Ready or Not (Ready #4)(9)

“I’m gonna go back upstairs,” he mumbled.

I nodded, feeling defeated, as I watched his lanky frame flee from my presence.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to remind myself of what Miss Prescott had said earlier that day. Everyone handled stress differently—even kids. I had to believe he’d come around, and I’d eventually see a glimpse of the carefree boy I once knew.

I began to break down the box I’d just unloaded when the doorbell echoed throughout the house.

That was something else to add to the list of things that needed to be fixed.

My grandmother couldn’t have gone with a standard buzzer or even one of those normal ding-dong chimes. No, she had gone all out and bought the most annoying doorbell ever created. Every time the little button was pressed, a classical symphony would play through the tiny electrical speaker. If Mozart knew his music would one day sound that horrid, he probably would have burned every last sheet of paper he owned.

“Coming,” I called, putting the blade back into the X-Acto knife. I set it down on the couch and jogged over to the door just as silence finally filled the house once again.

Grabbing the ornate handle, I pulled the door open and found myself face-to-face with an armful of flowers—and legs that went on for days.

“Do you have any idea how much time I spent on these?” a shrill yet somewhat familiar voice shouted from behind the flowers.

“Um…”

“Don’t you have any respect for the former owner of this house?” she asked.

That piqued my interest. “What do you mean?” I reached out my hand and slowly lowered the flowers to try to find the face that matched the long legs I’d been admiring.

I got about halfway when recognition blossomed across the mystery woman’s face.

Flowers and soil crashed to the entryway, and I found myself gazing down at the raven-haired beauty I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about.

“Miss Prescott? I didn’t realize you made house calls…and brought flowers,” I joked, looking down at the mess she’d made on my doorstep.

This further cemented my beliefs that I needed to stick with my plan of finding a nice, normal girl-next-door type. This was what happened when I sought out something different and exotic. I ended up a single father with a pile of dead flowers at my front door.

“You!” she exclaimed. “You’re my new neighbor?”

Confusion suddenly spiraled through me, and I looked around the neighborhood like it would spring forth some clue I hadn’t noticed. “You live…here?” I asked.

She turned slightly and pointed to the house directly next door. “Right there.”

Our eyes met, and I felt the blood draining from my face. “We’re next-door neighbors?”

“It appears so.”

“Fuck me,” I whispered.

“What?”

“Nothing,” I said, shaking my head. “Why don’t you come inside? We obviously have some things to discuss.”

She glanced down at the flowers strewed all over my front stoop and proceeded to step over the mess with her head held high. I couldn’t help the slight chuckle that escaped my parted lips.

“Oh, shut up,” she said. A tiny grin appeared as she passed me.

“Sorry about the mess. I’m starting to think I might never unpack everything.” We passed through the entryway into the living room and I watched her eyes take everything in.

Swimming in their depths were genuine emotions I had yet to understand. Her fingers trailed over the wood trim of the furniture and ornate fireplace mantel lovingly as if they had memories and tenderness. “Why does it all need to be unpacked at once?” she finally asked. “Is there any reason it all needs to be put away right this minute?”

“No.”

“Then, take some time to settle,” she suggested, finally picking a place on the old love seat my grandmother had owned for decades. Once again, her fingers quietly traced the floral pattern, over and over like a prayer.

“I just thought it would be better for Noah if everything had a place right away,” I admitted, not really sure why I was telling this woman anything. She’d just accosted me with plants.

“What Noah needs is you, plain and simple. If you are stressed, he will be stressed. Take a moment, and enjoy this new life of yours.”

“I thought you came over here to yell at me?” I quipped,

“Occupational hazard,” she admitted with a shrug, before adding, “Has he ever been to Richmond?”

“Only when he was younger and then briefly this year for my grandmother’s funeral. This was her house.”

“You’re Mrs. Reid’s grandson?” she asked, her eyes round with surprise.

“Yeah. Why? Did you know her?”

She smiled sweetly, looking downward as if seeking out a fond memory from the recesses of her mind. “Yeah, Mrs. Reid and I were very attached to each other. I’ve lived in this neighborhood for several years, and…well, let’s just say she became like a grandmother to me.”

Her eyes lifted once again, and I watched her wipe away a lone tear.

“I didn’t know. I’m sorry. I haven’t been around much and I don’t remember much of the funeral. It’s all a blur.”

“I wasn’t there,” she answered. “My practice, as well as most of my clients, was still fairly new. I hated the idea of having to cancel on them. I felt terrible about missing the funeral.”