Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
After staying up until four in the morning to finish my book, I slept in past noon on Saturday. With a jaw-cracking yawn, I burrowed deeper into my warm nest and debated how badly I needed to go to the bathroom.
“Enough’s enough,” Mom called from somewhere in the house. “If you’re not out here in three seconds, you’re doing my chore list, too.”
Saturday cleaning. Fun.
Since Mom and I weren’t messy people—she didn’t allow me to be messy—there wasn’t a lot to clean.
She vacuumed all the rooms and disinfected the bathroom while I dusted, swept the kitchen, and either raked the leaves in fall, shoveled snow in winter, or mowed in summer.
The outdoor chores were mine on the grounds that I needed fresh air because of all my reading. Total BS.
The vacuum turned on in the living room.
Groaning, I pulled myself from bed and got dressed.
Mom glanced my way as I went outside to get the raking out of the way.
The chill of the prior day was missing. Pausing for a moment, I stood in the sun to soak up the warmth, then grabbed the rake.
Most of the leaves had fallen with the first frost last week.
Each day, more stragglers gave up their hold.
A thin layer covered the lawn near the shrubs.
I’d only managed a small pile when I heard the neighbor’s garage open.
Looking up, I forgot how to breathe as my dream guy stepped out. Longish light brown hair, a strong jawline, eyebrows so perfectly shaped he looked like he should be modeling the jeans and flannel he wore for a fall fashion show.
He started walking straight toward me.
Stunned, I stood there, rake hanging uselessly in my hand as I took him in. His long, relaxed stride. His straight nose. Perfect lips—not too thin and not girlishly pouty. Biceps that stretched the sleeves of his flannel just enough to notice.
He was at least a head taller than me and close to my age.
Excitement burst through me.
I had a hot neighbor!
His warm brown gaze locked on mine as he reached the shrubs and stopped.
“Hi,” he said.
I wanted to giggle like the tongue-tied nerd I was. Instead, I accidentally dropped the rake.
“Oh. Oops. I mean, hi. Hi. I’m Clarity.”
He smiled and offered his hand over the top of the shoulder-height shrub. I stared at his hand.
Touch a hot guy? Hell yes.
Just as I was reaching for him, the front door of my house opened.
“Clarity Marie. Inside. Now.”
Yep. That was the reality check I needed.
“Sorry. I have to go,” I said, withdrawing my hand.
I turned, tripped over the rake, and landed face-first in my pile of leaves.
Fate hated me.
The shrubs rustled for a second before gentle hands rolled me over.
Did I die? Is this heaven?
“Are you all right?” he asked, looking down at me. He plucked some leaves from my hair as I nodded.
“Clarity!” Mom yelled.
“Coming,” I said, sitting up.
He kept a steadying hand on me as I stood.
“Thanks.”
He nodded, and I hurried toward my scowling mom.
But her grumpy mood didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the moment I’d just had.
It was a perfect meet-cute. What were the chances the hot guy liked tongue-tied bookworms?
Mom shut the door behind me.
“I don’t want you going near that boy. He’s dangerous.”
“I completely agree. I think he almost knocked me up just looking at me. Did you see how hot he is?”
“Clarity, I’m serious. Stay away from that family. If you can’t, no threats of emancipation will keep me from moving us.”
“Geesh. All right. These mood swings of yours are exactly why I don’t try meeting people my age. I’ll just finish my chores inside and go back to my fictional boyfriends. They’re more attainable anyway.”
Yet, the memory of my new neighbor replayed in my head as I swept and dusted.
He continued to haunt me as I lay on my bed and tried to read: his old plaid shirt and worn jeans, the way he’d stood, relaxed yet tense at the same time, the way his gaze had swept over my face, the expectant look in his eyes.
I scrutinized it all and imagined the possible reasons behind each detail.
In other words, I obsessed.
Previous crushes had never evolved into anything more.
Actually, after a few weeks of infatuation, the guy usually lost his appeal because he liked some other girl.
My new hot neighbor probably already had a girlfriend.
And one day soon, I’d look out my window to see him kissing a pretty blonde, and the replay of our meeting would fade from my mind.
But until that day, I was free to obsess.
I sat up and glanced out my window. The new neighbor’s house was quiet. No one waited by the shrubs.
Of course, he’d gone back inside. I shook my head at my hopefulness. Then I caught sight of the rake on the lawn.
“Clarity, what do you want for dinner next week?” Mom called from the kitchen.
Ah, the routine of life.
Mom shopped every Saturday. She asked me what I wanted and never asked me to come with. Why? Because she carefully deliberated the financial and health costs of each item that went into the cart, and it drove me crazy. Whereas I threw random items into the cart, which drove her just as crazy.
“Steak and lobster would be great,” I called back. “Maybe some duck with orange sauce.”
I’d never eaten anything like that, but I’d read about it.
Most of the meals I read about sounded good.
Authors needed to write about the mundane or failed meals, too.
Like the one time my mom tried making this chicken dish with white rice and peaches.
I gagged a little at the memory and listened for the sound of the front door closing.
As soon as it did, I jumped off my bed.
After waiting a few minutes just to be sure she wouldn’t come back, I went outside again.
She’d told me not to interact with the neighbors. Raking and staring didn’t count as an interaction.
Grinning, I picked up the rake and let my mind wander.
“Are you all right?”
His voice made me squeak and almost drop the rake again. My heart kicked hard as I looked up at my mind-numbingly attractive neighbor standing just on the other side of the shrubs—same spot as before.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t,” I blurted. “I mean, you did, but that’s okay. I didn’t mind.”
He smiled. It made my brain stutter.
“Did you hurt yourself when you fell before?”
I swallowed hard, hearing a pickup line before the concern in his voice sank in. I quickly shook my head.
“Good. I’m Sam. We just moved in next door.”
“Nice to meet you, Sam.”
This time, I offered my hand, and my insides twisted and turned in the most thrilling way as he clasped it. His grip was warm, steady. Not too tight. Not too loose. A perfect fit.
We stood there for several moments, hands joined over the shrubs. He didn’t pull away. He just watched me expectantly, like he was waiting for me to figure something out.
Blushing, I realized I was holding on too long.
I quickly withdrew my hand and fisted it in my jacket pocket to preserve the lingering feel of his touch.
Distance, remember, Clarity? At least here, where Mom or the other neighbors might see. Future close encounters with the hot neighbor could wait until school, far away from her paranoia.
“When’s your first day?” I asked. “I can show you around. If you want.”
He tilted his head slightly. “First day?”
“At school?”
“I graduated already.”
“Oh.” All the possible accidental meetings during school flew out the door. “How old are you?”
“Eighteen. My parents homeschooled me.”
He shifted his weight, hands sliding into his pockets. Settling in to talk more or hinting he wanted to leave? Unsure, I tried to think of something to say or ask. But everything that came to mind didn’t seem right.
He was only a little older than me, but we were in completely different life phases.
Disappointed that I couldn’t come up with anything, I settled for a polite extraction.
“It was nice meeting you, Sam. I’d better finish raking before my mom comes home.”
“Okay. I’ll see you around, Clarity.”
Different life phases or not, the fact that he’d remembered my name made my insides go gooey again.
By Monday, “the event,” as I thought of it, had faded a bit, and I started questioning the details.
Had his eyes really been that gorgeously brown?
Had his concern about my fall been real or just polite?
And why hadn’t he pulled away his hand first?
What did it mean that he let me stand there clinging to it?
Was he just too kind to say something and make me feel bad?
I sat through seven hours of educational boredom, then waited outside for Mom.
And waited.
“Need a ride?”
My pulse jumped at the sound of my neighbor’s voice.
He was walking toward me from the right, easy strides across the sidewalk.
“Sam. Hi. Um, what are you doing here?” I looked around, worried Mom would pick that time to pull up.
“Stalking my cute neighbor.”
I blinked at him, not sure I’d heard right.
Cute? Cute how? Like cute kid…or—
“Kidding,” he added easily. “I had an errand near here, recognized you, and thought you might need a ride.”
I slowly shook my head.
“No?” he said with a slight smile. “To which part?”
“The stalking, of course. I’m obviously your neighbor.”
“And the cuteness?”
Were we flirting? Crap. I didn’t know how to flirt.
Yes, I did. I had the knowledge of a million books.
However, I couldn’t remember a single word or scene.
“Um. Cuteness is a subjective and complex topic that usually needs more than a few minutes to determine,” I said, sounding like an idiot.
“True. We could define it sometime. Maybe grab food.”
He’d said, “Maybe.” That wasn’t asking for a date. Yet, the hope was still there.
“Food?” I echoed.
“Yeah. I’m still exploring options, but I think there’s a place on the other side of town. Steak, lobster—stuff like that.”
I couldn’t help it. I giggle-snorted. The whole conversation was crazy and familiar. Hadn’t I just asked Mom for steak and lobster on Saturday?