2. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
R ose
Twenty minutes earlier
The morning sun casts a glow over Sea Shanty Cove as I burst out of my cozy cottage, my bare feet slapping against the dew-kissed grass. "Honeybun!" I call out, my voice a blend of affection and exasperation. My mischievous boxer has become the Houdini of our small seaside town, his escapades an almost daily routine.
"Have you seen Honeybun?" I ask Mrs. Beckett, who’s tending to her roses across the street. She shakes her head, her soft, gray curls bouncing like little springs. "Sorry, dear," she replies with a sympathetic smile.
“Fiddlesticks. Thank you anyway, and good morning,” I wave to her, in a hurry to find my animal and not wanting to get stuck in a conversation with my sweet, but nosy neighbor. “Beautiful roses!”
As I round the corner of my house, my heart leaps when I realize I know all too well what the four-legged troublemaker is doing. Apparently, he’s enjoying his morning exercise in my new neighbor’s pool.
Mother of pearl! This is gonna be bad.
Darting forward with renewed urgency, I arrive at the scene of the crime: grumpy guy’s backyard.
And there’s the runaway, in all his glory, shamelessly standing in the cool, shimmering waters of my neighbor’s pool, basking in the morning sun. The image would be adorable if it wasn't so darn incriminating.
"Good gravy, Honeybun!" I groan to myself, my hands going to my hips as I approach the gate.
I hear the deep tones of a male who I’m assuming is my neighbor and I start apologizing before I even breach the gate. The latch gives way with a click, and I barrel inside the neatly landscaped yard.
I’m trying to figure out how to maintain some semblance of authority over my naughty pet who is enjoying the cool pool water on this hot Mississippi morning and can’t help but wonder if this whole thing is some kind of cosmic payback for all the times I’ve spent laughing at funny viral dog videos instead of being productive at home or at work.
The one person I was hoping to avoid in this rescue mission was my brooding new neighbor, but Braxton Barrows is now standing in front of me as if he's come straight off a romance novel cover shoot. Some hot combination of Greek god and dirty professor due to his dark tortoiseshell glasses.
Seriously? Did he practice that intense Poseidon-like stance in the mirror every morning?
The grumpy man is standing near the pool, his pool skimmer planted at his side as if it’s Poseidon’s trident, a visible frown creasing his striking features. Dark hair whips gently in the sea breeze, framing a face that’s so chiseled and masculine, he really does look like a Greek god carved in stone. His glasses give him a hot, academic professor vibe that would make college girls everywhere drop their panties for extra credit.
His white shirt is unbuttoned, revealing toned abs, with the sleeves rolled up, showcasing veiny, bronzed forearms. Couple that with his tight khaki cotton shorts highlighting thick, muscular legs, and my mouth feels drier than all the sand on the beach.
Barnacles. This is bad.
Gulping, it seems all coherent thought has left my brain, and my greedy girly parts are in overdrive.
Now feeling awkward, I apologize profusely and beg my dog to please get out of Braxton’s pool. Just as expected, Honeybun continues to ignore me. I’m now fighting the urge to laugh hysterically because this whole situation is turning into a real-life sitcom episode.
Cue the weird, wacky music and overdone canned laughter.
Except my handsome god/professor isn’t laughing. At all. If anything, he’s actually glowering.
That’s a shame, too, because he has such a handsome face. Doesn’t he know he’s going to give himself wrinkles on his forehead if he keeps frowning like that?
I get it though. Honeybun’s a lot. My dog is so freaking adorable, but he’s constantly getting us into trouble.
Since Braxton moved in, I’ve been catching fleeting glances of him. He never makes eye contact with me though, as if he doesn’t want to talk, so I’ve left him alone.
If he doesn’t want to be neighborly, who am I to change him? Seriously, I don’t want to talk to him either, and I talk to everyone. I’m still angry he built his stupid house next to mine.
Extremely extroverted, probably overly talkative, I make friends everywhere I go, especially working at Sea Shanty Cove’s local bar, Salty’s Taproom.
Up until now, I’d been determined not to acknowledge the new inhabitant of the home, either. I’m not normally rude. The residents of our quaint little town even call me “sunshine” for my sweet and happy disposition.
From dogs to the elderly, I can handle it. Hold a conversation with a handsome stranger?
Nope . Not this gal. Instead, I’m making an idiot of myself, continuing to stumble over my words, and apologizing for Honeybun’s bad behavior. On the bright side, at least Honeybun is getting exercise, even if it’s at the expense of my dignity.
I’m pleading with my devil dog, who is now doing laps in the crystal-clear water like some sort of Olympian in training. My hands rest on my hips, my foot tapping impatiently on the warm tiles lining the edge of the large swimming pool. This new ritual of his is kind of funny, but the grump next door isn’t in agreement.
Finally, I’m forced to wade into the pool to gather Honeybun under the hostile gaze of my neighbor. Because my dog is unfazed, he continues to paddle around with that characteristic boxer grin plastered across his sopping wet face.
But even with my frustration with Honeybun and annoyance towards the owner of the pool, I can’t help the attraction that ignites somewhere deep inside me when I finally emerge from the pool and find myself standing within touching distance of Braxton Barrows.
His presence is disarming, sending a jolt of electricity down my spine, leaving me both embarrassed and intrigued. His gaze is hypnotic, his ice-blue eyes framed by those glasses seem to see right through to my soul.
Holy moly. As quickly as the lightning bolt moment happens, he abruptly clears his throat and steps away as if he, too, can feel the attraction.
After chastising us, his commanding voice deep and sending shivers down my spine, for using his precious “non-public” pool, Honeybun and I take our leave. On my side of the fence, I stop to catch my breath, my puppy impatiently yanking at his leash.
For over a year, I’ve been upset that my once-tranquil view of the bay was being blocked by the large, over-the-top house being built next door. A pang of longing twists inside me.
When I finally moved out of my parents’ home into their small rental cottage, I loved the independence, but was most excited about the view. I enjoyed every sunrise and sunset from my back patio with the water providing the perfect Zen moments to both start and end every day. It was perfect.
Then, the construction crews began showing up, working on the monstrous house. I was forced to watch as my view of the ocean dwindled to the ugly sight of the back of a three-story home with fencing, landscaping, and a gigantic swimming pool. Every day, I felt myself growing ??angrier and angrier at my unknown neighbor.
How dare they ruin my peace and take my million-dollar view?
But thanks to my silly animal, I’m now forced to interact with the handsome, enigmatic, grump, and part of me isn’t entirely mad about it. Just looking at the man makes my heart race, my greedy vagina clench, and makes me very, very determined to make the crotchety man smile.