Chapter 9 Drunken Teenagers!
Drunken Teenagers!
Greer
I still can’t believe what I saw last night! Not only did the house next door throw a party ‘til two in the morning, the party consisted of drunk teenagers.
What was that grumpy man thinking?
How did Rothswyler find the perfect house with the worst neighbors? I don’t want my son growing up next to rowdy, drunken partiers.
Twenty-four hours…It’s barely been twenty-four hours since I moved into my new home and already there’s a problem. Rothswyler could handle it. He handles everything. But this is my fresh start. Calling him feels like it would go against what I’m trying to do here.
How do I deal with a man who seems to hate me for absolutely no reason and is raising a juvenile delinquent?
Maybe he’s grumpy because he doesn’t know how to raise his son?
I’ve been struggling with that fear. Men don’t ask for directions, let alone help raising their children.
How can I give him the tools to deal with a rebellious child while still not being that person…
what do I care if I’m that person when it comes to helping a child?
Books.
I’ve read a half dozen of them already. The grumpy man might not listen to me, but he might read some books. Can he read?
He definitely doesn’t look like the type to read. Just because a guy has muscles and wears a motorcycle jacket doesn’t mean he’s incapable of reading.
There was a cute bookstore on the main street of town. It’s so odd, because normally I’d pull out my phone, place an order, and have them delivered to my penthouse in a few hours. Now I’m going to drive to a store, browse around, and pick something in person.
DRIVE! Rothswyler got me a car. I haven’t even looked in the garage to see what he picked. All I asked for was something good for kids and not too fancy for the neighborhood. I don’t want to be the only one driving around in a hundred-thousand-dollar car.
A minivan. I laugh. Rothswyler got me a minivan. It’s perfect. And there’s already a baby seat and stroller inside. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a little emergency kit with diapers, wipes, and a change of clothes. Rothswyler doesn’t forget little details like that.
Time to go buy some books. I ignore the keys on the hook by the door and walk into town. Something I almost never do in the city.
It’s only a short walk to the center of town.
The lack of traffic makes it quite pleasant.
The bookstore is right on the edge of the main street.
There’s a quirky collection of old books and antiques in the window.
You certainly don’t see that in the city.
There, they’re all about modern decorations and the current trends. I love everything about this place.
The scent of old paper and leather welcomes me inside, along with the chime of small bells hung off the door handle.
A man steps out from behind a shelf with a stack of books in hand.
He’s definitely not what I would expect from a bookstore owner.
More like a young professor at some Ivy League college.
All he’s missing is a sweater vest and a pipe.
The floppy hair and sparkling eyes would make any woman’s heart pitter-patter. “’ello.”
Oh yeah, that accent is lethal. “Hi.”
“Are you new around here or just passing through?” He sets the books down randomly on a table.
Two women pop their heads out and stare at me.
“I’m new to town. Just moved in yesterday.”
The man’s wide smile and slightly crooked teeth make him even sexier. Mother would say one must have perfectly straight teeth, but it seems she was wrong.
“I’m Bram. Welcome to Silent Valley.” He holds out a hand for me to take.
“Thank you. I’m Greer Hestons.” I take his hand, expecting it to be that of a scholar, and find the callouses of a man who works with his hands. Interesting.
“We’re Cate—” the woman points to herself. “—and Kary.” She points to the slightly shorter woman standing next to her.
These women have to be sisters.
“We own the floral shop next door.” Kary jumps in. “We also carry—” she giggles at her pun “—knickknacks and gifts. It’s so nice to have you with us. Is your husband working remotely, or does he commute into Urbium?”
“I’m not married.”
“Oh,” the two women say in unison.
Bram moves slightly. “Were you looking for something specific today or just browsing?”
I could hug him for saving me from the town gossips. “Parenting books. Preferably ones for teenagers.”
Bram doesn’t even blink at the odd request. “There’s actually a few. Let me show you where they are.” He winds through seemingly random shelving groups and into another room in the back, which is twice as large and filled with old movie posters.
“Thank you for rescuing me.”
He gives me a lopsided smile. “Anytime. Those two mean well. They just need to know everything that’s going on. They’ll be the first to send you a card or bring over soup if you aren’t feeling well.”
So they’re flirting with him…who wouldn’t just for the fun of flirting with a sexy man with a divine accent? “It’s okay. I don’t have much of a story to tell.” At least until recently, and that one I certainly don’t want to share.
Bram stops. “Why don’t I believe that? A beautiful woman doesn’t just randomly move to Silent Valley for no reason. But unlike those two, I won’t demand you tell me your secrets. Instead, I’ll tell you one of my own.”
Oh? “Are you sure you should trust me, a total stranger, with a secret?”
He chuckles and then tips his head to the side. “I’ll take the chance. When my marriage ended, I thought the world would end with it. Life gets better.”
What? “How—”
“You still have the mark on your finger. Those seem to take longer to fade away than an actual marriage.”
“Mine disappeared in the blink of an eye.” And I just told a total stranger something so personal.
“Trust me, it’s way better than dying over a decade piece by piece, taking your sanity with it.” He turns to the left. “You should find what you’re looking for over here. If I can help, give a holler. I’m around shelving books somewhere.”
“Thanks. Not just for the books.”
Bram nods. “Anytime.”
***
Do I wrap them or just bring them over and hand them to him? The stack of books sits on my island, mocking me. This shouldn’t be a big deal.
You get more flies with honey…or so my mother says when she wants me to be nice to a mean aunt. I wrap them in one of the pretty papers that just so happens to already be stocked in my house, along with a shiny pink bow.
Perfect. And I know he’s home. I heard his motorcycle drive up a little over an hour ago. Time to go stop the teenage drunken parties like the responsible neighbor that I am.
It doesn’t take long for him to yank his front door open. “WHAT?”
He’s as cheerful as ever, it seems. “Hi. I’m your neighbor from next door.”
“Like I didn’t already know that. What do you want? Make it fast.”
“I brought you these.” I hold out the present with a friendly smile, regardless of his sour face.