The backyard has a nice high fence, so I can let the kiddo run around and play without worrying about him getting close to the street. The decorators have already left, so the inside is filled with everything I think I’ll like.
A car pulls up behind mine, and the family lawyer steps out. He said he would meet me here and give me the keys. Without him, I’d still be struggling to get my divorce completed, let alone find a house.
“Miss Greer, you’re early. I was planning to get here before you to turn on the lights.”
“I couldn’t wait to see it. The house is exactly as you said it would be. And even better.”
“Shall we take the five-cent tour?” He offers an arm.
This hardly costs five cents. He must charge five hundred dollars or more an hour. Not that I would know. My family has had him on retainer since before I was born. “Let's.” I loop my arm through his and follow him into my new home.
“I scoured this town looking for anything close to Miss Cordelia’s house in size, but they simply don’t exist for any price. This dwelling doesn’t have space for a maid’s quarters or a housekeeper. The best I can do is arrange to have a cleaning service come in twice a week to maintain it. The service is based in Urbium, so I know they do quality work, and you won’t be disappointed.” He pulls open the door.
Perfect sounds like too small of a word. How do you believe your eyes when a dream appears in front of them? “It’s a fairy cottage.” Which is the complete opposite of the cold, sleek modern places I’ve lived in before.
Light sage-green walls are mixed with wallpaper and hand painting to give it a warm cottage feel. Lifelike roses pop off the wall, while the fluffy floral couches ground it. “The interior designer you found did an amazing job.” Maybe too amazing. How can I ever leave this place if this little experiment doesn’t work?
“You have a formal dining room which should be large enough to entertain your friends if you wish.”
Rothswyler knows me far too well.
“The kitchen is surprisingly spacious. We were able to get all the best appliances installed.”
Along with a façade of stone walls and counters that look like rough-hewed slate, but are probably some fancy marble or granite.
“We converted the office that’s attached to the master bedroom into the nursery.” Rothswyler opens two doors into the master bedroom. To the left is a glass door that reveals the sweetest nursery in navy and cream. The interior designer thought of everything, including a rocking chair that folds out into a bed. My favorite spot is the corner filled with stuffed animals. “Wow.” This might have been the best decision I’ve ever made.
***
“Are you sure there’s nothing else you might need?” Rothswyler hesitates before getting into the waiting car.
The house has everything a person might need, including a fully stocked kitchen with all my favorites. “No. You’ve taken such good care of me. Thank you.” I reach out and give him a hug, something I’ve never had the nerve to do in all the years I’ve known him.
Rothswyler freezes for a second, then hugs me back. “It’s been my pleasure as always, Miss Greer.”
Tears start flowing. I’m going to blame the weakness on the pregnancy hormones.
He lets me cry for a long moment before stepping back. “If you need anything—”
“I’ll call, and you can swoop in to the rescue like always.”
With a nod, he slides into the backseat of the waiting car and drives away.
Like the soppy woman I feel like, I brush back tears as I wave.
Today has been a mixture of amazing and bittersweet. I turn around to walk back into my house only to find I have an audience.
Men like that aren’t real. You only see them in movies playing bad-boy bikers or some other morally gray character. What you don’t do is find a muscular man living next door to you in a small-town neighborhood. Next-door neighbors are supposed to have dad bods, drive four-door sedans, and have boring jobs. They aren’t supposed to wear leather jackets, have enough muscles that you know they work out regularly but don’t live in the gym, and they certainly don’t have thick, wavy hair that you want to run your fingers through.
But he clearly has a mini-me. A cute one with a smile that probably breaks all the teenage girls' hearts. This guy is a father.And where there’s a father, there’s usually a mother, so stop drooling over another woman’s man.
The kid has a toaster pastry in his hand…maybe he’s single.
Don’t. You’ve sworn off men. And he’s your neighbor.
Smile and be friendly. I give them a wave.
The boy waves back with a grin he probably learned from his father. The gorgeous man just glares at me.
