Page 10

RIVER

A crime scene is imminent.

Dean has been living in my apartment for all of two days, and I am close to kicking his sorry ass to the curb. Or just skipping right to murdering him.

I slam the refrigerator closed and turn to him, glaring.

He sets his fork down beside his nearly empty breakfast plate and rubs his tired eyes. “What now?”

“You know what.”

He rakes his fingers through his inky hair. “Look, I slept like ass last night, so if you could just get on with whatever accusation it is you have this time, I’d appreciate it.”

“And I’d appreciate if you stopped using all of my creamer.”

It’s not the first thing of mine he’s used either.

When I woke up yesterday, he was digging into my eggs. Sure, they’re only eggs, but we’d just gone to the grocery store the night before and argued over how the grocery system would work.

It took ten minutes of practically screaming at one another in the chip aisle, but we managed to agree that he would buy his own groceries—and only his own—and we’d divide the fridge evenly.

Apparently, his version of evenly and mine were two different things.

Even though the shop is closed on Mondays, I fled to the boutique so I could avoid him.

Turns out, him eating my eggs was only the first of many offenses to come.

Like leaving his sweaty, smelly socks sitting inside his shoes after the gym. I had to light two candles just to get the stink out of the living room.

Then there’s his constant bickering with Morris, who Dean clearly hates. (It’s fine. The feeling is mutual.)

And the biggest complaint of all: I can’t just walk in the door and pop my bra off.

My back is starting to hurt, and these bad boys need to be free. He’s screwing with my ability to come home and relax at night.

Well, to be fair, he’s always done that.

But this is worse.

“I didn’t use your creamer, River.”

I nod toward his mug, which contains coffee that is far from straight black. “Then what’s in your cup?”

“Coffee.”

“Coffee and …”

“Sunshine.

“Dean.”

“It’s milk.”

I sniff. “You expect me to believe that when my creamer is obviously empty?”

“I’m not the only person in this apartment. Did you stop to think you might have used the last of your creamer?”

“No. I’d know.”

“If that were the case, you’d remember when we were at the grocery store two days ago and you stood in front of the creamer for five minutes picking one out and then putting it back because you still had plenty at home .”

He says it so confidently I almost believe him.

“You almost had me, but I distinctly remember putting it in my bag.”

“Then you took it out when we went down the ice cream aisle because if you ran out of creamer, you’d just stop by The Gravy Train.” He sighs again. “Trust me, I did not steal your shit.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He pushes up from the chair and grabs his plate, taking it to the sink. “That’s too damn bad, because it’s the truth.”

I cross my arms, leaning against the counter, watching him.

He rolls the sleeves of his dress shirt in a way that makes his forearms pop, especially when he reaches for the sponge. He lightly scrubs his plate, then pops it into the dishwasher before moving on to the other dishes in the sink.

“You don’t need to do that. That’s my mess—I can clean it up.”

He ignores me and continues to pre-wash all the dishes like the dishwasher wasn’t invented to do that exact job.

Whatever. If he wants to double-wash everything, he can waste his time.

His bottom lip is tucked between his teeth as he concentrates on what he’s doing.

The smell of something that most definitely is not dish soap washes over me.

It’s Dean.

Cinnamon and cedarwood.

The spice comes from that damn gum he’s always chewing, and the woodsy scent must be from his cologne.

I find myself wanting to lean into him, to get better acquainted with the fragrance, because I’ve never smelled a combination so enticing before.

He makes a noise, and I realize I’m just standing here watching and sniffing him like a creep.

What the hell am I doing? Why am I still standing here? Just walk away, River…

Except for some reason, I don’t.

“So, any plans for the day?” I ask.

“I’m heading to school today to start getting my classroom ready for classes next week. It was on my agenda before the fire.”

“You teach English, right?”

“Yep.”

“Sam said it was his favorite class last year. Surprising, because that kid hates reading.”

A smile curves over Dean’s lips. “I like hearing that. Sam’s a good student. He always asked such…interesting questions about the reading assignments. Came at them from an unexpected angle a lot of times. Surprised me, something that’s harder to do the longer I teach.”

“Have you been teaching long?”

“About four years now. I worked at my father’s company straight out of high school for a while, but it wasn’t what I wanted to do. I quit, enrolled in school, and have been teaching since.”

“Do you like it?”

“I love it. Don’t get me wrong, it has its bad days, but every job does.” He shrugs. “Can’t imagine myself doing much else.”

I can understand that. It’s how I feel about Making Waves.

“Why’d you sleep like shit last night?”

Another sigh as he peeks over at me. “Why are you asking so many questions?”

“Because I’m my most curious in the mornings.” I give him a sarcastic smile.

He’s right; I am asking a lot of questions, and I’m not sure why. I’m feeling unusually chatty—but maybe I’m always this chatty and I just don’t know it because there’s never anyone else here.

I should stop while I’m ahead. I don’t want to get comfortable having someone here to talk to. More than that, I don’t want Dean getting too comfortable here.

He finally answers me. “I never truly fell into a deep sleep.”

“I didn’t keep you up, did I?”

Thick brows go up, a teasing smirk on his lips. “Do you mean the first, second, or third time you came into the office?”

I flew in at eleven PM, just fifteen minutes after Dean had retired for the night, and flipped the light right on.

I didn’t even think about him being in there. It was completely out of habit.

He jumped off his air mattress wearing only a pair of gray boxer briefs that left nothing to the imagination.

I averted my eyes as quickly as I could, but not before getting a look at what he had to offer.

There was a moment when I questioned why I hated him again.

Then, he spoke.

“Fucking hell. I thought you were a gremlin. Then I got a good look at you.”

“And?”

“Gremlins are cuter.”

I flipped him off, grabbed the notebook I was after, and left without turning the light off.

I could hear him cursing as I scurried back to my room.

The other times I went in there weren’t even out of spite. I genuinely needed things. It was just a bonus that it interrupted his sleep.

But seeing him this morning… Guilt sits heavy in my stomach, especially since I can relate to how unrested he’s feeling.

I’ve suffered from insomnia for several years now. If I’m being honest, I can pinpoint it back to when I started my business. It’s the daily stress of knowing this could all crumble at any second, knowing there are two other employees banking on my business working.

These thoughts literally keep me up at night.

Silly with the shop doing as well as it is, but also valid because, hey, it’s doing well. In my experience, that means it’s all going to come crashing down at any moment.

It was at Maya’s insistence that I finally saw my doctor about it last year. Though I’m not generally one for taking medication, I knew if I wanted to be successful, I needed to sleep more than three interrupted hours a night.

I hate taking it, hate being dependent on it—or on anything, for that matter. So, I do everything else I can to avoid it. Yoga, meditation, cutting back on screen time, anything other than giving up my work that helps reduce stress.

For the most part, it works. I’m not taking my medication nearly as often now.

Dean is still staring at me expectantly, so I just shrug. “I’m not used to having someone in there, and I needed to check on a few things.”

He lifts that damn brow again, not buying it, even though it’s true.

I did struggle last night knowing he was in the other room, but only because I’m honestly not used to having someone else in my apartment.

It has nothing to do with the fact that the someone is Dean.

He’s nobody to me. Just my neighbor from hell.

“I’ll bring my work laptop home tonight so I don’t bug you again.”

“Thank you.” He starts scrubbing another dish. “Do you always work so late at night?”

I shrug. “Sometimes. Usually when I can’t sleep, or if a new idea hits me.”

“Is your boutique that busy?”

His words put me on edge.

I don’t like them. They’re condescending. Like my livelihood doesn’t matter as much as his precious sleep.

Like my shop is a joke to him.

I push off the counter, bustling out of the kitchen and down the hallway to my bedroom to finish getting ready for work.

Maybe if I distract myself, I won’t kill him.

Not killing him would probably be best.

I think.

Sliding onto the stool at my vanity, I begin finagling my hair into place. I pull it up into a neat bun, but I don’t like the look. Too severe.

I try a messy one, and it’s too…well, messy.

I yank the hairband out, hating everything I try.

My outfit catches my eye in the mirror, and I hate that too.

No. Stop it. You’re just letting Dean get to you. You love this outfit. It’s your favorite. It’s him . That’s all.

I close my eyes and take a deep, calming breath.

If Dean’s going to be living here, I need to add more yoga to my routine to help keep me from exploding.

I can’t keep letting him get to me. He isn’t worth the frustration.

He doesn’t matter.

“River.”

I peel my eyes open, surprised to find Dean standing in my doorway. He’s leaning against the jamb, arms crossed. That damn dress shirt is pulled taut against his chest.

Why does he look so good in it?

“I have a distinct feeling you took my words the wrong way.”

“Did I?”

He nods. “Yes. I didn’t mean anything by it. I just meant…well, I’m not entirely sure. I guess I just didn’t realize your little boutique was so…time-consuming.”

I huff, pushing to my feet.

If I don’t leave now, I am seriously going to maim him.

He puts his arm up, blocking me from passing by.

“Let me through.”

“I didn’t mean anything by that either.”

I glare up at him. “Then what do you mean, Dean?”

“I don’t know. I’m not certain what I’m trying to say, and frankly, I’m worried that no matter what I say, it’s going to offend you.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Can I get that in writing?”

“Dean.”

“Fine. Let me start over, then?” He clears his throat. “It’s sad you stay up so late working on your business, but I don’t mean that in a bad way. I mean it like…I wish you were able to delegate more so you didn’t have to sacrifice sleep…or interrupt mine.”

I knew there would be selfish reasons for his words. I open my mouth, but he beats me to the punch.

“But I also understand not wanting to hand over your baby to someone else. On the flip side of that, it’s a huge accomplishment that your shop is doing so well. You should be proud. I am.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him to bite me and force my way past. I don’t need his validation.

It’s likely sad that my first instinct is to not believe him.

It’s also likely childish of me.

But, hey, Dean brings out that side of me.

I nod a thanks, because deep down I think there’s some sincerity to his words beyond him wanting uninterrupted sleep, and then I try to leave.

He doesn’t let me.

I grit my teeth. “What?”

“Are we good?”

I roll my shoulders back and look up at him.

There’s no way he misses the hitch in my breath.

His vibrant Kelly green eyes nearly knock me on my ass.

He looks genuinely worried that he’s offended me.

He’s never looked at me like this before, and that’s saying something because he’s offended me multiple times over the months he’s been my neighbor.

This time feels different.

Like he cares.

About me.

For me.

My breaths begin to come in sharper, and if he notices, he doesn’t give any indication.

“River, are we good?”

My eyes drift to his mouth…to his perfectly sculpted lips…

I bet they feel the way they look. Soft.

I wonder if he kisses the way he carries himself. With confidence.

I want to be kissed with confidence again.

All it would take is for me to push up onto my toes and I could test my theories…

No! Stop letting him affect you. He’s still Dean.

“Are you just kissing ass because I’m providing you with housing?”

“Are you going to continually throw that in my face?”

“Yes.”

He sighs, and I relent.

He’s right. I do keep bringing it up, but I don’t want him to forget he’s a guest here and, at any moment, I can take this away from him.

I’m the one on top this time.

I guess I could back off a bit… “No.”

“Good.” He nods once. “No, I’m not just saying it to kiss ass. I meant it.”

“Well, thank you. I guess.”

His lips tip up at the corners. “You’re welcome. I guess.”

I roll my eyes. “Can I go now? I need to get to work.”

Slowly, he drops his arm, finally allowing me to pass.

I do, giving him a wide berth.

I need space. Apparently being close to him makes me realize ridiculous things like how good he smells. Or worse…how I wouldn’t push him away if he tried to kiss me.

“Hey, River?”

I peer over my shoulder.

“I like your hair down.”

I don’t respond.

Instead, I continue through the apartment, scooping my long waves into a ponytail and twisting my hair tie around them.

Dean chuckles as I make my way out the door.