get to my parents’ place for Sunday dinner.”
“Sunday dinner?”
“Yeah, do you want to come?” Crap, why the heck did I just ask him that? I didn’t mean to. It just came out before I could stop it. “I mean . . .”
“Sure,” he agrees.
“Oh . . . okay. Awesome.” I bite the inside of my cheek. My mom is going to flip her lid—not in a bad way. She’s going to be so happy I’m bringing a man with me that she will probably start knitting baby booties. Not that she knits. She’ll probably just order some off Amazon for free two-day delivery.
My parents were not always concerned about my love life, or lack thereof. When I was in my twenties, they told me that I didn’t need to look for a serious relationship, that I should focus on myself and experience as much life as possible. The day I turned thirty, that all changed. Even my dad, who is protective of his only girl, thinks I need to find someone to settle down with. He’s always giving me concerned looks when we have dinner with my two brothers, who both got married and had kids before the age of thirty.
“You don’t want me to go?” He tugs that piece of hair he hasn’t stopped playing with, and I turn my head.
“It’s not that. I just . . . well, I’ve never invited someone to Sunday dinner. I mean, I have, but not a guy. My parents and brothers might assume . . .” I look away at his smirk, and my face gets warm. “It’s just . . .” I blow out a breath. “You know how parents and siblings are.”
“We’re friends. I’m new in town, and we’re neighbors.”
“Right,” I agree, even though it’s a little disappointing to think he’s not interested in me and that the comments he’s made haven’t been a lead-up to something more—that something more being him fricking kissing me. But maybe that’s just him . . . maybe he flirts with everyone.
“I don’t have to come if you’re going to be uncomfortable.”
I turn to look at him once more. “You’re right. We’re just friends and neighbors; it won’t be a big deal.”
“Hmm.”
Okay, what does that mean? Never mind. I don’t want to know. I focus on the TV and not so much on him playing with my hair or sitting so close that the weight of him on my couch forces us even closer together.
“You should go to bed. You’ve yawned three times in as many minutes,” he tells me.
“I need to know if Bethenny is going to tell Luann about her husband being with another woman,” I say, keeping my eyes glued to the TV.
“I’m sure you can google it if you really need to know.”
“True.” I yawn again, and my eyes water.
“Come on.” He stands, then pulls me up with him off the couch. “Walk me to the door, then go on to bed.” He walks to the door and stops with his hand on the handle, then looks at Bruce, who hasn’t gotten up. “Bud, come on. Time to go home.”
“Come on, big guy.” I pat my thighs, and he comes instantly, and I laugh as Tyler grumbles under his breath. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I tell Bruce, hugging him around his furry neck, and then I stand and look at his dad. “When do you want me?”
His eyes change ever so slightly, and I swear he’s going to say something dirty, but he doesn’t. “Nine thirty or ten.”
“Okay,” I agree.
He touches his fingers to my cheek, then opens the door and steps out onto the porch. “Bruce, come,” he calls when Bruce doesn’t follow him. I giggle, and he shakes his head as I push Bruce outside with my hands on his rump. “See you in the morning, babe.”
“Mmm-hmm.” I watch him walk down the stairs and roll my eyes when he orders me into my house and to lock the door. I do what he asks, only because I want to, but I still watch him through the window as he and Bruce walk across the grass between his yard and mine and up to his front door. When he’s inside, I go back to the TV and turn it off, then get in bed, where eventually I fall asleep thinking about the guy next door.
“That’s a lot of tape,” I point out as Tyler adds more and more blue tape to the edge of the backsplash where it