How to Love Your Neighbour(37)

She pulled back in small degrees as if it would ease the ache. It didn’t. Their combined breaths echoed in her ears as their foreheads touched. Her eyelids fluttered open, reality seeping back in.

“We shouldn’t have,” she whispered even though she’d never be sorry she had. Just once. She’d needed to know. Now she did. Now she knew the kind of desire that probably set her mom’s path on fire. The kind that made her leave a home with people who loved her to follow a man who hadn’t stuck around past Grace’s birth.

That’s where this kind of passion went. It was uncontrollable. Unpredictable.

“Gracie,” he whispered, his lips finding hers again. She arched into him, not wanting to let go. Because she knew, when she did, she’d have to walk away. Noah Jansen was the kind of man she could lose herself to. Something she’d promised herself she’d never do.

Her feet touched the ground, she pulled her fingers from his hair, fidgeting with them, unsure how to shift her universe back to pre-Noah.

At least Noah looked as poleaxed as she felt. “That’s some serious chemistry.” His voice was rough. She shivered.

“I’ll say,” she whispered.

They both started to speak at the same time. She shook her head. “This is a bad idea. For so many reasons.”

“Right. Obviously,” he said, one side of his mouth lifting halfheartedly.

“We’re neighbors.” Who was she clarifying for? What she should have said was, “We’re worlds apart and completely different and want different things out of life.”

“Complicated,” he muttered.

“Exactly,” she said, more excitedly than she should. “We don’t want this to be complicated.”

“We could be friends.” He stared at her like he wanted to pull her into his arms again.

It was a careful in-between that she wanted to believe she could manage. “We could.”

He held out a hand. She laughed, taking it, wishing she didn’t want to feel the slide of his palm over every inch of her body.

“I’ll grab your book,” he said.

She watched him go, whispering to the flower-scented breeze, “I’ll just stay here and pretend this is going to end well.”





17


Grace fiddled with her 3D design program, moving furniture around. She’d been able to plug in her dimensions to basically re-create her home. Her teacher had told her about a student laptop buy-as-you-go option through the school. It wasn’t the top end but it was far better than what she’d had and could actually run the programs. She couldn’t afford to make all of the changes, definitely couldn’t afford the furniture all at once, but seeing it, even on a screen, infused her with energy. Drive. She wanted this. She’d work her ass off until she got it.

She was averaging a pretty good Noah ratio today, about three-to-one. Three thoughts about something else, one about him. It was better than the night before, reliving the feel of his mouth and dreaming about more. When she’d woken up with his name on her lips, she’d had a firm talk with herself, a reminder of what she was working toward. Noah was not part of her picket fence, two-point-five-children, happily-ever-after plan. A man like that . . . how many places did he own? This was the first he’d actually hung on to.

She wanted a man who held on. Someone she could hold on to when the storms blew. Her mother had spent her life looking for the right man to make her feel good about herself, to help her achieve whatever she wanted to achieve in any given moment. She used men like a crutch, solidifying Grace’s determination to make it on her own before sharing her life with someone else. That someone else, whoever he ended up being, would be her equal. Someone who assumed she could handle a hammer rather than being surprised by it.

As she poured her coffee, the best possible incentive for staying on track sat, mocking her. She grabbed the letter from her mother and tore it open.

One hand clutched the envelope while the other shook slightly.

Grace,

You never return my texts. I get that you’re probably mad at me. What kid doesn’t grow up mad at their parents? Maybe now you understand me a little better. I guess this is some kind of karmic kick in the ass for walking out on my parents. But I had a reason. You don’t. I never tried to hold you back from anything.

I don’t want to be alone my whole life. I have no one. Really, neither do you. I’m your family. Maybe I didn’t get that before but I do now. I could come out there. I know you’re living in my parents’ house. The house that should have been mine. There’s no point in me paying rent on the trailer when I should be there, too. I have every right no matter what some stupid lawyer says.

Taking care of you until you were old enough to do it yourself made things hard on me. I couldn’t do the things I wanted to do to have a better life with a kid hanging on my hip. I think that warrants a little compassion on your part. Or, at least, a place to stay. I never wanted to go back to California but if that’s where you’re going to be, that’s where I want to be, too. We could try to fix our relation-ship. Try to make things better. Think about it. Maybe text me back sometime so I don’t have to mail you letters like we live in another century.

Mom



Grace crumpled the letter, tossed it onto the counter. Her breaths sawed in and out rapidly. Gripping the counter, she closed her eyes, forced herself through the alphabet. By m, ironically, she was calmer.