Romance with Mr. Grumpy Pants: A Witty, Opposites Attract, Enemies to Lovers, Next Door Neighbor, Sw

18. Brian

She’s a beautiful mess. Her tousled hair looks like she ran a comb through it and changed her mind halfway through. It cascades over her shoulders, which are covered by a slightly rumpled, red silk night robe.

Yet I can’t stop looking at her. I hoped to start a conversation by complimenting her home, but she’s so rigid, her replies come off as unwelcoming.

I don’t mind. I’m glad she decides to be this way because it makes it easier for me to keep my guard up. “I hope I didn’t wake Lily up.”

“I hope not, too, but she should be fine.”

I nod, my eyes falling on the bottle in my hands as I dip my head. I close my eyes, scoffing lightly at the fact that I rehearsed the entire scene where I gave her the bottle at the door, saying something about myself, thinking it was a sign when I saw it displayed at the bar. But then she complains about the time, and I completely lose track of everything.

“I got you this,” I finally blurt out.

“Hmm. Good guess. I love Chardonnay,” she says, cracking a soft smile as she takes the bottle from me. “Let me get some glasses.”

She places the bottle on the coffee table and hops off the couch before leaving the living room.

I exhale, my eyes narrowing as I adjust on the chair. I thought that deciding whether or not to come here would be the most challenging part of my day. But now that I’m here, I can barely breathe, as if I’m walking on eggshells. I shrug my shoulders, closing my eyes as I swallow, and rub my hands over my pants. I could really use some of that wine.

Jeez, Brian. Calm down.

As if on cue, she walks in with two glasses glistening in her hands. She sits beside me. I’m glad.

“So, how was your day?” She places the glasses on the table and picks up the bottle.

“I’m not here to talk about my day.”

She pauses, and then she picks up the corkscrew. I watch as she opens the bottle with practiced precision and then fills the glasses.

“You’re right. There’s no need to ignore the elephant in the room.” She places the bottle down, offering me a glass. We clink our glasses in a silent toast and take a sip. Then, she leans back to look at me.

Clearing my throat, I explain, “I want to apologize.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Please, let me.”

She holds my gaze briefly, her eyes growing wide with interest as she studies me.

“I don’t exactly know why you left that evening. But I know that whatever it is, it’s my fault in one way or another, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“Well, I’m also sorry for avoiding you. I guess I just felt a little guilty.”

“Why?”

“Well, it has been a few years since my husband passed, but I haven’t really thought of a man, any man, in the romantic sense since. It was just a little fast.”

“How did he die?” The words roll off my tongue before I can assess how insensitive they might sound.

She”s quiet for a while, her index finger tapping on her glass. I shouldn”t have asked. “I’m sorry for intruding. It”s okay if you don”t want to talk about it.”

“Cancer,” she says the word easily. “Multiple Myeloma.”

A shudder surges through my body. “I’m so sorry.”

She looks at the glass. “It’s okay. I just feel a little guilty about being with someone else that’s not him.”

Little does she know, I struggle with guilt, too. Things changed for me after Sonya died, so I know how tough things can be, but I don’t want that for her. I slip my free hand into hers. I gently caress her fingers, feeling the softness of her skin under my touch.

“I’m sure he’d want you to move on, to be happy again.”

Sonya wants you to move on, too, Brian. So why are you still holding back?

Her eyes meet mine, a spark of connection lighting up between us.

“I lost my sister, Sonya, to cancer, and I sometimes wish she was the one living life instead of me.”

Suddenly, I feel a weight lift off my shoulders. For the first time, I’m truly expressing my genuine feelings to someone else.

She gently squeezes my hand, her touch radiating warmth and understanding. I respond with a faint reassuring smile and squeeze her hand back.

I continue, “I may not know much, but I don’t think they want us to let them hold us back.” In my defense, my guilt is different than hers. I’ve been unable to forgive myself for not being by Sonya’s side in her last moments.

Smiling softly, she looks at me, her eyes beckoning to me as I hold her gaze. “Perhaps you’re right. There’s nothing wrong with moving on.”

There isn’t.

Silence envelops us, the kind that neither of us wants to break. We sit there staring into each other’s souls. My eyes drift to her lips, and she leans in slightly, a barely perceptible movement that sends a shiver through me, but I clench my jaw and lean back.

Clearing my throat, “So, I hope this means we’re okay now?”

She blinks rapidly before bursting into a swift chuckle. “Yeah, we’re great!” Her voice is enthusiastic, but I can tell that she’s conflicted.

“Alright, I guess I’ll see you around then.”

I prop my hands on my lap and push myself off the chair.

She stands, uttering, “Sure, I’ll see you to the door.”

The walk back to her door was quiet but not as long and quiet as the walk back home.

***

It’s probably not a bad thing for your neighbor to linger in your mind for a while after visiting them. But when your thoughts start to revolve around them consistently for a few days, it might be time to see a therapist.

Since my visit with Jessica, I try to get back to normal, but there’s an undeniable space of awkwardness between us every time we make eye contact. It’s uncomfortable, but I don’t entirely hate that I care about her differently now.

I mean, it’s impossible for a man like me not to be charmed by a woman with such charisma and determination. I’ve done my research on her. She’s even more popular in her niche than I am in mine, and she achieved it all on her own.

I have my team, and I honestly can’t boast that I would be where I am without them. But she’s had to do it all alone while caring for her family, and now she’s a single mom doing her best to look out for her witty little girl. And she manages it all so perfectly.

I know it’s hard on her, which is why I have a newfound respect for her. But that’s all it is —respect, right? I know better than to allow my feelings to confuse me anymore. She’s immensely attractive, and I’m captivated, but I can’t let it get beyond that. It would be unfair to Moe.

My heart sinks in my chest at the thought of Moe’s name. She’s my ex. A memory, daunting and dreadful, flashes through my mind.

Moe’s eyes are red with tears, her cheeks puffy as she yells at me. I’d never seen her that way before in my life. I try to grab her shoulders, but she thrusts them off violently.

My mind plays her voice like a broken record, loud screams bouncing off the walls and carrying her bitterness as they spelled out the scum I was.

She was battling emotional abuse from her parents, a torment that threw her into a dark space, stripping away her concentration and causing her to lose her job several times. She was scared, alone, and on the verge of homelessness, while I was miles away on tour, believing that dedicating songs to her could somehow make her situation better.

When she needed me most, I shrugged her off as being needy. I was na?ve and regret it.

I shake the memory off, but the next one comes to the forefront with vengeance.

It was Thanksgiving and we all gathered around the dining table, anxious to dive into the feast. I animatedly recounted my latest gig. My family sat around the table, listening with forced smiles and sober faces. I didn”t notice the tension in the room because I was too wrapped up in my story. ‘Yeah, and then this guy in the front row started headbanging so hard, I thought he might knock himself out!’

Everyone chuckled politely, but I could tell it was half-hearted. I glanced around the table and noticed Sonya sitting quietly, her face pale and drawn.

‘Sonya, you okay?’ I asked, my brow furrowing in concern.

She looked up, her eyes meeting mine briefly before she forced a smile. ‘Yeah, just a bit tired, that”s all.’

Mom placed a comforting hand on Sonya”s. ‘Brian, there’s something we need to tell you.’ She paused and cleared her throat, choking back tears. ‘Sonya has been diagnosed with leukemia…we…we just found out a couple of weeks ago.’

I stared at them, my mind struggling to process the words. ‘Leukemia? But… but she’ll get better, right? There are treatments…’

The room was heavy with unspoken words and emotions.

Sonya reached across the table, taking my hand in hers. ‘Brian, I’m fighting…I’m really trying.’

Tears stung my eyes as the reality of the situation hit me. I had been so caught up in my own world that I hadn”t noticed how serious things were. ‘I”m so sorry, Sonya. I didn”t know.’

The rest of the dinner passed in a blur. My previous excitement about my show felt trivial and misplaced in the face of my sister’s battle.

It turns out, people don’t just get better from cancer. I was selfish and tactless, as I’ve always been. And that’s not the kind of man a woman like Jessica needs.

My phone jingles to life in my pocket, the vibration against my skin stringing me back to reality. I take it out and answer.

It’s her.

“Hi!” Jessica gushes.

“You sound happy. What’s going on?”

“So, remember how I told you I’d finally finished my first book a couple of weeks ago?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, Gina released a teaser on one of the online publishing platforms to review audience interest, and the ratings have been spiking since then. She thinks the book is gonna be a hit!”

“What? That’s great news, Jess.”

“I know. I’m so happy ‘cause I really need this break, and now I should be able to rest for a while.”

“I’m really proud of you.”

“Thanks! I don’t even know what to do right now.”

“Celebrate, that’s what.”

“Well, I don’t really have anything planned.”

“Just get dressed and leave that to me.”

“Wait… what?”

“We have a performance later tonight. At North’s. We could go together. You can officially meet the rest of the band.”

“So, a date?”

“More like a celebratory dinner.”

She chuckles. “Well, I like the sound of that.”

“Alright then. Call me when you’re ready.”

“How long do I have?”

“I plan on getting there by eight.”

“That’s like thirty minutes from now. Alright, gotta go.” She hurries off the phone.

Not a date. This should be interesting.