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Did you like this book? Then you will love His Second Chance Next Door

I kissed my best friend’s little sister. Now she’s my next-door neighbor. And the one woman I swore I’d never fall for.

She left Cedar Hollow years ago, wild-eyed and full of fire. Now she’s back—heartbroken, stubborn, and way too close for comfort.

I’m a single dad with no time for distractions. Especially not the sassy hurricane next door who once broke my heart.

But fate doesn’t care about boundaries. When my daughter ropes us into a community project, Amelia and I are suddenly playing house.

One late-night argument ends in a kiss. One kiss turns into a deal we can’t undo. And somewhere between the bickering and the baking, I start needing her more than I should.

She fits into our lives like she never left. Like she belongs.

But when our past comes crashing in, she might leave again— And this time, she’ll take my heart with her.

His Second Chance Next Door is your next cozy obsession—a closed-door small-town romance with a swoony single dad, heart-melting moments, and chemistry that sizzles (but keeps it PG). All the feels, zero spice.

Start reading His Second Chance Next Door NOW! ( Read Here )

Amelia

It wasn’t supposed to rain today.

That thought repeated in my head as the windshield wipers squeaked furiously across the glass, doing a pitiful job of clearing the downpour. Sheets of water blurred the road, and the rental car rattled with every bump on the narrow stretch leading into Cedar Hollow.

“Fresh start,” I muttered, gripping the wheel tighter. “You wanted quiet. Peace. A town where people wave at each other and know your dog’s name. Not a small-scale flood.”

The sign for Willow Lane appeared out of the mist, its white paint chipped and leaning like it was just as tired as I felt.

I turned in slowly, tires hissing on the wet pavement, heart thumping as I rolled past rows of cozy homes with wraparound porches and flowerbeds that would’ve made my therapist proud.

Then I saw it.

A gleaming black SUV, angled like it had been flung into the driveway by a tornado, blocking every inch of my new home’s parking space.

I slammed the brakes, heart lurching. “Seriously?”

Rain pounded the roof, a rhythmic accusation. I stared through the fogged-up glass, blinking hard, hoping maybe I was just too tired. But no—there it sat, smug as a cat on a forbidden counter. My driveway. My fresh start.

I threw the gear into park, grabbed my umbrella from the passenger seat, and stepped out. The wind yanked the umbrella sideways instantly. It flipped inside out, useless. Of course.

The water soaked through my sneakers and clung to my jeans in seconds. I didn’t even try to stay dry anymore. I marched up the sidewalk like a woman possessed.

The porch light flicked on.

And there he was.

Alex Reed.

Leaning against the porch post like some sort of brooding lumberjack, arms crossed over a gray hoodie, expression unreadable except for the distinct air of not even a little surprised to see me .

My heart did something annoying and traitorous, skipping in my chest like it used to when he walked into a room all those years ago. Back when I was young enough to think he was just stoic and not emotionally constipated .

“Well, if it isn’t Cedar Hollow’s very own parking menace.” I jabbed a thumb toward the SUV. “Nice work. Ever hear of a driveway not belonging to you?”

His gaze flicked to the car, then back to me. “It’s a shared street. Maybe try knocking next time instead of charging up like a soaked raccoon.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said sweetly, brushing rain from my forehead. “I thought not blocking someone's entire driveway was just basic courtesy, not something I had to teach grown men.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Still dramatic, I see.”

“And still rude,” I shot back, folding my arms despite the rain plastering my shirt to my skin.

He stepped forward, out from under the porch light, and that’s when it hit me: He hadn’t changed much.

Maybe his jaw was sharper, his frame broader, his hair a little shorter.

But the eyes—those stormy, steel-gray eyes—were the same.

Guarded. Quiet. Dangerous in ways that had nothing to do with small-town gossip and everything to do with the way he made my spine tingle for all the wrong reasons.

Then something shifted.

His brow furrowed. Just a flicker. Barely noticeable. But I saw it—the recognition.

“You’re Amelia,” he said slowly.

I rolled my eyes. “Took you long enough. Honestly, I’m a little hurt. Thought I’d made more of an impression.”

His expression didn’t change, but something in the air between us did. It tightened, crackling.

“You weren’t supposed to be here until next week.”

“Well,” I said, voice bright with sarcasm, “guess I’m early. You know, unlike your parking job .”

A pause stretched, long and loaded.

“Place still yours?” I asked, gesturing to the porch.

He gave a short nod. “For now.”

Of course, he still lived here, right next door to the house my brother helped me get for “a fresh start.” Because nothing says healing like having the human equivalent of a thundercloud scowling at you from across the fence.

I took a slow, deliberate step backward, water squishing in my shoes.

“Well, neighbor, I’d love to keep standing here arguing in the rain, but I have boxes to unload and probably some mildew to start cultivating.

If you could maybe move your overcompensating vehicle sometime before next Tuesday, that’d be stellar. ”

His eyes didn’t leave mine. “Don’t slip on your way in. These old porches get slick.”

Was that concern? Sarcasm? Mockery wrapped in fake politeness? I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t stick around to decode it.

I turned and stomped back to the car, not bothering to look over my shoulder. My cheeks burned, half from anger, half from something I didn’t want to name.

Behind me, the door creaked as it opened. I heard footsteps on wet boards.

The SUV engine rumbled to life.

He was moving it.

But not before making his entrance known. Not before ruining the one peaceful moment, I thought I’d get in this town.

I sank into the driver’s seat, rain dripping from my hair onto the leather, and exhaled hard.

Welcome back to Cedar Hollow, Amelia Parker.

So much for quiet.

The real estate agent was already waiting on the porch by the time I pulled up for the second time that day—this time with the driveway blissfully clear. Her red umbrella bobbed in the mist as she waved like I was someone she’d known forever.

“Amelia Parker?” she chirped, clipboard in hand, rain boots polka-dotted and splattered with mud. “I’m Linda from Cedar Hollow Realty. Welcome to your new beginning!”

I tried to muster a smile and failed somewhere in the attempt. My clothes were still damp, my pride slightly bruised, and my new neighbor? A walking thundercloud in human form.

“Thanks,” I said, taking the offered key ring. “It’s... charming. Even in the rain.”

Linda laughed. “The weather’s rarely this bad. And I have to say, this street’s been far too quiet. It’ll be nice for Mr. Reed to have company again. That man keeps to himself more than anyone I know.”

I blinked. “Mr. Reed?”

Linda gestured with her pen across the hedge, as if I hadn’t already learned the hard way. “Alex. Lives right next door. Has for years. You two are going to be practically backyard buddies!”

I made a noise that might’ve been a polite chuckle or a barely-contained groan—it was hard to tell.

“Oh, but don’t worry,” she continued. “He’s polite. Gruff, sure, but polite. Keeps his property spotless. Just doesn’t like a lot of fuss.”

So he hasn't changed, I thought grimly. Still allergic to joy and casual conversation.

Linda handed me a folder and cheerfully waved goodbye, completely unaware that she had just dropped me into an emotional minefield. I turned back toward the house, took a breath, and climbed the steps of my new life.

The porch lights flickered as I slid the key into the lock. Flicker, flicker, hum.

“I swear, if you’re haunted too,” I muttered at the house, “I’m moving back to the city and taking my chances with pigeons and bad dates.”

The door creaked open.

The air inside was thick with the musty scent of old wood and recent paint.

The walls were a warm, buttery yellow, the kind that promised cozy breakfasts and quiet evenings.

My boxes were already stacked in the corner, labeled in my rushed handwriting: KITCHEN , BOOKS , DON’T OPEN UNLESS DESPERATE .

I set the keys down on the entry table and looked around. It wasn’t much, but it was mine. For the first time in a long while, I had space to breathe.

And yet…

That house next door loomed in my mind like a shadow I couldn’t shake. I crossed to the window and peeked out through the half-open blinds. His porch light was on again. No movement, no sign of him. But I knew he was there. Watching? Probably not. Avoiding me entirely? Definitely.

I leaned against the frame and let my eyes drift shut.

One summer. That’s all it took for everything to get complicated.

We were sixteen. My brother had this wild idea to build a fort by the lake. Of course, Alex tagged along. He always did. Even back then, he was quiet, intense, and far too attractive for his own good.

We spent weeks dragging wood from the shed, building something that barely stayed upright but felt like a castle to us. We made up rules, fought over the password, dared each other to jump off the dock. It was the kind of summer that only exists in hindsight—messy and golden and full of promise.

And then, one night, it happened.

We were alone at the lake. Fireflies danced over the water, and the air smelled like wet grass and possibility. He looked at me like I was something important. I laughed too loud. He kissed me—soft and sudden and all-consuming.

And then?

Nothing.

The next morning, he acted like it hadn’t happened. No explanation. No acknowledgment. Just silence.