No big deal. I set down my beer, grabbed an extra bulb from my garage, and headed across the wide patch of grass that separated her place from mine. Her landlord was a piece of shitwho should have razed the house and sold the lot. I’d offered him more than market value, but he refused.
Instead, he did the bare minimum to keep the house standing and probably overcharged her on the rent. I’d never been inside but caught glimpses through the windows when I'd helped her carry groceries a few weeks back. It was clean, organized, and homey in a way that made the outside seem even more neglected.
I reached up and removed the dead bulb. As I screwed in a new one, the front door opened.
Marisol stood in the doorway in wrinkled scrubs that clung to the curve of her waist, the fabric pulling just slightly across her hips. Dark tendrils of hair had escaped her ponytail and curled against her neck. There was a tiredness in her eyes that made them look softer and warmer.
“Caleb. What are you doing?”
I held up the burned-out bulb. “Bulb’s out. Figured I'd swap it for you.”
Her cheeks flushed. "You didn't have to do that. I've been meaning to get to it, I just—" She stopped herself, shaking her head. "Thank you. I really appreciate it."
"Not a problem." I dragged my gaze back to the light fixture and screwed in the new bulb, forcing myself to focus on something other than how good she looked even after what had clearly been a hell of a day. "Why don't you turn it on and test it?"
She nodded, then hesitated. "Can I get you something? Iced tea? Water?"
“Thanks, but I’m good."
"Please. It's the least I can do." She was already turning back toward the door. "I just made a fresh pitcher."
I should have said no. Should have been grateful for being on the receiving end of another one of her smiles and headed home. But the look in her eyes made it impossible.
"Iced tea sounds good."
Her smile could have lit up the whole damn county. “Great. Be right back.”
She disappeared inside and returned a minute later with two glasses, condensation already beading on the sides. She held one out to me, and when I reached for it, her fingers brushed against mine.
We touched for less than a second, but it was long enough for me to register how warm and soft her skin felt. The contact sent a jolt straight through me that had no business being there.
She let out a quiet gasp, but I heard it. Felt it in the sudden stillness between us.
I took the glass and stepped back, putting distance between us before I did something stupid. Like let my hand linger or think about what those fingers might feel like wrapped around something other than a glass of iced tea. I drank half of it in one go. Sweet, but not too sweet. Perfect.
"You're a lifesaver," she said, leaning against the porch railing. The evening light caught the side of her face, highlighting the exhaustion there and the invisible weight she carried. "I've been working doubles all week and everything else just keeps piling up. The grass needs mowing, there's a leak under the kitchen sink, and Lucas's bike chain keeps slipping."
"Tell him to bring it by and I'll take a look."
"You don't have to?—"
"I know I don't have to. But I've got the tools and it'll take me ten minutes. No sense in him struggling with it."
She studied me for a moment, something soft and unreadable in her dark brown eyes. Her gaze traced over my biceps, following the twisting ink that wrapped around myforearms, then settled on my hands wrapped around the glass. I could feel her taking in my size and the way I took up so much space on her small porch.
When her gaze shifted back to meet mine, color rose in her cheeks. "Why are you so nice to us?"
The question caught me off guard. I took another sip of tea, buying myself time to figure out how to answer that without sounding like exactly the kind of creep I'd insisted I wasn't.
"You're my neighbor," I said finally. "And you've got enough on your plate without worrying about porch lights and bike chains."
She shuffled a little closer, just enough that the scent of something warm and faintly floral drifted over. I had a sudden, vivid thought of reaching out. Of brushing one of those loose curls back from her face. Of letting my thumb trace the curve of her jaw. I locked my muscles and didn't move.
Before she could respond, the sound of rattling metal announced Lucas's arrival. He came around the corner of the house, walking his bike, frustration written all over his face.
“The chain slipped again," he muttered, not looking at either of us.
I set down my glass and headed his way, grateful for a reason to focus on something other than the woman standing too close and smelling too good.
