Chapter 1
Iris
“Your trash bin was too far out in the street this morning, Iris. The HOA guidelines clearly state that it can't be more than six inches from the curb, and it was a good eight inches out when I checked.”
I struggle not to roll my eyes at Karen, the bouffant-haired head of my neighborhood Homeowners Association. The garbage trucks came before she checked, while I was getting ready for work, and it’s not my fault if the truck dumped my bin two inches farther from the curb than it's supposed to be. Now she’s at my door—again—with yet another complaint. “I'm sorry, Karen. I was just about to bring it back in before I start work.”
“Well, you really should bring it in sooner. Maybe if you had a boyfriend or a husband to do it for you …”
Sure, Karen. I’ll go to Tinder right now and swipe right on the first guy whose profile lists “bringing in the trash bin” as his favorite activity.
“I'll get it in a minute.” And I will, too, as soon as she leaves my porch.
If I hadn’t worked so hard to be able to afford a nice house in a ritzy neighborhood, I might think about moving. I'm not about to let Karen boss me out of my home, though, no matter how irritating she may be. I have just as much right to be here as anyone else. It’s not my fault she's jealous that I can afford to live here on my own salary while she has to supplement her husband’s income to keep up with the Joneses down the street.
Karen crosses her arms over her surgically augmented chest and glances at the empty house next door. “I hope your new neighbor isn't as lax as you when it comes to cleanliness. We don’t need more of that in our development.”
I follow her gaze to see the realtor come out and add a SOLD placard to the FOR SALE sign in the yard next door. I hadn't realized the house had sold yet. I just hope whoever moves in isn't as much of a Karen as Karen is.
Seconds after the realtor comes out, she’s followed by a tall, dark-haired man in skintight jeans and a tan Henley that hugs his every muscle. He brushes long, jet-black hair out of his dark eyes, and I watch the tattoos on his forearm ripple with the motion. I'd give anything for a man that tasty, but odds are he's married. Not many single guys can afford this neighborhood.
When a towheaded little girl comes bounding out of the house, my heart sinks. Married for sure. Damn.
The new neighbor scoops the little girl into his arms and hoists her onto his narrow hip. Karen and I watch as the realtor gestures animatedly while walking them back into the house.
“I just don’t know about him,” Karen says with a sneer and an eye roll. “Is this really the right environment for that poor girl?”
“Poor girl?” I do a double take, thinking maybe I missed something. “Why do you say that?”
Karen sighs and waves a manicured hand. “Oh, the only reason he’s able to afford that house is his wife had a healthy life insurance policy. But come on, a newly widowed man with a place that nice in this neighborhood? I guarantee you; we’ll have strange women lined up around the block.” She clucks her tongue and shakes her head.
Widowed? Score!
Seconds after that thought leaps to my mind, I’m hit with a blast of guilt. The poor guy lost his wife. I should be empathizing with him, not celebrating his loss. I make a mental note to do some kind of penance later for my horny brain’s train of thought.
After exchanging a few more pleasantries with Karen, she finally excuses herself to go make introductions to our new neighbor. I’m amazed that she knows as much about the man as she does without having met him. I wonder if the realtor spilled the beans on his wife’s death. Knowing Karen, she sidled up to the woman and grilled her for info.
I take in my trash bin and make a quick pot of coffee before logging in to see what work has in store for me today. The emails take me about an hour to slug through, and after a few calls to deal with the most immediate fires that need putting out, I sit back and start reading up on the latest ad campaign to come across my desk. I don’t know much about the product, so I open the files sent by the client and get to work. Cleo, my Maine coon, curls up on my lap while I work, content to listen to theclick-click-clickof my keys and soak up the heat from my legs.
Cup by cup, I drain the pot as I work. It looks like our team is angling to pitch a playground romance for this campaign, which will feature two kids sharing a sugary snack while wearing the latest in kids’ fashion. I grin to myself as I think how the new girl next door would be great for the ad. Cute kid, and those blonde braids would photograph well. I type up some quick notes on our team board for the casting directors to look at. My new neighbor probably isn’t a stage dad, but it couldn’t hurt to look for an actress that has the same vibe.
Lunch consists of more coffee and a toasted bagel. I follow that up with three video conferences and a call with the client before finally shutting my computer down for the night. I pull my hair into a loose ponytail with a sigh and change out of my business casual into some comfy leggings and an oversized t-shirt. A few minutes staring at the fridge reminds me that I haven’t been shopping all week, so I grab my phone and order some Chinese food for delivery.
After the food arrives, I pour a glass of wine and settle on the couch with Cleo to stream a movie. I flip through the services until I find a good rom-com, one of my favorites. I grab my chopsticks and tuck my legs under me on the plush sectional, and just when I get comfortable, the doorbell app on my phone chimes. I groan and pick up my phone to check the camera.
Imagine my surprise when I see my new neighbor on my porch!
I scramble to my feet and hurry to the door, upsetting Cleo. When I fling it open, breathless, my neighbor’s white-toothed smile melts me. My knees almost forget how to work.
“Hi! I’m Micah, and I just bought the house next door. I thought I’d introduce myself.”
Micah … even his name is cute.
“Hi. I’m Iris. It’s nice to meet you.” We shake hands, and again I almost swoon. His grip is firm but not painful. I take note that his fingernails are clean and neatly trimmed. Everything about him is both casual and calculated. The jeans fit like a glove, and the way he pushes the sleeves of his shirt up to expose his forearms is perfect. Cleo steps between my legs onto the porch and proceeds to wrap herself around his legs.
“Iris?”
I jerk out of my musing when he says my name. “Yes, Iris.”
