Page 3 of Make Mine Sweet
“If by ‘privacy’ you mean ‘turning into a recluse,’ I’ve noticed that, too.”
“If you expect me to—” The rest of my idle threat dies out as I swallow my tongue.
The woman who gets out of the station wagon is drop-dead gorgeous. Blond, in a red-and-white striped shirt and jeans shorts that show off curves out of my dreams, she shoots a grin Amy’s direction and waves.
Like an idiot, I lift my hand to wave back. I have enough sense to redirect and rake my fingers through my hair. That “Gandalf or Hagrid?” debate roars back to life in my head. Hair past my shoulders, beard several inches beyond my chin, my shirt creeping into its third day of rotation—I could pass for a cave man if I had a couple of rocks to bang together.
The only saving grace is that I put on sweatpants this morning and never changed out of them. I’ve come to terms with my prosthetic leg in most ways, but there’s not a world in which I want this woman to look at me with pity in her eyes the moment I meet her. Give her a chance to get to know me, at least.
Then she can pity me for entirely different reasons.
Amy steps off the porch and greets her as the woman opens the rear passenger door. A little boy with pale blond hair jumps out and slips his hand into hers.
Something beneath my ribcage shifts. Whatever useless hope flared to life in there dies back down. No doubt a man will appear any minute now to round out their family unit. Probably some clean-shaven suit who doesn’t use the sniff-test on his clothes every morning.
I cross my arms back over my chest.
“Tess and August, meet my nephew, Ian.” Amy gestures over at me. “Ian, these are two of the best people in Sunshine you’ll ever know.”
The woman—Tess—smiles brightly at me. That stupid hope tries to flutter back into existence, but I squash the life out of it. It’s nothing personal. Just the last shreds of my self-preservation.
“It’s nice to meet you, Ian.”
I don’t react, but her smile doesn’t budge. She’s either a nurse or works retail to be this unfazed by me ignoring her kindness. Maybe a teacher.
“Mister, can I pet your dog?” The little boy’s practically dancing next to his mother—I might be assuming too much, but they look too alike for them to be anything else.
I nod. The dog hasn’t had a whole lot of practice, but he’s been good with kids so far. Tess lets go of the boy’s hand, and he steps up onto the low porch both duplexes share. He holds a hand out, and Dutch sniffs it. Next second, he licks it, and the kid starts petting him in long strokes down his back. Dutch leans so hard against him, the kid almost falls over.
At least one of us is happy to have neighbors.
TWO
TESS
I knewmy apartment came with a reclusive neighbor attached, but I didn’t anticipate this much scowling. Or facial hair.
Seriously, that is a Dude Thor-level beard.
But I promised Amy I would try to befriend her nephew, and while she never explicitly said my efforts are in exchange for the phenomenally cheap rent she offered me, I’m not stupid. Although, with the way the man’s glaring at me, it’s fair to say my optimism butts up against naiveté.
As if I didn’t know that already.
I go on smiling at Ian. In my experience, a little sweetness goes a long way. Whether in my family’s bakery when the line is long and customers get twitchy or when August is grumpy and doesn’t want to do his blood sugar tests, a warm smile and cheerful attitude can be infectious.
Ian’s scowl is a sweetness-repelling shield. He’s giving strong “Keep Out, No Trespassing” vibes. Which is awkward, considering we’ll be sharing a duplex for the foreseeable future.
Scowls or not, I need this apartment. I’m thirty-two—it’s long past time I create some space for August and me. And maybe get out from under my mother’s increasingly smothering wings in the process.
“I don’t have much time today.” Amy hands me my house keys and reminds me of a few last details about the rental. Before I know it, she’s at her car again, ready to leave. “Ian, why don’t you help Tess and August carry their things inside? That’d be neighborly of you.”
She winks at him, hops into her car, and drives away. Leaving me with the least neighborly guy I can imagine.
I side-eye my new lumberjack-looking companion. When Amy offered me this apartment, I’d been too focused on the steeply discounted rent to ask much about the solitary nephew she’d mentioned. Now, I’ve got nothing but questions. Like:
Does he ever smile?
Is he trying to zap me into oblivion with his ice-blue eyes?
