Page 3 of You've Got Male

“Youare the Beautification Board.”

“I’mpartof the board.” She softened her voice and took a small step forward.

“You could have just come to me.”

“I did. Three times and there has been zero change. Your lawn resembles a wheat field. To be fair, I asked the board to give you a chance to explain your landscape plan of action before they fine you.”

She left off theagain, but it hung in the air.

His wife passed away two years ago, leaving behind a teenage son, an infant daughter, and a distraught husband, who went from being a big player at a prestigious investment bank to an at-home day-trader who wore T-shirts with holes in the armpit. He also wore his grief like a familiar old blanket that wrappedaround him and everything he touched.

Jonah crumpled up the letter and stuffed it into his pocket. “Is this about my pomegranate tree?”

He was referring to the pomegranate tree that had launched a neighbor-war equivalent to Hatfield and McCoy.

“No. This is about our neighbors, who call, show up at my house, at my work, all to bitch about your yard. As if somehow, because your tree hangs over my property line and drops concrete-staining fruit ontomypathway and the sidewalk and attracts rodents, I’m the responsible party. I’ve held them off as long as I can.”

“I just need a little more time. Plus, what’s the big deal, it’s a yard. There are more important things in life than a fucking yard.”

Evie knew he was talking about his deceased wife, Amber, and what it must be like to raise two kids alone. She felt for him, she really did, but she couldn’t handle one more thing on her plate. She had so many plates spinning that one more distraction would have them crashing down like a Greek wedding.

“I’ve held them off as long as I could. But you’re on your own, buddy. Plus, your landscaping skills need work.”

He stepped closer and a whiff of his dreamy cologne engulfed her, awakening her senses. Or maybe it was the stiff Denver breeze coming in from a customer who forgot to close the front door.

“I don’t comment on yourladyscapingskills.”

“You’ve never seen my ladyscaping.”

“Is that the story you’re sticking with?”

“Fine. You saw it once, but that didn’t count.”

“I know I’ve said it before, but I’m sorry for how that night ended,” he said quietly, reaching out to brush the back of his knuckles against hers. She jerked away like she’d connected with the end of a live wire.

“And like I said before, I get it.” But did she? Because while her mind knew Jonah was still struggling with the way things had transpired in the last few months of his wife’s life, Evie’s gut was screaming that he’d stopped for an entirely different reason. A reason she desperately wanted to understand. Because now there was this awkward strain between them, and she didn’t know how to fix it.

Didn’t want to fix it. It was safer being enemies than friends at this point. At the moment she couldn’t think of another person who grated on her nerves more than her messy neighbor. Just the way he took care of his appearance was enough to send her off the edge.

Then there was that familiar feeling that pinballed in her chest, banging against each rib, growing to the size of a sledgehammer by the time it reached her confidence. Rejection.

The burn added to her already scorched heart.

Chapter Two

Jonah

September was flexing her muscles. The air was so hot that with one breath Jonah felt his lungs ignite into flames. And the high altitude wasn’t helping. He’d grown up in the Mile High City, but he’d never acclimated to the dry heat of summer.

Jonah pulled into the drive and took in the gray-and-white 1912 Tudor he and his late wife spent six years renovating into their dream home. With the steeply pitched roof, narrow leaded-glass windows, and large brick front patio, it was the gem of the neighborhood. Or it had been. Gone were the sprawling gardens and manicured trees. Left to their own devices, the grass had taken over the flowerbeds and the trees now encroached on the easement. It was just another aftereffect of what happened when one’s wife was three months pregnant and diagnosed with cancer.

Encroachment.

Jonah’s therapist would say that the condition of his house was a metaphor for the anger and disillusionment he’d adoptedas his natural state of being. He didn’t used to be the cynical prick who purposefully went out of his way to piss off the neighborhood, but he wanted them to feel even an ounce of what his life had become. A complete shit show.

For example, after dropping Waverly at preschool—where he sweet-talked some of the moms into siding with him at the Beautification Board meeting—and making some headway on chores, he’d spent the day sending out resumes and calling every contact he had in his past life praying for a job. Or at least the chance to get his foot in the door and prove he was the man for the job.

Evie may have thrown fire on this next-door-war by calling tonight’s Beautification Board meeting, but it didn’t mean Jonah wasn’t going in with some serious ammo in his back pocket.

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