Love Next Door (Lakeside 1)

“Your dad cleared a space in the garage for all your things, and he’ll help you unload when he gets home tonight. I’m sure you want to return the van so you’re not paying all those rental fees.” My mom hops out, her tennis shoes hitting the gravel with a low crunch.

I gingerly step out, my heels highly impractical for small-town, rural living. I resign myself to the fact that I’m going to have to put these in storage with the majority of my stuff. I also have to get my head around living with my parents again. At the age of twenty-eight.

“Your dad renovated the kitchen this spring! I can’t wait to show you!” She motions for me to follow her. I drop the keys into my purse and don’t bother locking the truck. No one steals from their own community around here.

I follow my mom into the house. The front foyer is small, a closet to the left, a small bench to the right. Past that is the kitchen.

“Well?” She smiles brightly, her excitement obvious. “What do you think? Doesn’t it look great? Obviously it’s not all new stuff, but they did this renovation on a cottage on the north side—you know, where all the rich folk live.” She waves a hand in the air, like the explanation is silly. “Anyway, the owner said your dad could take whatever he wanted. Can you believe it? The kitchen was almost brand new!”

The cabinets look like they’re maybe a few years old—white Shaker style with simple lines. It’s a huge improvement to the nineties-era kitchen I grew up with. The highly modernized kitchen is beautiful, but it also showcases how dated the rest of the house is. Still, I can recognize why she’s excited by it. “It’s great, Mom!”

The dining room, which is beside the kitchen, boasts an eighties-style table and wooden chairs with a geometric pattern—designs that have been made popular again thanks to the show Stranger Things. Beyond that is the living room, where my brother lies stretched out on the black leather sofa that’s so worn in places that the wooden frame peeks through.

He takes up the entire couch, his long, lean frame barely fitting the length, with his casted leg, propped up with a pillow, dangling over the edge by about six inches. He’s currently watching an episode of Garage Wars, nursing a beer. On the coffee table next to him is the remote and a bottle of prescription pills.

I bite my tongue, because coming in guns blazing, trying to parent my brother three seconds after I’ve arrived, is only going to cause problems I don’t need. Especially if I have to live in the same space with him for the foreseeable future.

“Billy! You know you’re not supposed to drink while you’re taking medication!” Mom drops her purse on the kitchen table, mouth curving down.

He tips his head back, shaggy blond hair falling away from his forehead. He has a big gash that’s taped up with a fly bandage, and dark shadows line his eyes. “It’s fine, Ma, it’s a light beer. Oh, hey, Dillion,” he calls out from the couch. “I forgot you were coming down for a few days.”

“Didn’t Dad tell him?” I mumble as I arch a brow at Mom.

“Didn’t Dad tell me what?” Billy may be irresponsible and make poor decisions, but he does have ridiculously good hearing. Even with the TV on and the door partially closed, he can listen in on someone else’s conversation.

“Darlin’s staying for longer than a few days.”

“Really? Why? You got vacation time you have to take or something?”

“Uh, no, I’m coming to help out.” Of course my parents didn’t tell him.

He props himself up on one arm, grimacing with the movement. “Help out with what?”

“With the business.”

Billy frowns. “You’re kidding, right? You can’t even lift a two-by-four without rolling an ankle.”

That’s not even remotely true. I used to help my dad all the time. Did I love lugging two-by-fours? Nope, but I had serious biceps for one summer, until I realized I could work in the service industry and make four times as much money behind a bar as I could building one. “Dad has to supervise the big reno project on the other side of the lake, so he asked if I’d come help in the office.”

“How you gonna do that when you’re working in the city?”

“I’m not anymore. At least not for a few months. Once you’re on your feet and you have your driver’s license reinstated, then I’ll move back to the city.”

His eyes flare, and a slow smile creeps across his face. “Is that why you were out there messing with the trailer, Ma?”

“The trailer?”

Mom’s eyes light up, and she claps her hands. “Let me show you! I spruced it right up! Still needs some TLC, but I think you’ll like it.” She grabs my arm and guides me back toward the front door.