Being Neighborly (3 page)

“I might be a crazy person. You shouldn’t just make a blanket invitation like that.”

I push open the door, holding it for her. “Just being neighborly.”

“Oh
, so that invitation isn’t specific to me? It’s open to all of your neighbors?”

“Never said that.” I sweep my arm in front of me. “After you.”

She eases past me, her arm brushing mine as she does. “Thank you.”

Once
outside, I frown when I notice how cool it’s become. “Will you be warm enough?”

She nods
, but the slide of her hands up and down her arms tells a different story.

“Wait right here.”

Hurrying back into the cabin and back into my room, I pull an old hoodie from my closet. It’s small on me but good for layering under bigger coats during the winter. I’m back outside and by her side in no time.

“Put this on
,” I say, passing it to her.

“You didn’t have to
,” she argues even though she’s already putting it on.

I
have to admit, my clothes look good on her.

“Didn’t want you to catch a cold.”

The main house is a short walk from my cabin. Her long legs match my stride easily and I use the opportunity to point out different sections of the farm along the way.

“So you donate whatever you don’t use to the food bank?”

This has been a bone of contention with other girls I’ve dated. “Yep, we make enough to sustain our needs, barter for things we need in the community, and donate the rest. We’re technically a nonprofit.”

She spins around, almost trying to see the whole place at once. “That’s so cool.”

“Really?” I push, she needs to understand I’ll never been a wealthy man.

She nods, her eyes meeting mine. “I moved here to take a step back, live more simply. I love what you’re doing here.”

I look away, suddenly embarrassed by her praise.

“I see you found
, Beau,” Bess calls out from the front porch.

“I wouldn’t have made her come and get me if I knew
you had invited her,” I retort.

Glancing around
, I look for her car. “Where’d you park?”

Bess tsks. “I went and picked her up. Didn’t want her to have to drive at night on our dirt roads.”

“I told her she didn’t have to,” Bethany adds.

Shaking my head
, I stop her from saying anything else. “She’s right though; these country roads can be tricky at night.”

Bess leans slightly over the railing
toward us. “I hoped you would drive her back. You know how my eyesight gets in the dark.”

Puppet
master all the way.

She smiles sweetly as she opens the door for us. I take over for her and kiss her cheek as she passes by me.
Meals on the farm are a well-oiled machine at this point. Everyone helps out in one way or another. Bess and two other families currently live in the main house.

The kids set the table and clear it before dessert. The older kids and adults all take turns preparing meals. I’m not much of a cook
, but put in my time on a regular basis doing food prep. I do dishes most nights as well. Washing dishes is safe. I’ve never burned one or undercooked one.

Everyone is si
tting when we walk into the dining room. After introductions are made, we all sit and dig in. I had planned to skip dinner earlier, thinking I was full. One look at the roasted chicken and mashed potatoes proves I was wrong. Over dinner, it’s nice to learn more about Bethany through other people’s questions.

She is an only child
. Glancing around the table, she explains she always wished for a big family. Her parents are still living; they retired and moved to Florida a couple years back. She had no desire of moving that far south but figured Tennessee was closer than Maryland when she decided to move.

Money was the main reason she researched moving here in the first place. Tennessee has no state income tax. There is still a tax for investment related income but not income she earned through her business. Florida is another state without income tax
, but the idea of living there never appealed to her. Once she spent some time online researching communities, she could see herself living here.

The Wilson place had been on the market for a while and fit her budget. 

The reason it was in her price range though were the updates needed to it. That didn’t deter her; she had a plan and it involved doing some of the work herself. All I could picture was her underneath that table, and her all by herself if something else like that happened. That’s the only excuse I have for opening my mouth. “I could help you.”

She shakes her hand and her head at the same time. “No, I’m perfectly capable of
—”

Bess cuts her off before she can get any farther. “Beau, that’s a wonderful idea. Bethany, he is so good with his hands. He’ll get you taken care of in no time.”

I'd like to show her just how good with my hands I can be.

Bethany looks back and forth between us, clearly debating my offer to help.
Her gaze finally rests on me. "Are you sure?"

I'm not
, but I won't let her know that. "Wouldn't have offered otherwise."

Her lips pull tight
ly, a wise smile settling in. "That would be amazing. I've watched ‘how to’ videos but never tackled anything like this on my own before."

"I'm happy to be of assistance."

The look of sheer delight on Bess's face was not lost on me. As much as I give her grief for trying to set me up with any available woman near my age, I get how lucky I am that she cares. Bess might not be blood, but she's family. Someone loves you, and tries to do a kindness for you, that is something you acknowledge. I do this by giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze on my way to the kitchen. I’m on dish detail and figure Bess and Bethany can gab. I am elbows deep in hot suds when Bethany comes up beside me.

"Can I help?"

"You're a guest. I can take care of this," I reply, waiting for her to argue.

She grab
s a towel and reaches for a plate. "I don't mind."

We ma
ke short work of the dinner dishes. Since dessert is another apple pie, I ask Bethany if she'd like to go for a walk instead. I try to invite Bess, but am turned down in favor of pie and a firm suspicion she wants Bethany and me to be alone.

Dusk
is in full effect, shadows growing into night with each minute passing. The path to the orchard is so well worn and imprinted on me, the lack of light is no concern. It has a happy side effect, however, of Bethany grabbing my arm when she stumbles, and she doesn’t let me go after I right her.

If she's still here in a year
, I am definitely asking her out.

“In the summertime
, these trees will be full of fireflies.”

She stops walking and sighs. “I can’t remember the last time I saw a
firefly.

Shaking my head
, I give her arm a little tug to get her moving again. “You’ll be seeing them almost every night in a month or so, as long as you look outside just after the sun’s set.”

“Another thing to look forward to.”

We fall into an easy pace, her arm still around mine. “Another thing? Do you have a list going?”

It’s still light enough that I can see her nod. “I do, not written down or anything.” She taps her head. “All up here.”

We’re almost out of the orchard and I point out the small grouping of gravestones. “Do cemeteries scare you? We can avoid it if you’d like.”

Her pull on my arm
toward the gravestones answers my question. “Has this always been here? How old are these? Is it like your family plot?”

"Not just immediate family
, but we still consider it the family plot if that makes sense."

She peers at the stones, the light probably making the markings hard to read. "I'd love to come back here during the day."

"You're welcome anytime."

The absence of sunlight in no way diminishe
s the brightness from her responding smile. It lights up her face and eyes in a way that makes my chest tight. Were I not exhaling and inhaling without struggle, I would think she takes my breath away. Dizzy, and not from lack of oxygen, I dumbly blink at her.

As if realizing the effect a full blast of her smile
is having on me, she looks away. "That's so nice. Thank you." 

Once we
return to the main path, we are back to the main house in no time.

"I should be probably
be getting home," she murmurs.

Nervously, I wonder if something from our walk bothered her.
"Oh, right. Hang tight. I'm going to give Bess a heads up that I'm running you home."

Hurriedly, I
find Bess and let her know where I am going. Only reason I do is so she won’t worry. The gleam in her eyes makes me second-guess it though. Making the excuse that Bethany is waiting for me, I leave before she can encourage me to ask her out.

Ignoring the attraction I feel for Bethany
is impossible. I'm just trying to be smart about it. She's our closest neighbor. With any luck, she'll stay a while.

If it turns out country life doesn't suit her and she leaves
, at least there won't be any feelings on either side complicating things. If she's still here in ten months, maybe I'll ask her out. 

She turns when I open the front door, the light resting on her face. "Ready?"

Her lips curve. "Yep."

Offering my arm, more for the feel of hers than anything else
, we walk toward my cabin. Walking around to the passenger side, I open the door for her. In theory, the act screams gentleman and my mama would be proud, as long as she didn’t know how much leg I get to enjoy as Bethany settles in her seat. The thoughts running through my mind are anything but gentlemanly.

Attraction
is there. An internal debate sparks between my common sense and go-with-the-flow self. Repercussions of things ending badly with my closest neighbor keep me from acting on that attraction. Besides, if she still lived here in ten, er, make that nine months, I’m asking her out.

Chapter Three

“What do you think about this color?”

I squint at the twelfth paint chip I’ve been asked to give my opinion on in the last five minutes. “Did you show me that one already?”

Her face lights up. “Just making sure you were paying attention.”

I lean forward against the cart, resting my chin in my hand. “And I’ll tell you what I said the first time. That’s an excellent choice.”

Her brows come together and her lips pucker into a pout. “But you said that for all of them.”

Grinning
, I reply, “I meant that for all of them. It’s paint. If you don’t like what you get, we can just repaint it.”

“But which one do you like the most?”

I stand and step toward her, draping my arm across her shoulders. “It’s your kitchen.”

“Fine
,” she huffs, going with the pale mango shade.

“Did you still want to paint the cabinets too?”

She shakes her head. “I want to see how the walls look done first.”

Passing over the paint color to the store employee to mix it
, she waits while I go and fill our cart with the supplies we’ll need. It’s been two weeks since she came over for dinner and we’ve fallen into an easy friendship. She likes to cook and has talked me into coming over a couple nights every week so she can try stuff on me. Apparently, my palate is too countrified. I grew up eating simple meals we made based on what the farm produced. I have nothing against other types of food, just haven’t had them.

She’s been paying me in
meals for the help I’ve been giving her around the place. The first thing she asked for my help with was installing a new rain showerhead in the master bathroom. Standing in her tub, guessing by her still damp hair, that she was naked in there earlier was hard. Not hard to do, as in made me hard.

That reaction was repeated the next day
thanks to the mental picture I got when she went on and on, telling me how wonderful her shower felt. Luckily, since then I’ve been mainly assembling bookshelves and rescreening her porch.

I’m still trying to figure out whether it’s expanding my culinary horizons or my company she likes more. I’m hoping it’s the latter. If she still lives here in eight months, I am asking her out.

The paint is ready by the time I have everything we’ll need. Once everything is paid for, I push the cart out to the parking lot. A gentle breeze carries the scent of Bethany’s honeysuckle conditioner past me. It hits me then, that so far, there isn’t one thing that I don’t like about her. Windows down, we drive back to her house, I add another thing I like about her to my mental list; she looks seriously hot in my truck.