17
Carole fannedherself in her kitchen, her cheeks flushed thanks to the late evening sunshine flooding through the kitchen window and the wine she’d drunk.
And thanks also to the bolt of heat that had seared her skin when Tom had pulled her into that weird half-hug before he left.
It was her fault the hug had turned awkward. She’d been reaching for the door at the same time as Tom, but when he opened it himself and then turned to say goodnight, she’d somehow ended up sagging into the side of his body like a collapsed sack of potatoes.
She cringed just thinking about it. While Tom was trying to give her a friendly hug goodbye, she was falling into his arms like some lovestruck idiot.
Lovestruck? Really?
Her cheeks burned even hotter. She definitely wasn’tlovestruck. That was ludicrous.
How about crush-struck? Was that a word?
No, it wasn’t a word, not even if you stuck a hyphen in the middle of it—but itshouldbe a word, because it described her to a tee.
She had a crush her next-door neighbour. That was not a good move. Not a good move at all.
Not least because the bizarre half-hug they’d shared at her door was evidence enough, surely, that Tom wasn’t the least bit interested in her. He’d almost shoved her away when she’d accidently collapsed against his side and clung there like a limpet.
Or had he? Had he actuallyshovedher?
No, of course he hadn’t. He was too much of a gentleman toshoveher.
But he hadn’t exactly embraced her, either. She’d embarrassed him and made things weird when she’d flung herself towards him when the poor man had just been trying to bid her farewell and depart the house with a bit of dignity.
And yet, she couldn’t stop thinking about that moment they’d shared, when they’d collided in the middle of the kitchen and their hands had brushed together. Feeling his fingers against her skin had reminded her of how it felt when she’d danced in his arms on Saturday night.
There’d been a moment on that dancefloor when everything and everyone around them had simply vanished from her thoughts and she’d only had eyes for Tom.
The same thing had happened tonight in her kitchen, and those same feelings had flooded her senses—gorgeous, sweet, delicious feelings that she could’ve happily immersed herself in for, oh, forever.
You’re demented,she told herself.Demented and imagining impossible things that could never happen.
They were just two new neighbours who’d agreed to help each other by being wedding plus-ones. No strings attached, that’s what they’d said when they’d settled on their plan and that’s why the mutually beneficial arrangement was so perfect.
And if it hadn’t been for Tom’s help in rushing her father to hospital on Saturday night, Carole might never have invited him round for dinner and probably wouldn’t have dropped by his house on Sunday with cookies either.
Much though she was keen to get to know her new neighbours on Foxglove Street, her life was hectic right now between settling into her new job and moving into her new house and dealing with all the unpacking and redecoration work. She didn’t have much time for neighbourly socialising, if she was being honest with herself.
Which meant she definitely didn’t have time for fantasising about the gorgeous man who lived next door and what it would feel like to kiss him.
She didn’t even want to kiss him!
Did she?
No, of course she didn’t.
After breaking up with Greg, she wanted and needed some time and space on her own. Though she might not be dwelling on the end of their relationship, and was relieved to put it all behind her, she was nevertheless looking forward to being by herself for a while.
There were things she wanted to think about and figure out—such as why, at thirty-five years-old, she still hadn’t been in a relationship with someone she could imagine spending the rest of her life with (except for Steven Weaver all those years ago, who obviously didn’t count because he was a turd and she’d been a brainless idiot back then)—and she had no interest in venturing back into the dating jungle anytime soon.
And even if she was looking for some romantic fun with a man, something frivolous and commitment-free and completely casual as a little treat to keep herself occupied after the big break-up of a three-year long relationship, she’d have to be outof her mind to consider embarking on such an affair with hernext-door neighbour.
She’d only just bought this house. Fun though it might be to throw herself into a steamy affair with a man as luscious as Tom, the mortification of having to continue living beside him once it all came to an inevitable end was too toe-curling to imagine.
Assuming Tom was even interested in her that way. Which he almost certainly wasn’t, if the half-hug, half-shove at her door a few moments ago was anything to go by.
