Page 5 of Right Next Door (Stone Family #3)

Nicole

I ’m good with directions, and I like having guardrails. It’s the unknown that worries me, which is why I liked the assignment from Ian. It gave me something to focus on and taught me more than I ever expected.

In the past six hours, I’ve spent more time reading about the differences between polyamory, open relationships, and swinging than actually working.

We’re not super busy today, so I should have been catching up on reports and looking forward to planning events in the coming months, but instead, I learned about the different types of relationship hierarchies and what the best practices of ethical non-monogamy are: communication, established boundaries, and discussion of long-term goals.

I took a bunch of notes about that.

Because if I’m going to make a decision about this open relationship, I need some guidance and understanding.

I have no idea what Bryce is thinking, and that’s the worst part. Not knowing.

Is this because he’s not attracted to me?

Does he want this because he truly thinks it’ll help?

And did he talk about this with our therapist Bonnie but not me?

I need answers.

But more immediately, I’d like another opinion. From the man who apparently knows more than he lets on.

From my perch in the corner of my store, I watch Ian outside on the sidewalk, pretending like I’m rearranging one of the display tables, when really, I’m leering like a pervert.

At the way he stands with his hands in his pockets, listening intently to whatever the other man is saying, gesturing to his arm, wrapped up in clear plastic.

Ian has his hair pulled back into a tiny low ponytail, which is how I know this man must have been his client because Ian always makes sure his hair stays out of his face when he’s tattooing since it has a tendency to wave and curl.

But it’s not as if I watch him that much.

Only enough to learn the basics…like work and eating habits.

He has a sweet tooth yet usually only eats pastries for breakfast. He lives in an apartment above his shop, and sometimes when I open the bookstore, he’s on his way out for “a little something” from Sweet Cheeks.

Always offering to buy me whatever I want.

I’ve never taken him up on the offer, afraid of how that would look. Letting him buy me things.

People around here talk, and that’s the last thing I want—gossip being spread about me.

I had enough of that when I was younger. I don’t need it here as an adult.

Especially with whatever is going on between my husband and me.

After Ian clasps hands with his client, he moves to turn back to his shop, and I leap up from where I’ve been hiding to race outside.

“Wait!” I say a little too loudly, but Ian—cool as ever—slowly turns, as if he expected me to be here.

“Hi, Nic.”

“Hi. Hey.” I clear my throat. “Hello.”

“Hi,” he says again, lips twitching at my nervous stammer. “You all right?”

I nod. “Fine.”

“Good.”

God. Why does he have to be so gorgeous? Intimidatingly so. And nice. If his personality matched his outward gruffness, it would be so much easier to ignore him. But in all the years we’ve worked next to each other, I have yet to figure out how to block him out.

“I, um, I was…” I motion back toward my store. “Reading.”

He assesses me from my head to my toes and back as if to make sure I’m not going to pass out. Who knows. I’ve never talked about this kind of thing with anyone, and my blood is pumping so hard, it is not out of the realm of possibility that my legs will simply give out.

Especially as he waits patiently for me to go on.

“About what you told me earlier.”

His eyebrows tick up in interest. “Oh yeah?”

“I told you. I’m a good student.”

“Seems so,” he says, voice laced with quiet approval, and he shortens the distance between us from a few feet to a few inches.

He leans against the brick of his shop while I twist my fingers into a knot behind my back, mentally reminding myself to stop fidgeting. “I was hoping I could ask you some questions, because I figured…” I swallow the lump in my throat. “I assumed you knew about it since you told me…”

He nods. “I can’t promise I have all of the answers, but I might have some.”

I’ve lived almost four decades, and yet standing here with Ian, I feel as if I know nothing. Like I’m a young girl, inexperienced and shy. Which…I guess is true. Even though I’m a grown woman, I’ve only ever been with Bryce. He’s been my one and only relationship and sexual partner.

And now, I’m suddenly faced with making this decision about what I want, and I’m overwhelmed. So hearing what this obviously knowledgeable man has to say might be helpful.

I think.

But right now, all I feel is self-consciousness.

And sweat.

“So, uh…” I swing my arms out to the sides in an attempt to air myself out. “Do you do…poly relationships?”

He shakes his head.

“Oh, you’re not into it?”

His dark eyes shift over my shoulder for a moment in thought before meeting mine again, and being the sole recipient of his attention is a lot .

Because when Ian Stone listens, he listens .

When he speaks, it’s with thought and purpose.

He never does anything because he has to.

He does it because he wants to. Having him stand here and tutor me, for all intents and purposes, is… Well, it’s staggering.

I know he’s not doing it out of a sense of obligation. He’s here with me, talking in soft tones that send goose bumps over my skin, because he wants to be. Doing exactly this.

“As a concept, I’m fine with it,” he says, and it feels like an incomplete statement, so I roll my fingers in the air.

“But…?”

“But,” he starts with a breath that puffs up his chest, “if it were you, and it were up to me, I’d be a one-woman man.”

So, like… If he and I were together…he wouldn’t want to share me…?

My answering laugh sounds manic to my ears. Because that theoretical scenario would never happen. Not because of me, but because of him. I’ve heard the gossip.

The gorgeous grump of a man whose ex-wife up and left him one day after a weird spiritual journey. She supposedly opened up some expensive retreat which offers “medical” treatments that aren’t all above board. At least, according to Clara.

Since then, he’s been focused on his family and his business, only going on the occasional date. I’ve never seen him with anyone around town. Not that I’ve been very interested.

Only as a neighbor might be interested in learning the bare minimum.

“Why are you laughing?” he asks, closer than he was a few seconds ago, and I have to tilt my head back to hold his gaze. I’m average height for a woman, but he makes me feel positively diminutive.

“Because you’d…” I lick my suddenly dry lips, his eyes following the movement. “A guy like you would never ask a girl like me out.”

“Guy like me?”

I nod, at a loss for words.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He doesn’t sound upset, merely curious.

“You’re…” I wave my hand up and down the length of him. “You’re handsome and well-known in the community. You have your own business. You could have anyone you want.”

He squints, head angled to the side. “And a girl like you, what’s that mean?”

“Married.”

That sets him back on his heels, and he lets out a rueful sound of amusement, hand rubbing his jaw through his beard.

“That’s for fucking sure.” His eyes make another circuit of my body.

“But you’re beautiful and well-known in the community.

You have your own business. If you weren’t married, you could have anyone you want. ”

I’m not so sure about that. I am by no means beautiful.

I’m plain, and I don’t say that as a way to fish for compliments.

It’s the truth. There is nothing exceptional about me, besides my eyes.

Maybe. They’re blue and are a bit too wide for my face.

Everything else I’m made of came from the ingredient list of white bread.

And I am well-known in the community for all the volunteering I do.

Not necessarily for being a delight at the parties or some charming pageant queen.

I own a bookstore and have the reputation of being the “nice girl.” The one who will always stay late to help put away the chairs and will happily dog-sit while you’re on vacation.

Nothing that screams risk-taker or the object of Ian Stone’s affection.

Except, with the way he’s standing so close to me—like maybe I’m not so plain to him—I can see the striations in his dark brown irises, the outline of his pupils, expanding by the second, and the words are out of my mouth before I’ve really thought them through. “You would never ask me out.”

He grunts but doesn’t disagree. Only shifts toward me ever so slightly so his mouth nearly touches my ear, his voice dropping to a rasp, sandpaper scratching across my skin. “Don’t let this affect you. What’s going on in your marriage, it has nothing to do with you.”

“I don’t… I’m not sure…”

He nods as if he can see every tornado of thought as it swirls in my mind. “You are. You’re taking his request on yourself, but it has nothing to do with you or who you are. You’re still the same person you’ve always been.”

I bite into my lip as I consider his words. “But if I haven’t changed, then why? Why does he suddenly want this?”

“You have to ask him that.” Ian steps back, taking his heat and scent of cloves with him, and when I don’t reply, he juts his chin out at me. “You afraid to?”

“No.” I force a laugh, a flip of my hand.

“Kinda,” he says, because he apparently knows me better than I know myself, and I give in with a nod.

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Don’t be afraid.” He uses the tip of his index finger, barely a touch, to direct my chin up. “Make your decision, whatever it is, and stick to it. If you want to give this experiment a shot, it’s up to you, but never be afraid to ask for what you want. Hear me?”

It’s a question, but it sounds more like a demand. To hear him.

“Yes.”

“Good girl,” he says and moves to back away, but I can’t let him go. Not yet.

“What if other people start thinking bad about me?”

“First of all, it’s no one’s business but your own, and stop giving a fuck about what other people think or expect of you. Do what makes you happy.”

Is that even possible?

I’ve spent so much of my life caring. Trying to please others, to be the perfect daughter, the perfect wife. But what have I gotten in return? A family I’m not very close to and a husband who wants to sleep with other people.

I want it to be possible, to ignore all the noise.

And when I look up at Ian, meeting his gaze, it quiets. “You really think I should…do what makes me happy?”

“Life’s too short to waste it stuck in a place where you’re unhappy.

And don’t you dare second-guess yourself.

” He drags his fingers over my forearm, lifting it up between us to skim his index finger along the gold links of my bracelet.

“Looks pretty and delicate.” He slips his finger under it, along the thin skin over my pulse, and toys with the metal, tugging on it slightly.

“But it’s actually quite strong. Don’t forget that. ”

Then he’s gone with a wink and cluck of his tongue.

And I’m left staring at the spot he’d stood, letting his parting words sink in.

Looks pretty and delicate, but it’s actually quite strong. Don’t forget that.

I am strong. I can’t forget that.