She missed my joke again, and a line formed between her brows, her expression serious. “I’m an average cook, an average knitter, I can juggle for about ten seconds before I get distracted, and dancing is all your own interpretation.”
My mouth twitched again, a bubble of laughter forming in my chest. She had a unique charm about her, and I wanted to see more of it. She was so unpredictable while my life was built around discipline. I had no idea what would come out of her mouth, and I liked it.
Even though Becca and I were not in a relationship—not at all—her presence threw me off-balance. I cleared my throat, hoping to pause and straighten my thoughts. Distracting myself from Becca was harder than I’d expected.
Her jacket swished, her teeth hit the fork, she let out a little groan, and she sighed—all within a matter of seconds. I didn’t dislike the sounds filling my home. They were better than the wind whipping around outside, threatening to destroy the house.
She took another couple of bites before her large eyes focused on me. “Tell me… how did you learn to cook such a good breakfast?”
I smiled. “My grandma. I spent a lot of time with my grandparents in the summers growing up, and she always made me and my siblings cook as payment for staying with her.”
She grinned. “That’s lovely. Were you close with her?”
“Yeah, I was.”
Wow, when was the last time I talked about her? Years?The nostalgia hit me hard and fast. Those visits with my brother and sister were awesome and some of the best memories I had growing up. The three of us would play board games with her for hours. I missed my grandma. Her death six years ago was rough, but it was right around a championship game so I never got to grieve. Life went on, and I kept pushing, and guilt ate me up from the inside.
My grandma would be so disappointed in me. Divorced, obsessed with a job that wasn’t forever, and barely spending time with my family. To her, family was everything. My chest tightened.
Becca’s singsong voice penetrated the self-pity taking over my brain. I focused on her.
“I never met my grandparents on either side, which stunk. My dad’s parents didn’t like the fact my mom was divorced before marrying him, so they stopped talking to us. I know it upset my parents, but they got over it. My parents never let the drama stop them from being happy. I love that about them. My mom lost her parents when she was young and grew up with an aunt. I always envisioned her parents as warm, huggy people who smelled like coffee and old pages from books. I’d create these elaborate stories about fake trips we went on whenever my mom got sad. We’d go to the library and take piano lessons and play card games.” She turned, her attention drawn to the window. Then, like a switch, she stiffened and stopped talking. “You never asked me about mine. Uh, sorry I started talking.” She pushed back in her chair, preparing to stand.
“Don’t apologize,” I pleaded, hoping she’d continue sitting with me. I paid attention to everything she said, but responding was difficult.
She frowned, staring at me like I’d said giraffes had ten feet and played strip poker.
“I liked hearing about your family. It was a nice distraction. Mine did smell like coffee and moth balls, but I try not to remember that part. And we playeda lotof rummy.” I smiled, hoping the effect was reassuring. “I’m sorry you never got to meet yours. I can’t imagine my childhood without them.”
Becca nodded. How did I make this okay? I didn’t want her uncomfortable again because of my dumb ass.
“Where’s your trash?” Standing now, she grabbed her paper plate.
“Under the sink,” I said.
Disappointment weighed me down. I replayed the conversation in my head, wondering where I’d messed it up. This was exactly why I didn’t date. It was too exhausting; worrying about saying or doing the right thing took up way too much energy. I wasn’t a talkative person and that rubbed most women the wrong way. Hell, it even pissed my other coaches off, too. Sometimes there just wasn’t a response formed in my head, and people interpreted the silence as an insult.
“Ah, found it.” She disposed of the plate and fork then returned to the couch without sparing me another glance.
Yeah, I’d definitely upset her. I sighed, running a hand over my face. I glanced at my watch. 11:00 a.m. Seven more hours of usable daylight, less than forty hours until the power would, hopefully, turn on. If we were lucky.
What were we supposed to do? Small talk was clearly not an option. I’d just piss her off more or make myself look like a bigger ass. We were trapped under the same roof, limited to the kitchen or living room because of the heat source. I was in new territory.
My cute neighbor, who talked about everything with everyone, was silent, and I only had myself to blame.
CHAPTER FIVE
BECCA
Ithought that the last date I went on was decent, but it ended with the guy telling me I talked too much. The random dude my mom set me up with said he’d lost interest because my rambling was boring. The insult hurt—a lot. Even though the girls at the house reassured me that myramblingswere a part of my charm, self-doubt and worry remained. Even now, two years after the date where Harrison promised to call and didn’t, I got nervous and told himallabout my family.
He never even asked about them!
My face burned brighter than the sun, and it took all my energy not to fling myself into the fireplace. It’d at least be warm in there, and he wouldn’t look at me with those intense green eyes. His entire body had tensed, and this vacant, almost dazed, look had crossed his face. There was no other explanation than me being me. The weirdo. The over-talker. The oddball.
My love-tervention plan needed a lot of work if I wanted it to be successful. Which, I did. For sure. But that meant putting myself out there, knowing I could get hurt or insulted. Again.
I adjusted my position on the couch, the movement shifting the blanket and sending a whiff of laundry soap and wood smoke into the air. It smelled like him. Clean, woodsy, and masculine, with a hint of warmth. Ugh. I rolled my eyes at myself, the situation, the whole dang thing. Sure, it was bizarre. A guy who kissed me like he was into me, ghosted me, and then spent the better part of two years making sure he crossed to the other side of the street when he saw me.
