Chapter 1
Dean
PRESENT DAY
“Mornin’,” I tell the woman I’ve seen five out of seven days this week.
Clearly, we both live in the same apartment complex, and I’ve yet to see her with anyone else.
Another plus is that there isn’t a ring on her finger, not even a faint tan line, and from the looks she’s given me the past few days, I’m pretty sure it all aligns with her being single. At least I’m hopeful that’s the case.
“Good morning,” she replies sleepily. I can attest to the tiredness.
No amount of getting used to shift changes has helped me become adjusted to going from working day to night.
The latest round of working nights is taking its toll on me, probably because I’m in a different place altogether.
New city, new apartment, and new schedule.
I guess I’m fortunate it’s not a new company as well.
A lot of times, when you’re a lineman, the moment the contract is up, so is your job.
“Rough night?” I ask, going further in the topic of conversation than what we’ve had before.
“Do I look as bad as I feel?” From the moment I first saw her, the quiet beauty nearly disarmed me with her wide, expressive hazel eyes surrounded by dark lashes.
Her lips are full and naturally curved, resting in a gentle way, as if she’s in a thoughtful moment.
There’s nothing forced in her expression.
She’s soft, at ease with confidence, and an unspoken invitation to look a hell of a lot closer.
Today, she’s in an oversized white collared shirt with the top three buttons undone, showing the dew-touched skin above the scrap of lace beneath her shirt with a hint of her breasts peeking out at the top.
Jeans cover her lower half, which is probably a good thing, or I’d be swallowing my goddamn tongue.
As it is, her hair spills over her shoulders in loose waves, catching the light from the sun, illuminating the honey-gold color framing her face.
“Nah, more like I can hear it in your voice. At least it’s Friday, right?
” It doesn’t make a difference to me. My job isn’t a nine-to-five, Monday-through-Friday career.
You get a set of hours, work over those, get called in, and sometimes, you get moved to an entirely different area with a moment's fucking notice. This job isn’t for the weak or the faint of heart.
Right now, I’m in this area for a hardening project, but that doesn’t mean a Florida thunderstorm won’t blow through, causing us to pull off an area and support the local crew.
“Yeah, thank goodness. Well, I guess I should let you go and get to work,” the golden-haired beauty says as she takes a sip from her coffee mug.
Not one of those to-go thermos-style ones, either—an honest-to-god ceramic cup.
She’s got to be playing a game of Russian Roulette not to spill the hot liquid while driving.
And I’ve noticed it’s not just on rare occurrences either; it’s every day, and each one has a different state or country on it.
“Have a good day. See you around.” I give her a smirk, dip my chin, and watch as she walks past me. It’s only when I glance over my shoulder that I notice she’s looking back at me.
“You, too.” We don’t formally meet. I don’t have her name, and she doesn’t have mine.
We’re basically strangers who would see one another occasionally.
And I’m not gonna lie, it’s a breath of fresh air.
Usually, meeting someone requires a dating site.
I don’t touch those at all. Too many of the guys I work with fuck with them, and the stories they have to tell are plenty enough for me.
Then there’s social media, a place I don’t get involved in after the last round of unsolicited pictures of half-naked women, which put me all the way off, and I deleted the shit from my phone.
My sister claims it’ll be an instant red flag when a woman and her crew run a search that rivals the FBI, which is why she told me not to deactivate my shit.
I shrugged my shoulders, tossed her my phone, and she had her way with it in blocking what she called chicken something or the other.
I shake my head at the memory while reminding myself to call her sooner rather than later.
At the same time, a wave of tiredness takes over.
I hear a car door close, the start of an engine, and take one last look over my shoulder, noticing that the woman without a name is safely inside.
She gives me another finger wave, and I tip my chin before moving on with my day.
When I make it to the building where my apartment is located, I take the stairs two at a time.
Living on the second floor has its pluses: there’s no one beating on the floor up above, nobody messes with you, and the rent is cheaper.
The cons: taking the stairs when you’re tired as fuck, needing groceries hauled up, and moving in and out.
There’s also the sun that beats onto the roof, which drives up the cost of electricity.
As for me, those issues don’t really bother me too much since my company sent me here for an extended period of time, expenses paid in full.
I make it to the landing and am about to put my key in the lock, but instead of opening the door I’m greeted with a note.
Dear neighbor,
Sorry, we haven’t met yet, and this may be a terrible introduction, but I’m at my last resort, and I’m no snitch. Is there a possibility you can lower the volume on the I Love Lucy episodes at night?
Signed,
A very tired neighbor who shares a wall with you
I shake my head, wondering what the new person is going on about.
As far as I’m aware, there isn’t anything on when I return from work.
With the note in my hand, I open the door, and there’s Scout, the companion who stumbled upon me one rainy night, dirty, matted, and starving.
That was a few weeks ago. After a quick visit to the vet to scan for a microchip and coming back with nothing, then updating his vaccines and putting him on some high-fat puppy food to get him back to his normal weight, he became mine.
“Hey, bud, how are you doing?” I bend down, scoop him up, and bring him to my chest. He lets out a loud baroo-type howl before attacking my face, attempting to give me his version of kisses.
“I guess you had a good night and early morning,” I say.
I hired a dog walker for the early hours of the evening, then pay another neighbor to take him out one last time before they head for bed.
They do it again in the morning, taking him out for me, and when I make it home, he’s ready for a nap right along with me.
“Alright, shower, snack, and then bed.” I make a mental note to talk to my neighbor and should probably figure out who left the letter in order to apologize.
I rub behind his ears, and he squirms out of my arms, trying to bite my fingers.
Did I mention he’s only a pup, barely four months old, and had a rough start?
The minute I let him down on the ground, the zoomies take hold, as well as his voice.
He won’t stop until I play with him, and as tired as I am, at least having a good morning in the form of the pretty woman in the parking lot and this little man makes it a hell of a lot better.