How to Love Your Neighbour(10)

She could see the beach, though she had to sit on the right side of the porch to look past Noah’s hedges. Noah Jansen. Sinking into the chair, she cast a quick glance around, and then she did a quick little toe tap dance in her seat.

“This is my view from now on,” she whispered. She thought about her grandparents, wondering what they were like. Had they sat out here every night? Maybe with a cup of tea or a beer? Had her mom played in this yard? She couldn’t imagine her mother playing innocently. Tammy was a master player but not in a way that held any fond memories.

Maybe her grandparents had read to her mother sitting on this deck. A porch swing. That’s what this needs. One of those wooden ones. She wasn’t sure how much they cost but maybe she could use the bonus money from face painting toward that splurge. Maybe. She needed to take a look at payment plan options for home insurance and taxes first.

Looking down at her phone, she texted John Dade, asked for his son’s contact information. There was no more waiting. All the things she’d patiently been putting aside were right here, within her grasp. Her life right now was a series of boxes she was checking off and the feeling was pure bliss. Finishing up school? Check. Settling into a home you own? Check. That one was still a shock. Without her grandparents leaving it to her, she wouldn’t have that box checked. Good friends? Check. Job prospects? Check. Life was moving along just fine, thank you very much. It was like she could see her lonely, rootless self slipping farther away in the rearview mirror.

She heard a sharp snipping sound to her left. Her home had been built on the west side of the property, which allowed for a nice expanse of yard between her and the right-side neighbor. Due to the size of Mr. Money’s house though, which was the newest on the street, her proximity to him—or at least, his home—was a lot closer. If he trimmed the overgrowth properly, she’d benefit from the view. The tops of his shears came into view. Has to be on a ladder. He was tall—easily over six feet—but not that tall. The blades swished almost aggressively. She’d taken a course in landscape design two semesters ago and decided it was not for her. Interior only, thank you very much.

“Your scissors sound angry,” she called over the hedges. She honestly wasn’t sure if he’d been serious about his offer. Not that she was interested but it made him somewhat intriguing. One of those boxes had long been left unchecked: someone to love and share life with.

The creak of a metal ladder answered her and then she saw Hottie McMoney Pants peering over. She winced, hoping he was steady and not holding the shears blade-up.

“Not angry at all. Just doing some trimming.”

“Oh? You have a background in pruning?”

It was a lot trickier than people thought. She could see his face from the nose up. His hair was messy, like he’d gone in and showered while she’d unloaded. His forehead crinkled.

“Is there a degree in such a thing?”

“Actually, yes.”

He laughed but it wasn’t the one that made her stomach swirl deliciously like the cresting waves in the ocean he’d walked out of. No. It was harder. Sharper.

“Afraid not but I’ve been holding scissors since I was four so I think I’ve got it.”

“There’s actually a real art to pruning,” she said, trying not to sound condescending. She didn’t mean to be but knew that doing it wrong could wreck the shrubs. “Most people hire someone to do it if they haven’t done it.” If he was serious about buying her house, he could definitely afford a landscaper.

“Believe it or not, I don’t have to hire someone for everything I do.”

Grace frowned, then walked down the steps and along the side of her house where the hedges tapered off. She peered over the fence, leaning her upper body over the waist-high white wood. The flat top dug into her stomach while her hand rested on the support beam running lengthwise.

He was standing on a ladder, wearing shorts that showed off muscular legs and no shirt. Oh. My. He might not be Edward Scissorhands but he looked damn fine doing it. She leaned a little farther over and into the wood to get a slightly better peek at Captain Grumpy. He’d just glanced her way when the wood cracked where she put her weight. She wasn’t exactly top-heavy but the angle, the surprise, and the break sent her tumbling over right onto his lawn like a comedian tripping over a half door.

She heard his curse, the thump of the scissors on the ground, and him hurrying toward her, but closed her eyes, rolled to her side.

“Are you okay?”

She opened one eye. He leaned over her, hands on his thighs, peering down at her.

“Pretty good. Thanks for asking. I think your fence needs some work.”

He shook his head, his lips quirking. “You fall a lot.”

Glaring, she ignored his hand, again, and rose to her feet with as much dignity as she could muster. Which was not a lot.

Instead of answering him, she wiped off her shorts, ignored the stiffness in her leg, and went to inspect his hedges.

“They’re crooked.”

“They are not,” he said.

She stood back from the ladder, hands on her hips, and stared at them. He gave a sexy little growl when she tilted her head to the side.

“They’re definitely crooked.”

“You probably have a concussion from fence diving.”

Turning, she stared at him, trying not to focus on how good he looked with no shirt. Worth the fall, for sure. But the scowl detracted from the view.