2. Tess
TWO
TESS
I knew my apartment came with a reclusive neighbor attached, but I didn’t anticipate this much scowling. Or facial hair.
Seriously, that is a Dude Thor-level beard.
But I promised Amy I would try to befriend her nephew, and while she never explicitly said my efforts are in exchange for the phenomenally cheap rent she offered me, I’m not stupid. Although, with the way the man’s glaring at me, it’s fair to say my optimism butts up against naiveté.
As if I didn’t know that already.
I go on smiling at Ian. In my experience, a little sweetness goes a long way. Whether in my family’s bakery when the line is long and customers get twitchy or when August is grumpy and doesn’t want to do his blood sugar tests, a warm smile and cheerful attitude can be infectious.
Ian’s scowl is a sweetness-repelling shield. He’s giving strong “Keep Out, No Trespassing” vibes. Which is awkward, considering we’ll be sharing a duplex for the foreseeable future.
Scowls or not, I need this apartment. I’m thirty-two—it’s long past time I create some space for August and me. And maybe get out from under my mother’s increasingly smothering wings in the process.
“I don’t have much time today.” Amy hands me my house keys and reminds me of a few last details about the rental. Before I know it, she’s at her car again, ready to leave. “Ian, why don’t you help Tess and August carry their things inside? That’d be neighborly of you.”
She winks at him, hops into her car, and drives away. Leaving me with the least neighborly guy I can imagine.
I side-eye my new lumberjack-looking companion. When Amy offered me this apartment, I’d been too focused on the steeply discounted rent to ask much about the solitary nephew she’d mentioned. Now, I’ve got nothing but questions. Like:
Does he ever smile?
Is he trying to zap me into oblivion with his ice-blue eyes?
How long does he plan on giving us the silent treatment?
“What’s your dog’s name, Mister?” August asks. He hasn’t stopped petting the dog since he got permission. We probably have five minutes before he declares it his new best friend.
At least the dog is friendly. The man’s more likely to growl at us than that dog is.
Ian’s gaze drops down to where August’s sitting on the porch, the dog right next to him exulting in his pets and scratches. The big dog practically vibrates from joy as August strokes its fluffy, mottled brown fur. It’s also got a tongue approximately two feet long and an urge to taste-test anywhere on August he can reach.
“His name’s Dutch.” Ian’s voice comes out gravelly, like he doesn’t use it often.
August lights up. “Like Double Dutch!”
“Or like Arnold Schwarzenegger in Predator ,” Ian mutters. He must not appreciate his dog being linked with a kid’s jump rope game instead of a muscled-out action movie hero.
“I haven’t seen that one,” I say.
His gaze hits mine. “Probably not for everybody.”
I’ve never been one for violent, blood-and-guts movies, and I’m pretty sure that one qualifies. “The one where he plays a Kindergarten teacher is probably more my speed.”
I’m guessing. I haven’t actually seen that one, either.
Ian only blinks at that information. All right, moving on.
“I hope Amy didn’t spring us on you.” My awkward laugh grows more shrill when Ian goes on staring blankly. He’s throwing off the opposite of warm fuzzies. Cold pricklies are definitely a thing.
He ticks his head to the side. “It’s her house.”
Yeah. That’s an “I’m not happy about having new neighbors” if I ever heard one. I want to say something reassuring about how we’re all going to get along great…but even I’m not that naive.
“Come on, August.” I can’t spend all day on the porch working up anxiety about the man next door I promised to try to befriend. “Help bring your things inside.”
I unlock the front door and push it open. It’s a simple two-bedroom apartment filled with comfortable furniture. We’re lucky to get it—grumpy neighbor and all.
I send August off to his new room, his excitement echoing around the house, and go back out to my station wagon. I open the hatch, and my heart jumps straight into my throat when Ian appears at my side like a lumbering bear.
I do not scream. I do, however, make a strangled sound I deeply regret.
His eyes rake over me almost like he’s used to startling people. “Amy said I should help.”
Oh. I kind of figured he would ignore that bit of advice. I’m grateful, though—we brought a lot of stuff, and I’m already sweating even though the late-May day isn’t all that hot. “Thanks. Do you mind getting the biggest luggage?”
He hefts the giant bag out of the back as if it’s empty. My bear assessment was pretty spot on.
I grab a couple of smaller pieces of luggage and go into the house. My bedroom is cozy but bright, the orange and blue in the bedspread and rug making it cheery. It’s got a big window that lets in plenty of light. This will be a good place for us.
I refuse to let it be anything else.
I set my bags by the dresser, and Ian does the same with the bigger one. He’s almost comically out of place in the feminine room. If it weren’t for Amy’s vehement reassurance she trusts him implicitly, I might be uncomfortable sharing such a small space with this man.
Might be. A tremor of unease skates through my stomach, despite my friend vouching for him. He’s just so imposing. He’s probably only got a couple of inches on my five-eight frame, but his broad shoulders and bulging biceps are impossible to miss. Not to mention his long red hair and beard and that furrowed brow telegraphing his displeasure.
“Is your apartment decorated pretty much the same?” Amy and Jodi used to let both units out as short-term rentals, which is why they’re fully furnished. It’s hard to imagine him in an equally colorful room. Pretty sure he favors things like Stormcloud Gray and Bleak Black.
His gaze cuts my way, skating over me as though he’s trying not to acknowledge my presence. “No.”
He shuffles out again. Okay. This is going…not great. But I can do this. I’m the go-to for dealing with grumpy customers at the bakery. Mostly because if my sister, Wren, has to handle them, she grouses back. Someone has to grin and bear it in retail.
I go out to the car for the next round, passing August, who’s given up on his unloading duties. He’s snuggling with Dutch on the porch, no doubt getting covered in dog hair and slobber. But he’s distracted, so I’ll take it.
Ian’s already at the back of my car like he’s waiting for instructions, so I try again.
“This is a great place out here. Do you do a lot of hiking on the trail?” A path starts just past the duplex’s back yard. I’m not huge on hiking myself, but it seems like a safe enough topic.
“No.”
I refuse to sigh. I shouldn’t have expected more conversation from a man Amy described as living in a “self-imposed hermitude,” but I’d hoped he would at least be responsive to small talk. This is fine, though. I’ll just keep trying.
Ian drags a big box to the edge of the hatch, but I stop him.
“That one’s a beast.” It’s got my extremely expensive, extremely precious, extremely heavy mixer in it.
He cuts me a look like he and his giant biceps don’t appreciate the warning. He scoops it up without a struggle. With those arms, I’m not sure a washing machine would be a struggle.
I grab a much lighter box and follow him into the house.
“Where do you want this?” he asks over his shoulder.
“Just on the kitchen counter, thanks.” I tuck the box of August’s toys into his room and join Ian. “Amy says you haven’t been in town very long. Where did you live before?”
“Colorado.”
I wait for more, but he doesn’t offer more. “How do you like Sunshine?”
Apparently, my only goal in life is to smother this man with smiles and get him to talk to me in more than single sentences. I’m probably doing too much for the first day, but I can’t stop myself. We don’t have to become BFFs, but I have to hope we can reach some level of non-glaring social interactions one day. Otherwise, guilt over my too-cheap rent will crush me down to a powder.
“It’s changed since I was here last.”
“When was that?” I don’t remember ever seeing this man before. You’d think a guy who looks like he’d fit right in on a Viking longboat heading off to plunder a village would stick out more in my memory.
“About fifteen years ago. I worked as a rafting guide one summer.”
My triumph over him saying two sentences together pauses. Freezes. Crumbles away entirely.
Ian Vaughn. My heart somehow speeds up, slows down, and sinks into the crawl space beneath the duplex all in one go.
Amy never told me his last name, but now that I’ve connected the dots, it has to be him. The red hair should have made it obvious, but he’s just so different in every possible way. Back then, he’d been all breathtaking boyish good looks and handed out wide smiles to everyone. I’d been instantly charmed. He’d effortlessly turned the summer before my senior year of high school into a twisted knot of unrequited infatuation.
My hands go clammy, and my stomach floods with anxious moths. My stab at independence relies on me befriending my old crush who’s become some bizarro-world version of himself?
Cool. Cool, cool, cool.
August runs into the kitchen. “Mister, can Dutch come inside to play in my room?”
“His name is Ian.” And your mom was hopelessly obsessed with him when she was a teen.
“Ian,” August says solemnly, “can Dutch come inside?”
Ian gives him another cautious look. I get the feeling he hasn’t been around children very much. “Probably not a good idea, kid.”
August’s smile only slips for a moment. “Can I give him some of my snack?”
“I don’t think dogs like apple slices,” I tell him.
He thinks for a second, his five-year-old brain working overtime. “Can I eat my snack on the porch with Dutch if I don’t give him a single bite? Not even one?”
I look to Ian, who shrugs indifference.
“Sure, buddy,” I tell my son. “Can you get your snack out of my bag?”
“I know where it is!” He scrambles into the living room where I left my purse and the bag with his extra snacks, juice boxes, and insulin kit.
Ian and I stare at each other for a moment in the quiet kitchen. I’ve never been this close to him before, even all those years ago. His glower seems harsher now that I know who he is. Or who he used to be. I’m struggling to merge those memories with the man standing in front of me.
My mind scrambles over possible explanations for the divide between the two versions of him. Amy said he’s been through a rough patch and needs to be “pulled out of his doom and gloom.” She thought I’d be an ideal candidate for the job. Thinking mostly of the money I’ll save and not how many glares I can endure in one lifetime, I’d agreed.
It’s that optimism/na?veté again.
“Well,” I say, shoving away my old, cringe-inducing memories. “Hopefully, Sunshine has changed for the better.”
There goes that indifferent shoulder again. “It’s all right.”
I’m going to tell my friend, Lila, to put that on the town’s new tourism website she’s working on. Sunshine, Oregon: It’s all right.
It’s hard to believe this is the same guy who had all the women for miles around swooning whenever he made an appearance in town. He’d had a healthy share of admirers back then, and I’d been jealous of everyone brave enough to actually speak to him. I’d never risked it, too afraid I’d say something silly and ruin my chance for a good first impression.
Now? I’m not sure it’s possible to make a good impression on him.
I go outside and crawl into the back of my wagon to pull a few boxes toward the hatch, only to swallow down another shriek when I discover Ian at my side once more when I climb back out.
“How are you so quiet?” I lay a hand over my racing heart.
“Didn’t think I was.”
The front drive is gravel—he couldn’t have been completely silent. My thoughts must have been too caught up in the past to pay attention.
“Maybe I’m just used to a little boy who makes the noise of five people everywhere he goes.” I stand straighter. “Not that we’re going to be obnoxious neighbors. We’ll keep the volume reasonable.”
August’s high-pitched laughter carries to us, shining a bright spotlight of doubt on my assurances. It also makes me suspect he’s trying to share his snack with the dog, after all, but one thing at a time.
“We’ll be quiet as a mouse. You won’t even know we’re here.” Seems like a lot to promise when I have no experience living in a duplex like this—the walls could be tissue thin. For all I know, Ian will be able to hear every cough and toilet flush.
He moves to grab one of the boxes I slid closer. “Three people usually aren’t quiet as a mouse.”
“Two people, and we’ll do our best. Within reason.” I’ll make sure August isn’t a wild man at night, but it’s not practical to expect him to be quiet during the day. If Ian works nights and needs to sleep when we’re home, we could run into trouble.
His gaze hits mine. “It’s just the two of you moving in?”
I can feel my customer service smile strain at the edges. “Just us.”
This is where people usually ask questions. Divorced? Widowed? Nobody knows what to say when they find out I was never married. Then come all the questions they want to ask but don’t. Isn’t the dad in the picture? Can’t you hold onto a man? Where’s your sense of decency?
Typically, women pry more than men do, but I’ve had my share of strange men put me on the spot about being a single mom. I don’t know Ian well enough to get into any of the answers.
But his gaze just travels briefly over me, his head dips in a quick nod, and he hefts the big box out of the back of my car.
Huh. A win for the indifferent hermit.