Page 17 of My Twin Sister's Extremely Famous and Incredibly Hot Neighbor

He doesn’t say anything, but his gaze intensifies, and I want to lighten the mood again. “How did you start knitting?” I ask, taking a step from him.

“My parents were gone a lot when I was a kid. One of my nannies taught me how to do it to keep me busy.”

How sad. I try not to frown. “What have you made?”

“Potholders. Table runners. Things like that.” He turns back to my painting. “But it’s not really a remarkable hobby like this is.” He takes a step closer to examine the painting. “I’m amazed at how you can incorporate the way the paint flows onto the page into the scene.”

I suddenly realize my signature is on the bottom. I don’t have one of those scribble signatures. It plainly reads Mackenzie Davenport. I grab Dustin’s shoulders and turn him toward me. “I have another one in the living room. Come, I’ll show you.”

I take his hand and pull him out of the room. When we get into the living room I stop him just inside the doorway and point. “There. It’s better from back here,” I say lamely.

This painting is of a waterfall. It took me years to learn to paint water effectively. I’m super proud of this painting, but I can’t have Dustin getting too close and reading my signature.

Dustin politely stays back. “That’s incredible,” he says.

As he studies the work from afar, my gaze travels over mantle of the fireplace and I freeze. Jera has a photo of us on display. There we are, twin sisters, smiling at the camera. My heart lodges itself into my throat.

CHAPTER9

Idesperately try to think of what I’m going to do to get Dustin out of the living room. If he sees the photo of me and Jera, it’s all over. He will know immediately that I’m not Jera, and Jera will murder me. I remember one more painting I have that he hasn’t seen. “Want me to show you one I painted when I was six years old?”

Dustin turns to me, a smile in his eyes. “I’d love to.”

I usher him back into the library where I have all my supplies. I pick up my old backpack sitting in the corner and unzip the front zipper. Inside is a folded-up piece of paper. I hand it to him.

He unfolds it and looks at the cat I painted. I drew it in red crayon and then painted it in blue. It was misshapen, the head was much too small for the body, and it makes me laugh every time I look at it.

“Wow, look at that,” Dustin says, and I can tell he’s trying to be nice.

I laugh, giving him silent permission to laugh with me. “It’s my favorite painting I’ve done. Do you want to know why?”

He laughs. “Sure. Why?”

“Because that little girl was not afraid to mess up. She wasn’t afraid to paint a blue cat. She did what her heart wanted. And my mother hung this picture on the refrigerator for everyone to see. That six-year-old was proud of this picture, and it reminds me that I can be proud of what I do, even if it’s not always perfect.”

Dustin stares at me in the dim light of the library. “I love that.”

I take the picture from him and fold it back up, suddenly embarrassed that I revealed so much of myself. I hadn’t meant to.

“Hey, I think I smell that brisket,” I say. “Isn’t it done by now?”

Dustin looks at his watch. “Oh, you’re right. I need to take it out of the smoker. It needs to rest before we eat it.”

“Rest? Is it tired?” I smirk at my lame joke.

He laughs, although it wouldn’t surprise me if he was just being polite again. “We’ll be able to eat in an hour or so. Want to come help me make a side dish?”

“Oh, you are so cute. You think I can help in the kitchen.” I pat his arm like he’s adorable.

“Come on. I won’t make you do anything too difficult. We can even do the dishes afterward.” His lips curve up in an incredibly sexy smile.

Memories of Dustin’s hands grazing mine under the soapy water pop into my brain, and an electric current runs through me, making me all tingly. “Okay,” I say before I can stop myself.

Maybe Jera will forgive me for spending so much time with Dustin once I tell her all that happened with the phone, and how I was such a fish out of water. I really need Dustin’s help. It’s nothing else. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

When we go outside, I pick up Squint and bring him along. Dustin scratches under Squint’s chin before driving us to his house, which takes ten minutes because of all the time it takes to open and close our gates.

“We should just build a gate between our properties,” I joke.

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