Most Likely to Doubt Love (The Yearbook #3)

Chapter 1

CAM

Istood at my kitchen sink, eating cereal straight from the box, staring out the window at absolutely nothing.

The silence of the house pressed against my ears as I chewed another handful of Cheerios. No cartoon TV voices from the living room, no sound of little feet thundering down the stairs, no arguments about whose turn it was to put the breakfast bowls in the dishwasher.

Just me, standing in my kitchen like some lonely loser, eating breakfast from a cardboard box. Mornings when my girls were at their moms were the pits.

“Fuck.”

Annoyed at myself, I shoved the Cheerios back in the pantry and started making coffee to go.

“Fuuuck!” Where the fuck was my travel mug?

I checked the dishwasher, then the counter, then the top of the fridge where things migrated when I cleaned on autopilot.

Nothing.

Huffing out a breath, I grabbed my keys and headed outside, keeping my eyes fixed on my truck as I crossed the porch. The morning air was crisp with that fresh spring smell, all new grass and blooming things. Somehow, it just made my mood worse.

The travel mug wasn’t in the cab. Not in the bed either. I crouched down to check under the driver’s seat, and that’s when it hit me.

Laughter. Bright and genuine, floating across from the house next door.

I should have stayed focused on finding my mug. Should have kept my head down and minded my own damn business.

But I guess I was a fucking masochist, because I looked up instead.

My neighbor, Emily, was crouched beside her hatchback, phone propped on a rock, clearly on speaker.

She wore black leggings and an oversized cream sweater with dirt streaked across the front.

Her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail that was giving up the fight, strands falling loose around her face.

Even disheveled and clearly frustrated, she looked. ..

I cut that thought off and forced my attention back to my truck.

“Hannah, I swear this thing is welded on.” Her voice carried across the yard, frustration bleeding through the humor. “I’ve been at this for ten minutes.”

“Want me to drive over with the pneumatic wrench?” Another woman’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Those lug nuts can be a real pain if they’ve been over-torqued. Was it Dex that did your last service?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, what is your problem with that guy?”

She had a friend on the phone. A mechanic friend, apparently. She’d figure it out. Then she shifted her weight wrong. The tire iron slipped free, and she stumbled backward, arms flailing as she tried to catch her balance. She failed, landing on her ass with a wince.

My feet were moving before my brain caught up. Three long strides across the grass, across that invisible property line I’d been so careful not to cross since moving in.

“What do you mean, what’s my problem? You’re not the one who has to see him every day...”

I cleared my throat.

Emily’s head snapped up, her eyes locking with mine, sucking the breath from my lungs. Nope, not doing that.

I gestured at the tire, keeping my voice even. “You got trouble?”

“Who’s that?” Hannah’s voice cut through the speaker. “Did I just hear a male voice?”

“Uh, yeah. It’s my neighbor.”

“Is that so? Is it Mr. Kirkland from number 32, or are we talking about the incredibly hot dad from 36?”

The flush on Emily’s face went from pink to crimson in the space of a heartbeat. She lunged for the phone and stabbed at the screen, ending the call with enough force that she could have dented it.

Silence dropped between us like a stone.

She scrambled to her feet, hastily attempting to smooth out her hair as she looked everywhere except at me. Then seemed to gather herself. Shoulders back, chin up.

“No trouble here. Just got a flat.”

“I’ll fix it.”

The words were out before I could think better of them. Fuck me, I was stupid.

“You don’t have to.” Her voice came out high, a little breathless. “I can handle it. That was my friend Hannah on the phone. She’s a qualified mechanic. I’ll just call her back, and she’ll come right over. I’m sure you need to get to work.”

I should have taken the out. Should have nodded and walked away, back to my side of the property line where I belonged.

“I’ve got a few minutes.” I moved forward, so she had to step back to give me room. “How about you get out of the way so I can get it done?”

Clearly accepting that I wasn’t taking no for an answer, she stepped to the side. “Oh, alright then.”

I crouched down and grabbed the tire iron, placing it over the lug nut and really putting my back into it. It fought me for a few seconds before giving way with a sharp crack. I worked my way around the wheel, feeling the strain in my shoulders as I forced each one loose.

She didn’t say anything while I worked, but I felt her presence like a touch. I pulled the flat tire free, the nail in the sidewall thick as my thumb, and placed it against the low wall that lined her drive.

“Thank you. I can take it from here.”

Before I could object, she reached for the spare and hefted it up. Her grip slipped, and the tire wobbled, threatening to drop. She caught it with a grunt, her arms straining as she tried to maneuver it into position.

I was crouching beside her before I could think better of it. “Here. Let me. It’ll be quicker.”

“No, it’s fine, I can—”

“Emily.”

Her name left my mouth before I could stop it, and her eyes snapped to mine. We were close now. So close that I could see the gold flecks in those brown eyes. Close enough to count the freckles scattered across her nose.

My pulse kicked up a notch. The morning air suddenly felt warmer.

“Like I said,” I managed, my voice rough. “It’ll take me two minutes.”

She stepped back, arms folded across her chest, and I forced myself to focus on the tire. On the simple mechanical task of lining up the holes and threading the lug nuts. Anything to distract me from the scent of her shampoo or perfume, or whatever it was, that wafted to me on the breeze.

Beyond irritated with myself, I tightened the last lug nut and stood, wiping my hands on my jeans. My shoulders were rigid, muscles coiled tight like I’d just finished a full day of moving furniture instead of five minutes with a tire iron.

“Thank you. Really.” She was playing with the hem of her sweater now, her fingers twisting the fabric. “I could have been out here all morning.”

I was already backing toward my driveway, putting distance between us. “Get that tire replaced soon. Spare’s not meant for long distances.”

“I know. Hannah will—” She cut herself off, that flush creeping back into her cheeks.

I turned and walked back to my house before either of us could make this worse. Made it to my porch steps before some stupid impulse made me glance back.

She was still standing there beside her car, one hand on her hip, staring at the tire like she couldn’t quite figure out what had just happened.

I went inside and found my travel mug sitting on the coffee table where Alice had probably abandoned it yesterday. Picking it up with hands that shook slightly, I glanced through the living room window, watching as Emily backed out of her driveway and disappeared down the street.

I stood there longer than necessary, tension still wound through my shoulders and the base of my spine. The house felt even quieter now than it had before. The silence had weight to it, pressing against my skin.

Finally, I shook myself, grabbed my keys, and headed back to the kitchen.

I had a life that was exactly the way I’d built it to be. Simple. Uncomplicated. Mine. I did not have time for neighbors with gold-flecked eyes and genuine laughter, who made my chest feel tight for reasons I had no intention of examining.