Make Mine Sweet (Love in Sunshine #3)

1. Ian

ONE

IAN

I really need a Go away sign.

The doorbell’s cheery chime rings through my apartment for the third time. I’ve been lying on the couch pretending I’m not home in the hope my uninvited visitor would go away, but they haven’t taken the hint. Since I only ever get the one visitor, it was a pointless hope. My aunt’s allergic to the word No .

The chime rings again, quicker this time, and I groan, rolling up to a sitting position. My blinds are closed, but I still squint against the harsh summer sunshine like a vampire awoken too early from his slumber. Might even hiss, but that’s more from my aching back than the sunlight burning my skin. This couch wasn’t built for naps.

My dog’s got his nose practically pressed to the front door, whining and wagging his tail. Yep. It’s my aunt Amy waiting on the other side.

Can’t expect anyone else when she’s the only person I know here in Sunshine. That was the whole point in coming to a small town in central Oregon—the isolation. But Amy and I haven’t seen eye to eye on that. Case in point: her unpredictable social calls. It’s like the woman doesn’t know what “holing up so I can lick my wounds in peace” means.

I push up my sweatpants leg and re-secure my prosthesis. I don’t sleep with it on, and I’d been expecting a longer nap than the one I got.

Raking my fingers through my long hair, I groan again at how far I’ve fallen. Taking afternoon naps like an old man in a nursing home. If only the readers of Crux Monthly could see me now. Those fifteen minutes of fame sure disappear fast.

The moment I throw the door open, Amy accosts me with her grin. “Ian. I was starting to think you were out on a hike.”

She doesn’t mean anything by it. Still feels like a dig. The closest I get to hiking anymore is walking the two-mile trail that starts behind the duplex. I used to climb dangerous mountain peaks for a living. Now, I have to hype myself up to tackle the kiddie hill.

She bends down to greet my dog, Dutch, who tries to lick her face. But Amy’s familiar with his tactics and steers clear of his whip-fast tongue.

“I was just—” I gesture vaguely around the apartment. Avoiding humanity and staring into the abyss. “You caught me at an awkward time.”

She straightens, searing me with a fiery look. “That implies there’s a good time to catch you.”

I can’t help the laugh that gusts out of me. She’s not wrong. I haven’t been at my best for…well. A solid two years now. “If I’d known you were coming, I might have…”

Her eyebrows lift, waiting for me to finish that sentence. What would I have done? Cleaned the apartment? Showered? Not lain motionless for ten minutes hoping she would give up and drive away?

None of the above.

She just laughs. “Don’t strain yourself on my account.”

Amy and I are closer in age than a typical aunt/nephew pair. She’s only ten years older than I am, just a step above my oldest brother. Most of the time, she’s more like an overly familiar cousin than a matronly aunt.

I shudder. If she had any idea I even thought the word “matronly” in connection with her, she’d skin me alive.

I step back from the doorway and motion her to come inside, even though it puts me on edge. I have enough sense left to know I should do something about the mess. Just don’t have the motivation.

Amy walks into the middle of the living room as though she doesn’t see the granola bar wrappers, dirty plates, and empty coffee mugs on every flat surface. But Dutch licks at a crumb on a spoon as he passes the coffee table, calling me out on my shoddy housekeeping. Thanks, man’s best friend .

“Jodi wanted to send a burger and fries over, but I told her if she did, it’d be even longer before she sees you again.” She smiles, making the comment more affectionate than it deserves to be.

It also twists something in my gut. Shame, probably. Amy and her wife, Jodi, run a local diner and own several rental properties around town. They offered me this apartment to “recuperate” for a while, and I’ve showed my gratitude by stopping in to visit them a handful of times in three months.

The thing is, Delish is a popular place. Not that long ago, I would have reveled in the crowds, but now, they make my skin crawl. I’m out of the habit of being around that many people. I don’t know how to carry myself anymore. And that’s just trying to grab a bite to eat.

“I’ll drop by this week,” I tell her. Near closing, when the place is almost empty.

“Good. She misses your face.” Amy hitches a shoulder. “Such as it is.”

I scrape a hand over my beard. “It’s not that bad.”

Her “Oh, really?” look could melt glass. “That beard’s somewhere between ‘Hagrid’ and ‘Gandalf.’”

I consider the two options. “Which one’s worse?”

“That’s not the question you should be asking.”

Maybe not. What I look like isn’t high on my priority list anymore. Nothing really is.

“What brings you by?” I try to put some friendliness in it, but it comes out an accusation. Typical of Amy, she ignores my caustic tone.

“I was talking with Mitchell Choi yesterday. I told you about his business, Horizon Hikes. He said they’re looking to hire more guides.”

I make not a single sound. Even a grunt of acknowledgement would encourage her to keep talking. She knows I haven’t led anyone on so much as a walk around my back yard since I lost my left leg two years ago.

She waits, her eye contact too pointed to miss. “Seems like an opportunity you would want to know about.”

I cross my arms and stare her down. “I’m out of that business.”

She knows that, too, since it’s why I came to Oregon. I couldn’t keep haunting the successful guiding company my brothers and I had built in Colorado, always present but unable to do anything meaningful. I haven’t been any more useful here, but at least my brothers and employees don’t give me cheerful smiles to cover up their pity twenty times a day.

Losing my leg took an adjustment, but I learned to adapt. It’s just meat. But losing my career? My reputation? Everything that made me who I was? I haven’t figured out how to adjust to that.

She doesn’t flinch away from my glare. “There’s always that wilderness camp for kids. They’re hiring counselors ages seventeen and up. Pretty sure you qualify.”

I snort. “I don’t think I’m real suited to taking care of kids.”

“Join a book club at the library.”

“I’m not an official resident.”

She sighs all the air from her lungs. “Explore the town. It’d be good for you to have a break from this apartment now and then.”

“Dutch is offended.”

She points a finger at me. “That right there. You need more company than that dog.”

I look to where my trusty companion made himself comfortable on the couch. He’s a big, brown mutt with strangely perceptive eyes and the dopiest doggie grin. He slurps his tongue into his mouth, unbothered by Amy’s slights.

“Agree to disagree.”

Dutch only judges me when I don’t share my food with him. But people? They’re full of pointed questions, sorrowful gazes that follow me everywhere I go, and whispered gossip about everything I’ve lost. I’ll stick with my dog, thanks.

Something out the window behind me catches her eye. The tiniest smirk hits her mouth before she chases it away again. “Well. You know best. Come meet your new neighbors.”

She moves past me to the front door, but I freeze. “My new what ?”

“Neighbors.” She says the word nice and slow so I don’t miss a syllable. “They’re moving in today.”

Today? “But you said…”

She arches that eyebrow at me again, refuting everything I thought we’d discussed. “I said we had no plans to let the unit next door as a short-term rental anymore. I never said we wouldn’t rent it out long-term.”

She walks outside, leaving me standing here with my mouth open. A long-term renter? I pull a hand down my face, searching for calm. Beggars can’t be choosers, but I’ve had a real good set up here.

I like that the duplex sits at the end of a long lane few people have a reason to drive up. I like that it rests at the edge of the foothills near a short hiking path—I appreciate the views, even if I don’t often use the trail. I especially like that the unit next door has been empty for the last three months.

I step out onto the front porch next to Amy, Dutch following close behind. A blue station wagon sits a space away from my SUV. I stare at the wagon, but sunlight glare prevents me from seeing who’s inside.

“I’m not real sociable lately,” I mutter under my breath.

Amy laughs. “I’ve noticed.”

“I like my privacy.”

“If by ‘privacy’ you mean ‘turning into a recluse,’ I’ve noticed that, too.”

“If you expect me to—” The rest of my idle threat dies out as I swallow my tongue.

The woman who gets out of the station wagon is drop-dead gorgeous. Blond, in a red-and-white striped shirt and jeans shorts that show off curves out of my dreams, she shoots a grin Amy’s direction and waves.

Like an idiot, I lift my hand to wave back. I have enough sense to redirect and rake my fingers through my hair. That “Gandalf or Hagrid?” debate roars back to life in my head. Hair past my shoulders, beard several inches beyond my chin, my shirt creeping into its third day of rotation—I could pass for a cave man if I had a couple of rocks to bang together.

The only saving grace is that I put on sweatpants this morning and never changed out of them. I’ve come to terms with my prosthetic leg in most ways, but there’s not a world in which I want this woman to look at me with pity in her eyes the moment I meet her. Give her a chance to get to know me, at least.

Then she can pity me for entirely different reasons.

Amy steps off the porch and greets her as the woman opens the rear passenger door. A little boy with pale blond hair jumps out and slips his hand into hers.

Something beneath my ribcage shifts. Whatever useless hope flared to life in there dies back down. No doubt a man will appear any minute now to round out their family unit. Probably some clean-shaven suit who doesn’t use the sniff-test on his clothes every morning.

I cross my arms back over my chest.

“Tess and August, meet my nephew, Ian.” Amy gestures over at me. “Ian, these are two of the best people in Sunshine you’ll ever know.”

The woman—Tess—smiles brightly at me. That stupid hope tries to flutter back into existence, but I squash the life out of it. It’s nothing personal. Just the last shreds of my self-preservation.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ian.”

I don’t react, but her smile doesn’t budge. She’s either a nurse or works retail to be this unfazed by me ignoring her kindness. Maybe a teacher.

“Mister, can I pet your dog?” The little boy’s practically dancing next to his mother—I might be assuming too much, but they look too alike for them to be anything else.

I nod. The dog hasn’t had a whole lot of practice, but he’s been good with kids so far. Tess lets go of the boy’s hand, and he steps up onto the low porch both duplexes share. He holds a hand out, and Dutch sniffs it. Next second, he licks it, and the kid starts petting him in long strokes down his back. Dutch leans so hard against him, the kid almost falls over.

At least one of us is happy to have neighbors.