Page 38 of A Very Grumpy Neighbor

She exhales shakily. “I’ve got to say, you being so open with me is a turn-on.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. How about I save the rest of my questions for a little later?”

“Whatever you want, Jade.”

Jade grins as she pushes onto her toes and presses her lips against mine. I smirk as I kiss her back, lift her into my arms, and carry her toward her bedroom.

I think I’m going to love opening up to my girl,I think as we crash onto her bed.

ELEVEN

Jade

Five Years Later…

It’s barely 6 a.m.,and the house is already buzzing with life.

Which is to say—a toddler is screaming from the nursery, a six-month-old is fussing in her crib, and a one-hundred-pound German Shepherd mix is making slow, hopeful circles around the kitchen island, waiting for breakfast.

And I wouldn’t change a single thing.

“Coming!” I call as I swing open the fridge and pull out the prepped bottles and fruit for the kids’ breakfasts. I toss a strip of turkey bacon in the pan for Meyer and scratch behind Odin’s ears.

Our pup-turned-patrol-dog-turned-certified babysitter wags his tail and lets out a low huff. I know that look—he’s wondering why the heck I haven’t fed him yet.

“All right, all right, you big baby.” I grab his food scoop and fill his bowl.

I’m halfway through pouring the kibble when I hear heavy footsteps coming down the stairs—solid, sure, and always with purpose.

Meyer.

“Got her,” he mutters, gently bouncing our daughter, Hazel, in one arm while brushing her downy dark curls off her forehead. “She had her foot stuck in the crib bars again. She’s going to be trouble, I can tell.”

I smirk. “She’s your daughter.”

Meyer grunts like he’s offended, even though we both know it’s true.

He kisses the top of Hazel’s head before passing her to me so he can pour himself some coffee.

That grumpy, rugged man who once growled at me to cut my grass now holds our toddler like she’s made of glass and whispers things like “Daddy’s got you” in the softest voice I’ve ever heard.

I hand Hazel her bottle and kiss her cheek before setting her in the high chair. Odin immediately curls up next to it like the vigilant protector he is.

The back door swings open a second later, and our four-year-old son, Rowan, barrels inside from the yard—shirtless, barefoot, and already covered in dirt.

Meyer lifts one eyebrow. “Thought we agreed he’d wait to dig until after breakfast.”

I snort. “You try telling him that when he’s on a worm hunt.”

“Worms are my life right now,” Rowan announces proudly as he climbs into his seat. “I found three! I named them Sparkle, Brutus, and Potato.”

“Great names,” Meyer deadpans. “Brutus sounds like trouble.”

“Potato’s my favorite,” Rowan whispers as if the other two might hear him.

I plate up some waffles for Rowan and sneak a slice of banana to Hazel, who smears it on her tray with glee.

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