fuming. It’s not just that she’s helping someone else. It’s the fact that she’s treating me like I don’t matter—like I’m some annoying guy who’s gotten in her way.

I lean against the counter, crossing my arms. “So, that’s how it is?” I say louder than I mean to.

Riley doesn’t even flinch. “What’s that?” she asks, still not looking up from her customer.

I take a deep breath, trying to keep my tone steady, though it’s starting to slip. “You give him your full attention, but I’m just some inconvenience to you? Really?”

Finally, she looks up at me, her eyes narrowing. “Ethan, I’m trying to help someone who actually needs it. You were just fine. I’m just trying to help everyone who walks in here. It’s been a busy day, okay?”

I can feel the heat rise in my chest, but I force myself to take a step back. “I’m just trying to understand why you’re treating me like the last thing you want in your store.”

Riley’s lips press together, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of something—maybe guilt orannoyance—before she puts on that professional mask again. “I didn’t say that, Ethan. You’re the one making it all about you.”

I rub the back of my neck, heat creeping up as I realize I’ve let my frustration get the better of me. “Sorry. Long day,” I mutter, my voice quieter now. “I didn’t mean to snap.”

She doesn’t respond immediately, her gaze fixed on me like she’s deciding whether to let it slide or keep pushing. The silence between us feels heavy, charged with unspoken words I can’t seem to find.

“Are you done?” she finally asks, her voice calm but with just enough edge to remind me who’s in control here.

I let out a sharp exhale, running a hand through my hair. “Yeah. I’m done.”

“Good,” she says, already turning back to her customer. “Tools are over there. Help yourself.”

I stand there for a second longer than I should, the air between us thick and uncomfortable. I want to say something, anything, to smooth things over, but the words don’t come. Instead, I grab the tools I need and head for the checkout.

As I walk out, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve just made things worse. It’s not even about the stupid lawnmower anymore. It’s about Riley—about the way she looks at me like I don’t belong here, like I’ve already failed some test I didn’t know I was taking.

And the worst part? I’m starting to wonder if she’s right.

The next morning, the doorbell rings, and I drag myself out of bed, grumbling. I open the door to find Mia standing there, grinning with a coffee cup in hand.

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