How to Love Your Neighbour(13)
Her pretty brown eyes smiled innocently. “Okay.”
Good fences might make good neighbors, but broken ones—especially those broken by an adorable and stubborn woman—cost money. Money he was betting she didn’t have.
“You want a say in the repairs and repainting? I was thinking white again because it goes with the trim of my place. But I didn’t know what you had planned for yours.”
The softening of her gaze, the way her lips turned up in a sweet smile snagged at his conscience. “That’s sweet of you to ask. White is great.”
His pushed his conscience back and made the next move. That’s all this is. A series of moves to close the deal. Feelings, including guilt because of a damn smile, don’t rate.
“I’m not sweet, Grace. It’s the fair thing to do since you’re paying half.”
The glass in her hand nearly slipped. “What?”
Steeling himself against responding to the stricken look on her face, he kept his expression neutral. “The fence is shared. I’ll let you know the final price. I gotta run. Your yard looks good.”
He turned and hurried down the steps, not waiting for her to recover from the surprise. That should give her a nudge in the right direction. Namely, out. People thought the idea of fixing up a house was fun, like they saw on TV. The truth was, it could cost a fortune. More than once, he’d seen people burn through their savings and come out of the purchase more in debt than ever. It wasn’t a game. It was a business. Even when it was personal.
6
Saturday nights at the coffeehouse turned into a Nashville-style open mic. Poets, grifters, and seriously talented people stopped by, grabbed the house special—a vanilla-caramel chia tea—and listened to others pour their hearts and songs out. It was usually pretty cool, sometimes painful. Hugo had begged her to take his shift, plying her with promises of taking any shift she ever needed him to. He knew she never bailed on a shift, though, so he wouldn’t have to pay up. Besides, her Saturday nights usually consisted of textbooks and design software. Ellie kept the place open until midnight, which wasn’t an unholy hour.
By the time she’d arrived home, taken some time to decompress and tweak a couple of design ideas she had for a project she was almost finished with, then showered off the smell of coffee, it had been almost two, and she’d fallen into bed.
At which point, she’d stared at the ceiling, willing herself to think about designs, paint colors, and floor plans. Instead, she’d thought about how Noah Jansen was two people. His first persona was a hot, charming surfer dude with a laugh that stuck in a girl’s dreams. The second was a stubborn, entitled elitist who got what he wanted one way or another. She’d finally fallen asleep dreaming about fences piled high with money.
She woke Sunday morning with less vigor than usual listening for the sound that woke her up. She groaned, sat up as she heard it again—a loud, awful whir of a noise.
What the actual hell is that? Not worrying about the fact that she was dressed in sleep shorts and an oversize 49ers T-shirt, she stormed out of the bedroom. In bare feet, with a deep scowl and some serious bedhead, Grace kept going, through the house, out the door, and to the fence.
Several work trucks bearing contractor names were parked in Noah’s driveway. Guys in jeans, T-shirts, and baseball caps littered his yard, music playing loudly from someone’s speaker. Some guy was pressure-washing the side of the house, which would be the racket that woke her up.
Since no one would hear her if she yelled, she picked up a rock and tossed it near the spot where Noah chatted amiably, like it was a decent hour in the day, with a couple of other guys. He turned when the rock landed near his running shoe.
God. He had absolutely no right to look sexy in running gear at this time in the morning when she woke up like a bear two weeks early from hibernation. He left the guys he was talking to and sauntered over, amusement etched on his stupid-gorgeous features.
“Trying to break something else of mine?” One side of his mouth quirked up even as he tipped his chin down.
Grace clenched her fingers into fists at her sides and tried to push her temper down. “Why are you making this much noise at this hour on a Sunday?”
Noah had the nerve to laugh. “Wow. You do not wake up friendly.”
She pointed to the pressure-washing dude and gestured to the others, who were looking their way. “Not when I’m woken by a herd of steel-toe-booted elephants, blasting music and water when I’ve worked all night.” Okay, slight exaggeration. She tended to wake up on the grumpy side anyway, but he wasn’t helping.
“All night? Pretty sure I heard your car roll in just after midnight.” He leaned closer, his gaze more intense. “What kept you up all night, Gracie?”
You. Wondering where I’m going to get the money to paint my half of the fence. She poked the air, just short of jabbing him in the chest. “It is too early for all of this. There are laws against this sort of thing. Plus, it’s unneighborly.”
There. That ought to put him in his place. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Correct. Bylaws that state I can make noise after eight on a Sunday.” He looked at his fancy watch, then back at Grace. “It’s almost ten. Speaking of being unneighborly, are you always this grumpy in the morning?”
Her retort died in her mouth. No. Not to this extent. “I need coffee.”