"I'm fine."
Mom was silent, but not for long. "How are things going with your new neighbor? The two of you didn't get along back in high school, did you?"
He grimaced. Then forced his face into a more normal expression. Mom didn't need to know how discombobulated he was over Jilly right now. "It was more a rivalry than anything else. We tried to one-up each other."
Constantly. They'd talked smack on each other and competed incessantly.
And back then, he'd never had the urge to kiss her.
At least not any more than he'd wanted to kiss any random girl.
Stupid teenager.
"Rivalry." His mom was using herI'm thinkingvoice. He could imagine her wearing a fierce, protective frown.
He turned on the faucet and began to wash up. He had a chicken breast thawing in the fridge and intended to make some mashed potatoes to go with it.
There was a reason he hadn't brought up Jilly since that first time Mom had mentioned her. Cue Mom's overprotective, nosy streak.
He gave her a whitewashed version. He mentioned the graffiti. The punishment. Lindsey the kitty.
He left out the kiss.
"Another few days of painting, and they won't need to bother me anymore."
And that thought hit him harder than it should have. He was ready to go back to his quiet, simple life.
Right?
"Hmm." Was all he got from Mom.
"I better go. You too. You've got deliveries to make." He cleared his throat. "I'm thankful for you." The words put a lump in his throat.
"I'm thankful for you, Noah. I love you."
"Love you, too." He ended the call and put his phone at the back of the counter, out of the way so he could cook.
What was he doing?
He resisted the urge to run his hands over his face, only because he didn't want to wash up again.
Just because he and Jilly had had a moment didn't mean he was in a place where he could pursue... whatever this was between them.
He didn't even know whether he liked her or not.
She was a pain. A bossy, nosy, pain in his posterior.
Who happened to be spunky and caring and beautiful.
He had no business wanting her. Hadn't he seen firsthand what kind of disasters happened when he wanted something too much?
He should call a painter to finish the house. That way Jilly and her minions would have no excuse to come back over here. He'd lock the doors and go back to the silence he preferred.
He had his phone in his hand, ready to make the call, when he realized it was Thanksgiving, and no one was going to answer.
He'd do it tomorrow.
His doorbell rang.
