8. Neesha #2
He looks over at the door and tests it. “Unfortunately, this one’s steel. Probably can’t bust this one down. But look on the bright side: I’m better company than Regina George.”
I laugh despite myself. “True. Brittany could make anyone look good in comparison.” I sit on a large box on the floor. “Though I have to admit, I’m starting to feel like I’m living in some twisted fairy tale where the villain keeps winning.”
He studies me for a moment. “What kind of fairy tale is that?”
“The kind where the girl gets dumped for someone prettier and has to pretend she’s fine with it.
” I shake my head, surprised by how easily the words are coming.
“I used to believe that when someone said they loved you, they actually meant it—that they wouldn’t be looking for someone better the whole time. ”
He’s quiet for a second, studying me with those blue eyes that seem to see something more in me. “Maybe it’s not the story that was wrong. Maybe it was the guy.”
I look up at him, and for a moment I forget we’re trapped in a storage room.
“My friends think I should start dating again, but the thought of making small talk with some random guy…” I shake my head.
“At least if it’s going to be painful, I’d rather it be with someone I know won’t judge me for it. ”
“Well,” he says after a beat, “I’m not a stranger.” He pulls a flathead screwdriver from his back pocket to fix the lock—because of course he has a screwdriver with him. He probably has a whole toolkit in his truck.
I stare at him for a second, like my ears didn’t just hear what he said. “What?”
“You need practice dating. I could help.” He shrugs, then moves toward the door and starts fiddling. “No pressure. No commitment. Just proving it’s possible to have a good time with a friend.”
A friend—someone safe and harmless to my heart.
I stare at him as he works the lock. “You’re joking, right?”
He glances over his shoulder at me. “I wouldn’t joke about this. We could even go to a public place together if that makes you feel safer.”
Most guys would be focused on convincing me they’re fun or interesting, but Lucian’s defense is that he’s trustworthy .
And that’s my issue.
I wouldn’t be so paranoid about strangers if I hadn’t watched how the stress of keeping us safe weighed on Mom day after day. And then Nate was the final straw—he broke my trust in men for good.
“Think about it,” he begins, not pressuring me at all. “You already know where I live. Plus, I make excellent waffles and I’m good at eyebrow compliments and non-weird touching.”
I can’t help it—I actually laugh. “You’re using my own words against me.”
“Guilty,” he says with a grin. “But with me, what you see is what you get—even when I’m sweaty and covered in sawdust—so there’s nowhere to go but up.”
I can’t tell him that seeing him sweaty and covered in sawdust was actually incredibly attractive. Nate never wanted to do anything that might mess up his hair or make him look less than perfect. But a man who isn’t afraid to work hard and get dirty? Yeah, that’s trouble for my heart.
I study him for a moment. “But what about when it’s over? Won’t that be…weird?”
He turns toward me. “First of all, I promise not to ghost you afterward because, you know, we’re neighbors. That would make things awkward.” He pauses, as if presenting his closing argument. “Do I need to go on?”
“And what exactly would you get out of this arrangement?” I ask, trying not to sound skeptical, even though I am.
“The pleasure of your company?” He turns back to the lock. “Plus, I’d get to spend time with the woman who makes the best desserts in town. Seems like a fair trade to me.”
I study his back, the way his shoulders fill out his shirt. “You’re seriously suggesting I use you as practice for dating other people?”
“I wouldn’t call it using, ” he says as he concentrates on the door. “More like helping a friend remember that not all men are awful. Think of me as your training wheels. ”
“Did you just compare yourself to part of a child’s bike?”
“I did,” he says with no shame whatsoever. “So, what do you say? One completely safe, no-strings-attached date with your new neighbor who needs to get out more anyway? You could show me the town.”
I snort-laugh. “That’ll only take five minutes.”
“I meant the parts of town that only the locals know—best restaurants, nicest views. I’d love to see it through your eyes.”
I blink, stunned that he’s actually serious about this proposal. “Does this mean you’re my dating coach?”
“If you want me to be,” he says, studying my face. “Though I have to ask what exactly you think you need to practice—because from where I’m standing, you seem to have the basics covered.”
I let out a nervous laugh. “Are you kidding? I can barely string two coherent sentences together. Case in point: ‘Hi-ho’ was my greeting to you. No one wants to date the Seven Dwarfs.”
He tilts his head, considering this. “I don’t know. Snow White seemed pretty happy with them. And for the record, your ‘Hi-ho’ was actually kind of cute.”
“Well, I feel like I’ve forgotten how to make conversation that doesn’t revolve around cupcake orders,” I admit. “Like, what am I supposed to say on a real date? Talk about frosting techniques, followed by my dog’s digestive issues?”
“Okay, I can see how that might be problematic,” he says, holding back a laugh. “But I think you’re underestimating yourself.”
“Easy for you to say. You probably have women lining up to go out with you.”
“Not really,” he says quietly, before looking back at me. “You want to know what dating a good man looks like? I could show you.”
My pulse skips a beat. “Show me how?”
“Well, we’re alone. We’ve got time now.” He pauses. “What if I gave you a quick demonstration, just so you know what to expect?”
Something flutters in my stomach. “A demonstration?”
“Just the basics. How a guy should treat you, what good conversation feels like, how to read the signals. Think of it as a preview of coming attractions.”
This is definitely not what my friends had in mind when they said to flirt with Lucian.
Or maybe it is.
But there’s something like actual concern in his expression that makes me want to agree to this. It might be helpful to know what going on a date with Lucian would be like before I decide if it’s too risky.
“Okay,” I say before I think better of it. “Show me.”
He catches my gaze while my heart dives off a cliff. The atmosphere seems to shift in the room, like suddenly we’ve gone from theoretical to practical. Then he circles around me so that my back is facing the door.
“If this were a date,” he says, “the first thing I’d do is make sure you felt comfortable. That starts with eye contact.”
His gaze remains on mine, never wavering, and something about it feels more intimate than if he were touching me. “Most people are afraid to really look at someone, but eye contact is everything. It shows you’re present, that you’re interested in the person, not just waiting for your turn to talk.”
I find myself caught in his impossibly blue eyes, my heart beating wildly in my chest. I haven’t felt this jittery since my first kiss in high school. And honestly? This is ten times better.
“See?” he says softly. “You’re not looking away. That tells me you’re brave. That you’re willing to be seen. Dating isn’t just about talking. It’s about learning to be comfortable in silence, to hold someone’s gaze without looking away.”
I don’t break eye contact, even as heat creeps up my neck.
“Most people get nervous,” he continues. “But if you can hold someone’s gaze like this…” He takes a small step closer. “It creates connection. Trust. ”
“And then?”
“Then, if the moment feels right…” He reaches toward me, his fingers brushing mine. “Small touches. Like this.”
I almost can’t breathe as he gently takes one of my hands.
“Most people rush through moments like these,” he says, his voice low. “But the small touches matter. They tell you everything.”
“Like what?”
“Like whether someone’s patient or impulsive.” His thumb starts stroking slowly over my skin. “Or whether they’re paying attention to how you respond.”
I swallow hard, failing to hide that I’m totally entranced by this. He’s only holding my hand and yet it feels like so much more.
“What else?” I ask, not even caring if this is real or not. I’m here to practice—to master the art of whatever this is between us.
He moves closer still, and I can smell the faint scent of his cologne again. “Proximity,” he murmurs. “Letting someone into your space. Reading their response. And not moving away.”
He’s closer than ever now, and for one wild moment, I see him differently—not like someone I’m practicing with, but someone I’d actually want this to be real with.
“And then?” I ask, my voice barely audible.
His eyes graze down my face for just a second. The corner of his mouth quirks up. “And then…you always leave them wanting more.”
He reaches past me for the doorknob, his arm briefly brushing against mine. “And that concludes today’s lesson,” he says, opening the door easily.
Wait—he picked the lock before this whole demonstration even started?
Only then does he move away, and I’m left standing there, wondering how a two-minute practice session left me more breathless than a sprint around the block.
I watch him gather the cupcake boxes like nothing just happened between us. And that’s when I remember his “lady friend” and feel a twinge of disappointment. I can’t actually date Lucian if he’s going out with someone else.
“No pressure, of course. But think about my offer,” he says, before turning to leave.
“But what about your lady friend?” I blurt. “Won’t she care if you’re dating someone else?”
“Who?” he asks, looking confused.
“The woman you’re delivering cupcakes to,” I remind him.
“You mean Emmy’s grandma?”
“Wait. Mimi is your lady friend?” I ask, my mouth hanging open.
“Yeah, I’m delivering these to the assisted living facility,” he says. “Who’d you think I was delivering these to?”
Heat floods my face as I realize how jealous I sounded. “I mean…nobody. I don’t care who you deliver cupcakes to.”
“Hmm,” he says, his eyes narrowing. “For someone who doesn’t care, you sure sounded relieved just now.”
I cross my arms. “I was just being practical. Can’t have a practice date if you’re already taken.”
“Right. Practical .” His grin widens. “Well, now that we’ve established I’m completely available for practice dating…”
“Don’t let it go to your head, Mr. Fix-It.”
“Too late, Cupcake,” he says, backing toward the door. “ Way too late.”