Page 12 of Guarding My Love

Amanda was right. She was used to being around people and it could get lonely sitting in her office daily with only Marco.

But the few days she’d lived here, she hadn’t had enough time to be lonely. She was too busy figuring things out, where to go to buy food, let alone paint. Not to mention training a new puppy.

“I have some at my place if you want to finish today.”

“That’d be great,” she said. “I’ll buy it off of you.”

“Not a big deal,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

He left before she could stop him and turned to put Marco down. “He’s a bit grouchy, isn’t he?”

Marco barked and then squatted and peed on her wood floor causing her to curse and rush to clean it up before her neighbor returned.

She didn’t even know his name!

She was spraying Lysol in the air when she heard knocking at her back door.

“Come in,” she yelled.

“Don’t you want to know who is at your door before you let them in?” he asked.

She should have done that. “I assumed it was you. And speaking of you. I don’t even know your name.”

“Foster,” he said, handing over the tape.

First name only, so she’d do the same.

“Charlotte,” she said, reaching her hand out. “It’s nice to meet you and I appreciate you being neighborly and all considering you wanted to buy the house so you had no one around.”

He snorted at her and she found it adorably sexy.

His hair was a bit longer and unkempt. The wind had done a number on it for sure. Or maybe he was one of those hot frustrating guys that always ran his fingers through it.

He had facial hair that wasn’t trimmed but not long. More like he just let it go for a day or so.

His eyes were dark and assessing her in a way men didn’t normally do.

Most men looked at her as if she was some silly blonde that needed to be on their arm. A good time and short term.

There was nothing sexy or frilly about her in old jeans and sneakers, a T-shirt too big and hanging mid-thigh to cover her jeans. Her hair was in a messy bun on her head, a red bandana over it to prevent any paint from landing there.

Not that she thought paint from the wall was going to end up in her hair, but considering there were streaks all over the walls now that it was drying too, anything was possible.

“You know, if you roll in a W or N pattern, you can prevent streaking. And don’t have too much paint on the roller either.”

“Huh?” she asked.

“Let me show you,” he said. He walked over to her paint can and looked down. “This needs to be mixed better too.”

“They mixed it when I got it.”

“When did you buy it?” he asked, putting the lid back on, then pounding it down with his fist. He picked it up and started to swirl it in his hands in some soft motion. Not what she expected him to do.

At first he looked more like the type to ram and shake something. Not have a gentle touch.

“Yesterday,” she said.

“It settles then,” he said. He pried the lid off. “Do you have a stick to stir it?”

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