intense discussion last time we were together about whether Wilma’s new fascination with herbs had any scientific basis.
“Yes.” She puts a bottle down on the counter, a picture of leaves on the front. “They’ll help you sleep, I promise.”
I turn it over in my hand. “I’m willing to try,” I say. “I can’t handle having to lie awake for hours much longer.”
“Consequence of your break-up,” Trina points out.
“Yes, but an annoyingly persistent one.” Searching through the pantry for a large platter, I start arranging the brownie slices. “Thanks, Wilma.”
They leave with good-luck wishes and the roar of an old engine. Looking at myself in the gold-framed mirror in the larger-than-life hallway, I decide I look pretty good. Presentable. The girl-next-door, I think, smiling at my own little joke. A big plate of brownies in hand and nerves dancing in my stomach.
As much as I might groan, Trina had been spot-on with this dare.
Locking the giant door behind me, I leave one imposing house for another. My neighbor’s house is just as large.
A white villa rises up behind the gates. Gray shutters. A large porch. That’s pretty much all I can see through the fence.
The curb appeal in this area is seriously high, if your particular thing is fences and gates.
I press the button to the intercom with a heart that threatens to gallop off and leave me behind in the dust.
A softly accented voice answers. “Hello?”
“Hi. I’m Bella, I just moved in next door and wanted to introduce myself. I brought brownies.” Stupidly, I lift the plate up high to the miniscule camera, as if the sight of gooey chocolate might help my case.
Silence stretches on.
God, I’ve miscalculated. These people don’t do things like this. They don’t have yard sales or exchange baked goods, and they sure as hell don’t let strangers into their gated little slices of paradise. Greenwood Hills doesn’t work like this.
But then microphone static reaches me, and the same female voice rings out. “Come on up to the main door, sweetheart.”
The wrought-iron gate swings open.
That must have been his wife. Stupidly, the realization hits with faint disappointment. The thought of the smile playing along the edge of his lips had been intriguing. How would you draw it out? What would be the right joke?
I stop outside a beautifully carved wooden door. It seems a shame to have houses this beautiful when nobody can see them from the curb.
The door swings open and I’m greeted by a smiling, black-clad lady in her mid-fifties. Her dark hair is pulled back in a bun. “Hello,” she says. “Bella?”
“Yes. I’m sorry to just come knocking like this. I moved in just yesterday, and I—”
“I know. I saw you unpacking.” The lady waves me into the hallway. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”
“Thank you,” I say, a sigh of relief escaping me. “It’s a beautiful place.”
“It really is. I’m Maria,” she says, “and I work for Mr. Carter. He’ll be with you in just a bit.”
“Here he is!” The voice is rich, expansive. It fits perfectly with the man I’d seen the picture of just a few hours ago. He comes striding down the hallway.
The years since I’d sat in the lecture hall and listened to him speak have made him even more impressive, the soft fabric of his sweater clinging to a wider chest.
And his smile.
It’s there, lurking at the edge of his mouth and playing in the depths of intelligent eyes. Yes, he remembers me. The topless girl next door. To my horror, my cheeks heat up.
“Mr. Carter,” Maria says. “This is the girl you told me to let in.”
“Bella Simmons,” I say, extending a hand and trying not to drop the giant plate of brownies. Why had I decided to bring so many? It looks like I’m supplying a bakery.
“Ethan Carter.” He gives my hand a firm shake, his skin warm. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”
“Thank you,” I breathe, relief sweeping through me. “I’ll be honest, I wasn’t sure if this was common practice here. Saying hi to your neighbors when you’re new and all. I’m sorry if I’ve just committed an unspeakable faux pas.”
His eyes flick down to the plate in my arms. “We usually execute people on sight for this, but you brought brownies, so I’ll make an exception.”
If I wasn’t still so nervous, I’d be laughing at that. “Consider it a peace offering, then.”
“Getting heavy?” He reaches out and takes the plate from me.
“A bit. Thank you.”
“Although I suppose I should be the one with a peace offering.”