The way he made me feel things no other man has ever made me feel. The way he made me laugh, made me moan, made me believe I’d finally found someone to banish the pain of my ugly breakup with Bill.
Most of all, I refuse to think about the next morning when I’d popped over to Lawrence’s place with a basket of freshly baked muffins, and he’d acted like the night before had never happened. As if we were just friends and neighbors, and he hadn’t had his hands all over me less than eight hours before.
“I mean, if you really don’t want to, it’s fine,” Emma says. “But if I’m going to hate Lawrence on your behalf, I’d love to know why. Because as far as I can tell, he’s pretty sweet.”
“I’m sure Dylan seems sweet, too. To people he doesn’t hate for moving onto land he’s had his eye on for years.”
Emma is quiet for a long moment, but I don’t look her way. I add cream and a lump of brown sugar to my coffee and stir it, even though I almost always drink Sophie’s brew black.
It’s just that good, so perfectly balanced that no modification is required—like my life, before I made a Lawrence Beverly mistake I can’t take back.
If only I could wind the clock back to last New Year’s Eve and skip the annual town party and that third glass of wine. Then maybe I wouldn’t have gone for a walk under the stars with my new neighbor or made out with him by the slide in the park or gotten naked with him by the fireplace in my cottage, which finally felt cozy again after a year filled with loss.
First Gram had passed, then Gramps, and then Bill, my boyfriend since our senior year of high school, had decided he wanted more from life than a woman who loved him and a beautiful piece of land and moved to Boston.
Boston.
As far from me as he could get without crossing a freaking ocean.
“I wish Lawrence Beverly would go back across the ocean,” I grumble before pushing the cup of sugar cubes Emma’s way. “Dare you to eat a brown one straight.”
“That’s a very easy dare,” she says, popping the sugar lump into her mouth and chewing. “Sugar and I are good friends. I hope you and I will still be, too. I’m sorry I overstepped. My sister always says I’m too nosy for my own good, but it comes from a caring place. I promise.”
I nudge her knee with mine beneath the bar. “No, you weren’t being too nosy. I’m just a private person about this kind of stuff. I spent most of my time growing up with my granddad. Emotionally, I’m basically an old man, and old men don’t like to discuss their feelings. Old men don’t have feelings. We’re made of worn shoe leather and pipe tobacco and compost and other stuff that doesn’t care if a guy acted like he was interested in us and then changed his mind so fast it gave us whiplash.”
Emma smiles sympathetically. “I get it. And it’s his loss. Seriously.” She reaches for the sugar bowl, popping another lump into her mouth. “So what time should I be at your place? And what should I bring? A warm coat, sleeping bag, a bottle of wine…anything else?”
I almost turn her down again, but I’m not really made of shoe leather, and it would be nice to spend the evening with a friend. “Six o’clock. He’s never shown before seven, but I want plenty of time to get out to the deer blind and settle in. I’ll bring hot cocoa.”
“Perfect.” Emma hops off her stool and grabs her hat and gloves from the counter. “See you then. Unless you come to your senses and decide to call this off. In that case, you’re welcome to come over to my place and watch holiday movies. I know Christmas is officially over, but I’m not ready to give up the glow just yet.”
“Neither is Creepy Santa,” I say. “The mission is on, lady, no turning back now. See you at six. You want me to bring my spare slingshot for you?”
Emma smiles. “Heck, no. I’d shoot my eye out.”
I laugh and lift a hand to her as she pushes through the door and out onto the sunny street outside, grateful for new friends, the new year on the horizon, and the steady aim that will ensure I’m streaker-free by January first.
“If only slimy neighbors were as easy to get rid of,” I mumble to myself.
“What’s that, honey?” Sophie asks, lifting the coffeepot in the air. “If you’re still talking to yourself, I’m guessing you need another refill.”
“Yes, please. I need my reflexes nice and caffeinated today.”
“Trouble on your agenda?” she asks, pouring more steaming liquid into my mug.