Page 5 of Made for You
Gram slipped in the door a little before one in the morning.
“I know you said you’d be late, but does he work this late often?”
Don’t ask me why I was asking about Bruce the Un-adorable at way-past-my-bed-time o’clock, but I couldn’t help it. My mind wouldn’t shut off, nor could I sleep until I knew Gram was home. I’d camped out on the couch watchingGilmore Girlsreruns and done my level best not to think about the neighbor or the fact that Gram wasatthe neighbor’s house.
Why would I be thinking about a way-too-handsome man who was kind of a jerk and routinely chopped wood shirtless? I wouldn’t, obviously, and so I wasn’t. That’d be like expecting two parallel lines to meet. Illogical. Not my style.Not happening.
But Gram out so late had my concern, had my mind wandering from Lorelai Gilmore’s hijinks to the house next door.
“He doesn’t unless he needs to, then he does.” Gram arched a brow.
I shrugged like it didn’t really concern me. And it didn’t, obviously. “It just seems weird, I guess. His sister’s fifteen, right? She could probably spend a few hours alone and then you wouldn’t have to be over there standing guard.”
She tutted. “Sixteen. You’ll learn that Bruce always has a reason for doing things. And soon enough, you’ll see that I don’t normally go to bed before midnight anyway.”
With a wink, she strolled out of the room without a backward glance, then padded up the stairs, leaving me with an undue amount of irritation.
After hours of thinking about how I needed to make sure I was refreshed and ready for the day at a normal time tomorrow, I finally passed out around three. I hadn’t shifted the hour to mountain time yet, and mornings were proving to be tough on my body and brain stuck on Pacific time. But today, I’d be starting my new life—I’d find a job and soon, everything else would fall into place.
Gram was still in bed by the time I shuffled out the front door and walked the path to my car. With a small folder tucked under my arm and my purse slung over my shoulder, coffee mug in hand, I hustled along the mosaic walkway and nearly jumped out of my skin when a tall, dark figure appeared in front of me.
I flailed, the folder slipping out from underneath my arm, and nearly dropped my coffee but managed to keep hold of it.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you—” He bent to pick up the folder.
No need to look up to see it was Bruce Camden, apple of Gram’s eye, because his voice sounded just as smooth and distinctive as it had yesterday, if a little less annoyed and more apologetic. Not much of a difference where I was concerned.
I scrambled for the papers and stood right as he did.
My stomach flipped at the sight of him, yet I shifted my eyes away from that face for my own well-being. Good freaking grief, the man was stupid handsome, and I didn’t have time or space or energy to accommodate whatever request he’d make of me. Presumably something about his sister again. I could imagine caring for a teen proved no small task. Still, I’d tried to help last night when I did have time, and even though I understood his disinterest in my offer since he didn’t know me, I couldn’t help now with no spare time before my interview.
“Truly, I’m so sorry. I snuck up on you—I shouldn’t have. I hope nothing’s ruined.”
He handed me the folder, and I reluctantly met his eye.
My insides swooped. Dark brows, pure brown eyes, good hair with a little lock that arced over his forehead, cut jaw, somehow perfect nose, ridiculous lips, strong chin… incredible symmetry. Of course. Because traditional beauty was all about symmetry and the illustrious Golden Ratio—1.618 times longer than wide and perfectly proportioned in every way. And like the most basic of all people, I happened to really,reallylove symmetry. Not just in nature and on a handsome man’s face, but in all things. One might say all of math was about symmetry—balancing one side of an equal sign with the other. And here he was flaunting it.
I cleared my throat. “I’m sure it’s fine.”
“Do you have a minute?” he asked as I fumbled for the car door. “I know not long—you’re clearly leaving. I just need a quick moment of your time.”
I dumped my purse, set the folder onto the seat, and shoved my coffee mug into the cupholder, mind unable to parse through what he could need from me. My pulse had climbed into my throat, and dual responses of incredulity and anticipation had me slamming the door just a little too hard. I straightened, internally bracing myself to look at him and not react.
“Sure. I have just a minute.”
“Thank you. I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”
I blinked. “It’s fine. I know you didn’t mean to startle me.”
Half of his mouth kicked up into a smile—a.k.a. a deadly weapon.
“No, I mean about yesterday. I was rude and I apologize. What I should’ve done is introduce myself, ask you about yourself, and, well, really anything other than be a jerk like I was.”
I blinked again, because really? My heart rate accelerated at his heartfelt, genuine apology. Yes, I’d thought him a bit of a jerk, but I could also tell he was distracted and worried about something. I wasn’t upset so much as just kind of… surprised. Gram had gone on about what a good man he was and I’d kind of wanted him to rise to the occasion. What a lovely thought that her neighbor would be both a glorious specimen of manhoodanda decent human being. Then he all but dismissed me, and sure, fine—he didn’t know me. It deflated the old idealism balloon a bit, but these things happened in the light of day.
But now? Now, he was apologizing and thoughtful, not making excuses for anything. In all my life, I couldn’t think of a time I’d encountered a man who’d behaved this way, and it made me oddly giddy.
Gorgeous neighbor Bruce was helpful andnota jerk and might actually be kind of shockingly… nice.Huh.The way this pleased me could not be overstated.
