Tipping my head back, I squinted at the popcorn ceiling and tried to make out shapes like I was an astrologer. Ceilingologer. Ceilologer?
“Madison, are you listening to me?”
I groaned, closing my eyes. “Yes, Dad, I’m listening.”
“You’ve been here several weeks now, there’s no reason for the dishwasher to still be broken. When was the last time you called him?”
I rolled my head forward, letting it drop, and imagined submerging myself in the sink full of soapy water. “I called last week. It’s not a big deal, I don’t mind hand washing. We don’t exactly have many dishes anyway.”
“It is a big deal, it’s his property. It’s his job to keep it in working order. You pay more than enough rent for it,” he argued, leaning against the counter next to me. Realizing he wasn’t going to drop it, I set the rag down and glanced up.
John Hartland was a large man, coming in at six-foot, two and well over two-hundred pounds. He could look menacing as hell when he wanted to as long as you didn’t know him. To me, he was just one big ass, balding teddy bear.
I twisted my body, wrapping my arms around his waist and giving him a hug, nonchalantly drying my hands on the back of his shirt. His narrow gaze told me I wasn’t as sneaky as I’d thought.
“It’s fine, Dad, I promise. I’ll call again tomorrow if you sit your butt down and relax.”
“I just care about you.”
“I know.” I smiled, stepping back and turning to finish the few dishes we’d used for dinner. We had dinner with my parents a couple times a month, taking turns hosting. On our own, Jamie and I were happy eating meatless spaghetti or sloppy joes, but I used our hosting nights as an excuse to try new meals. I actually enjoyed cooking when I had the opportunity.
A loud cheer burst from my son’s room, making both of us chuckle. My mother was currently in there playing cards, and she was similar to me in the sense that she wasn’t going to go easy on him. She was vicious. I don’t think I ever played a game where she didn’t throw down a stack of wilds and force me to draw more cards than I could hold.
My parents raised me in the Midwest up until I graduated high school, including helping me with Jamie my final years. But then my dad accepted a higher management position within his company, and they moved out here to North Carolina.
I should have moved when they did. It’s hard to imagine how my life might have ended up if I’d moved with them instead of moving in with him. But we all make dumb choices I supposed. Nothing I could do about it now.
Jamie and I had been here for a few years now, and although we’d moved a couple times, we’d always stuck to the same town my parents lived in.
I didn’t grow up around much family, and Jamie already only had my side of the family that he knew, so I wanted to make sure he stayed as close to his grandparents as possible.
“Those are some deep thoughts you got swirling around.”
I blinked, realizing I’d been standing at the sink, holding the same dish for several minutes. “Sorry, just sort of spaced out.”
“You look tired, punkin’.” He’d moved to the kitchen table and polished off the cider he’d brought with him. The fact that he could see my dark circles from there made my already suffering self-esteem deflate like a balloon, but faster. More like a whoopie cushion.
To complete the self-deprecating image I’d mentally crafted of my self-esteem’s death, I blew a long, drawn-out raspberry. I threw myself in the chair across from him, waving my hand dismissively. “That’s just what every woman wants to hear.”
He didn’t even bat an eye. He knew me too well to know when I was trying to brush off a subject. “You know what I meant. You’re working too much, Madison.”
“I’m fi—”
“Don’t bother saying you’re fine. We all know you’re doing too much when you don’t need to.” Hand it to my mother to enter a conversation with a flourish.
I looked up to see Beth Hartland standing in the hallway, giving me a mock glare. But even the severe expression couldn’t dull her beauty. With a heart-shaped face and high cheekbones, accented by her light brown straight bob, she had the type of face that instantly made you love her.
She’d been trying to convince me to take money from them for a while now. I knew they just wanted to help and didn’t care about the money, but I did. The entire idea stung.
I was paying my bills and keeping us fed. There was no reason, other than lowering the number of hours I worked, for me to accept money from them. I wasn’t so stubborn that I wouldn’t take money if I suddenly lost my jobs and couldn’t make ends meet, but thankfully, I wasn’t at that point.
“How’s Brenden?” I asked, aware my obvious turn of conversation wasn’t fooling anyone.
“Pull back a little, Madison. Let yourself focus on finishing school. It’s not healthy for you to keep doing what you’re doing. You’ve been through enough—”
I held up my hand, cutting her off when I locked eyes with the boy standing behind her. His brows were drawn down in a frown and his lips were pursed.
“Hey, bud, grandma and grandpa are going to be heading out soon, why don’t you go ahead and hop in the shower before I whoop your butt at racing tonight.”
He shuffled his feet, glancing between us. “Yeah, all right.”
Watching him walk away, I made eye contact with my mom. I knew she wouldn’t say anything else on the matter with him around. She was firm and opinionated when it was just us, but she’d never undermine or lecture me in front of Jamie.
“I know you love us, Mama. I love you too. But we’re doing okay. We’re actually pretty happy here. It’s roomier and the neighbors are quiet.” Although they might not say the same about me, I thought.
She gave me a sad smile, coming up to kiss me on the head.
“So really, how’s Brenden doing?” I asked, standing and walking them toward the door.
“He’s good. He snagged a few more gigs and is feeling pretty good. He did the sound for an event on some sports station, you’ll have to ask him about it.”
“Dang, that’s cool,” I said, honestly believing that but knowing I wouldn’t call him. I loved my brother, and I applauded how hard he’d worked for his dream job, but we just weren’t super close.
Brenden was three years older than me and living in Los Angeles. He’d gone to school for film, and as soon as he’d graduated, he’d promptly moved to the west coast to work his way up. He hadn’t made it big yet, but he’d made several connections, and I was proud of him.
We chatted for a few more minutes before they left, my dad promising to make my favorite meal next time if I promised to call the landlord. I didn’t need any more motivation than that. Fried potatoes were the key to my heart.
As I watched them pull out of my drive, I caught sight of something on the ground near the property’s mailboxes. Like someone had thrown a pile of trash out of their car window while they’d driven past. Irritated, I walked down the steps, carefully tiptoeing around nature’s confetti. The last thing I needed was a stick stabbing me through my bright orange socks.
It was the neighbor’s mail. The flap to his mailbox had been left down, and his mail scattered across the ground beneath it. Either the man rarely emptied his mailbox, or he was a big receiver of credit card offers and grocery sale fliers, because it was one heck of a pile.
I cocked my head, staring at it. To anyone watching me, I probably looked like an idiot who’d never seen a letter before, but I found it odd. I was sure it wasn’t uncommon for a postal worker to not shut the box all the way, but for it to all fall out?
I glanced back at his side of the house. I had no idea if he was home. His vehicle was parked out front, but I didn’t know if he had another one or a roommate whom he could be out with. I didn’t see any sign of a light on, but then again, I never did. He was either a vampire or had some seriously good blackout curtains.
Should I knock on his door and let him know? I chewed my lip, the idea of knocking on his door after his note was cringe-inducing. I chuckled, maybe I’d leave a note, myself, about it. It would serve him right.
Sighing, I shoved the thought out of my head. I wasn’t that type of person, no matter how much he deserved it. I walked up to his box, grumbling to myself when I had to step off my driveway and onto the grass.
I squatted, snatching each piece, and making a point not to examine any of them too closely as I piled them on my thighs. Messing with mail was frowned upon by most, and I didn’t want anyone accusing me of snooping through someone’s shit.
It didn’t take me long, but I could feel the cold damp of the grass soaking through to my feet. Lovely. “Farewell, beautiful fuzzy socks. I guess it wasn’t meant to be tonight.”
“Are you talking to yourself?”
“Shit!” I jumped from my delicate squat, sending the perfectly piled mail right back to the ground. Heart practically in my throat, I turned and looked at the woman standing directly across the street. “Oh my God, you scared me.”
She didn’t bother apologizing or replying at all. She had a sharp face with a pointed chin and a nose on the longer side. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and she had a swipe of vibrant plum eyeshadow visible above each eye that matched the pant suit she was rocking.
She lived in the single-family home across the street, so I’d seen her before, but this was the first time she’d ever spoken to me. From what I’d gathered, she lived there with her significant other and two children. Her lips tightened, and when she raised an eyebrow, I realized she’d asked me a question.
“Oh, yeah, I guess I was.” I forced a laugh, brushing my palms down my thighs. “I’m Madison, we moved in a few weeks ago. It’s nice to meet you.”
She didn’t move to approach me, and I certainly wasn’t going to walk across the street in my wet socks to shake her hand.
“Kathy Newman. I’d been planning on coming to welcome you to the neighborhood, but I didn’t know what hours your husband worked and didn’t want to impose.”
My entire body stiffened, and I had to take a deep breath. I couldn’t tell if she was being genuine or not, but I had a feeling she was fishing, trying to figure out why she’d yet to see a man here.
“No husband here, it’s just us. I work a lot, but we’re home most weekday evenings. You’re always welcome to pop by,” I offered, trying to keep my bitch face controlled.
“That’s a shame. Does he travel often for work?”
My mask slipped at the look on her face, the tightening of her lips and the crinkle of her nose, but I forced a smile. You’d think I’d be used to the assumptions by now. Is that your little brother? Are you the babysitter?
“I meant I’m not married at all.”
“Oh. It’s just you?”
“And my son, yes, ma’am.”
“Oh,” she repeated, tightening her hold on her purse and taking a step back like she thought my unmarried status might rub off on her. “He must look older than he is.” Bitch.
“No, he’s as old as he looks. His name is Jamie, and he’s eight.”
“And he’s yours?”
Like a motherfucking shapeshifter, my forced smile disappeared, transforming me into ten shades of pissed off. Of course. How silly of me to assume she’d think the child living with me was actually my own child. Lord knows it was more believable that I’d married an older guy with a kid than the idea I’d had him myself.
I widened my stance, crossing my arms and not even trying to sound polite. “I shoved his big ass head out of my vagina, so yeah, I’m pretty sure that makes him mine.”
Did I need to provide a stranger with that visual? Nope. But the look of horror I glimpsed on her face before she spun back toward her house was worth it in every way.
I’d been shamed more times in the last eight years than I could ever count, and ninety-nine percent of the time it was by women. Sister code only held up if you abided by their rules and views. Step out of line and women could be fucking vultures.
I huffed out of my nose like a bull, mentally calling her a bitch in every way I knew. She had a boy close to Jamie’s age. It was frustrating and disappointing to know she’d probably never allow her son to talk to mine.
I tried to brush the encounter off, squatting back down to pick up the mail for the second time. I’d made a nice pile, largest on bottom, smallest on top, and had begun carefully angling and twisting it Tetris-style to get it into the mailbox when I realized the owner of it was now standing on his porch. Staring at me.
Well, fuck. This looked bad.
Should I continue what I was doing and explain? Or give it a good shove and run? I stared at him, bug-eyed and frozen.
He must have realized I’d developed a gargoyle complex because he stepped off his porch and took several large strides toward me. “Something I can help you with?” His voice rang out across the distance, deep and raspy.
Trying to ignore the instantaneous clench in my gut, I clutched the pile to my chest, making sure to shut his box before walking over, eyes at my feet. “I’m sorry, I was outside, and I noticed your mailbox was open. I was trying to put it all back in so it wouldn’t blow away.”
I stopped a few paces away before I braved glancing up and making eye contact, and boy was it a mistake. The man appeared to be in his mid-thirties, and he was fan-your-face gorgeous. Easily the most attractive man I’d ever seen.
His espresso brown hair was shaved short on the sides but shaggy and unruly on top, and it stuck up in a few places like he’d just run one of his giant hands through it. It took one hell of a man to pull off messy bed hair. I was blatantly staring at that point, and his brows lowered over a pair of bright hazel eyes framed by long lashes.
Holy balls.
It wasn’t difficult to be taller than my five-and-a-half-feet height, but this man towered over me. He had to have been at least six foot three, six foot four. And if that wasn’t enough, the breadth of his shoulders was practically double mine, and they sloped down to a trim waist.
He was wearing a pair of rugged jeans that showed off tree trunk thighs and a fitted, long-sleeve black Henley that left very little of his biceps to the imagination.
It took me a minute before I realized the set of full lips resting above his square jaw were moving. “I’m sorry, what?” I blinked a few times, pulling myself out of creeper status.
“I said my box being open doesn’t explain why you have my mail.” He raised one thick eyebrow like I was a porch pirate, and he was waiting for me to stutter my way through an extravagant lie.
“It was all over the ground? I was just trying to put it back for you. Here.” I held the stack out toward him. Maybe he’d take it as a peace offering and forgive me for both hugging his mail and the whole music incident.
“How would all of it have fallen out?”
I’d seriously never met anyone with such a low, masculine voice. I swore I could feel it wrapping around me as he spoke.
“Uh…I don’t know.” I bounced my arm up and down, “Can you take it?”
He stared at me for a moment before unfurling his muscular arms and grabbing the stack from me. He tucked it under one arm, tipping his head to the side and appraising me. His eyes roamed from my fuzzy feet, up along my pajama pants and too-large t-shirt. He narrowed his eyes, apparently disappointed in his findings.
I reined in a sigh. Sexy he was, friendly he was not. “Look, I wasn’t snooping through your mail. I happened to be outside and noticed it on the ground. I live next door to you, my name’s Madison.”
He nodded, whether because he believed me or was simply acknowledging he’d heard me, I had no idea. When he didn’t introduce himself in return, I stuck my hands in my pockets and rocked back on my heels. “All right, well…”
“Garrett,” he grunted, albeit reluctantly.
I offered a smile, “It’s nice to meet you, Garrett.”
His name had barely left my lips before he twisted back toward his porch. Well, alrighty then. I watched him go, not at all noticing his perfectly toned ass as he walked up his stairs and through his front door.
I honestly wasn’t sure what to do with myself. People like Kathy I was used to, but that? He’d just dismissed me like I’d handed him a pamphlet about my Lord and Savior rather than his own damn mail.
Shunned by two neighbors in one day. That might be a new record.
I made my way back into my house, ripping my ruined socks off the second I stepped through the doorway. I couldn’t hear the shower going, so Jamie was set to walk out any minute.
I grabbed a new pair from my dresser and opened up my planner, plotting my assignments for the night. Tonight wouldn’t be so bad, I might actually hit six hours of sleep for once.
I was heading back down the hall when the sound of my ringtone echoed from the kitchen. Assuming it was my mother calling to finish our conversation, I took my time walking over and picking it up.
Caller ID: Don’t Answer.
My fingers gripped the phone so tight my knuckles turned white and every muscle in my body locked. I stared at the two words I’d replaced his name with, no longer hearing the ringing. Why was he calling? What did he want?
I wasn’t sure how long I stood there staring at the phone screen, long after it’d gone to voicemail before Jamie’s voice yanked me out of my funk. “Mom?”
Shaking my head, I glanced up to see steam pouring out around him like a graveyard scene in an old horror film. “Sorry, bud, I zoned out. You ready to play?”
“You mean, am I ready to destroy you? Yep.”
“Bring it, short stack.”
