How to Love Your Neighbour(42)

Emily pulled out her phone, brought up her camera. “I have so many ideas. The photographer can add a video element to our website. We’ll get double the audience.”

Josh joined them again. “Should I help her with a schedule, boss?”

Noah bit back an unfriendly retort and simply gave one hard nod. He held out his hand to Emily. “I guess we’ll be working together.”

Her gaze brightened. “Don’t you have to work it out with your neighbor?”

Instincts. He had plenty. Grace Travis was a smart woman. There was no way she’d say no to this. No matter how much he pissed her off. Or turned her on. “I’m positive she’ll be on board.” Then why did he have this niggling worry it was going to take some work to convince her?

Emily beamed. “Instead of one article, which is our usual, I want to do a series. Beginning, middle, end. How a house becomes a home. Oh, that’s an excellent title, if I may say so.”

Noah’s thoughts were running around like a dog after its tail. This was more than big. This was huge. If not for one gorgeous hurdle.

“That’s incredible,” Josh said, his voice nearly reverent.

“It’s going to be a game changer,” Emily said.

On that, at least, they could agree.

Noah tried to put Grace out of his mind while he sorted through logistics, emails, and contracts. Josh had left hours ago, promising to finalize the details with Emily. Noah’s job, in the morning, was to smooth the path with Grace—get her on board for something that could be huge for both of them. Right after he got her to forgive him. Again.

Standing on his back deck, he stared at her house. There was a light on but that was the only sign of her being in there. Why the hell does she feel so far away? He wasn’t sure what was going on inside of him. Maybe he needed to chat with Chris. Or Wes. Maybe he needed to take a quick trip back to New York. See some friends, hit some clubs, and remind himself that he was in the prime of his life. But the only thing he wanted to do as the California sky grew darker was figure out how to mend fences, literally and figuratively, with Grace.

He smiled up at the moon. He’d start there. Obviously, she liked the flowers but they hadn’t impressed her. Grace wasn’t like any other woman he’d met.

Going back into the house, he grabbed the supplies before heading to her backyard. As quietly as possible, he got everything set up and began working. With Spotify playing through his earbuds, he did something he’d never done before: he stained a deck.

Swiping his brow with the back of his arm, he realized, when he was about halfway through, that he’d put a lot of work into his real estate ventures but never into himself. There was a weird, tingling kind of satisfaction coursing through him. Or maybe it was just the sweat stinging his eyes.

Either way, he felt good about what he was doing. He leaned back, resting on his calves, pursing his lips as he struggled to recognize the emotion. It was what he’d strived for in every purchase, every deal he’d made for his father. He’d wanted his father’s pride. It hadn’t occurred to Noah that there was something better. Noah was proud of himself.





19


Grace wanted to throw her pillow across the room. Instead, she put it over her face and screamed into it. She was a pent-up ball of irritation and sadness. And she hated it. How many times had her mother lain in bed lamenting over a man? That was not who Grace wanted to be. Ever. She sat up, tossed the pillow onto the floor.

This wasn’t about Noah. It was about her house, her goals, and him getting in her damn way. She threw the covers off her lap and got out of bed. She’d have a snack, get a drink, calm her mind, and go back to bed.

Padding through the house in her fuzzy sloth slippers, knowing the space well enough that she didn’t need anything other than the natural light of the moon shining through the windows, she stopped at the threshold between the living and kitchen areas. Her heart hiccupped sharply, then lodged in her throat. Someone’s on the deck. Panic spread, lightning-fast, through her body. Breathe. Breathe. Her phone was in her room. Okay. Don’t be the idiot in the horror movie who gets slashed. Think. She tiptoed into the kitchen with her body hunched over. Leaning against the fridge, she glanced around, looking for a weapon. A knife was obvious, but she’d seen enough movies, read enough books, to know it could be turned against her easily. Nope. She needed something else. Opening her utensil drawer as quietly as possible, keeping her gaze on the window, she felt around, frowned. Turkey baster. Baking spatula. Bamboo sticks . . . hmm . . . no. Ladle. What the hell? Why don’t you have more dangerous kitchen equipment? She moved a few things around, glanced at the drawer then back at the window. What if he looked through? The window over the sink would reveal her location in two seconds flat. Her hands closed around a meat mallet.

“There you go.” She slid the drawer closed, smiling in the semidarkness.

Four years of softball had given her a hell of a swing. All she had to do was connect; scare him off. In her crouch, she waddled to the door, stopping when she heard a sound . . . heavy footfalls? Scraping? Her breath caught in her throat at the same time her stomach turned. Forcing air in and out of her nose, she held still. When nothing followed, she continued forward. Noiselessly, she turned the lock, still squatting. Grace eased the door open, glanced out, her heart jumping faster than Brutus for a toy. What if he heard it? Looking left, then right, she realized the deck was empty. Or, what she could see of it was. The sea-scented air wafted over her with a hint of . . . paint thinner? The sound of distant waves cutting through the quiet. A creak came from the left. Around the corner. Okay. She could do this. Rising, she gripped the mallet, stepping onto the deck with a surge of adrenaline just as a dark, tall figure emerged into the moonlight. Intending to rush him with a warrior cry that would scare the life out of him, she tried to lift her foot. To move. She couldn’t. What the? Her brain and her body did not work in tandem. She couldn’t get her feet to move, but her arm did. Her brain caught up with what she was seeing as the scream left her body and the mallet left her hand. It hurtled across the deck toward . . . oh shit.