Love Next Door (Lakeside 1)

“You mean here?”

“Or we can go somewhere. It’s up to you.”

“Like a date?” The words are out before I can consider them. And I immediately want to stuff them back in and swallow them down.

But a small smile pulls at the corners of his mouth until it makes his eyes crinkle with mirth. “Yes, like a date.”

I don’t know why I’m shocked. After all the revelations last night, I probably should have expected something like this from Van. “Um, sure, okay. Yes. But there aren’t many restaurants in town, and if we go out together, people are going to talk.”

“I’m okay with that if you are. I promise I’m not into excessive PDAs.”

“What do you consider excessive?”

“Sharing a plate of pasta like Lady and the Tramp, under-the-table handies, quickies in public bathrooms—you know, excessive stuff.” I’m not sure whether I should laugh until a huge smile breaks across his face and he chuckles. “Relax, Dillion. I won’t try any of those things, especially not on a first date.”

I push on his chest. “Oh my gosh, you’re too much.”

“Last night it seemed like you couldn’t get enough.”

I try to wiggle out of his arms, but he rolls us over so he’s on top of me. “Six o’clock. No overt displays of affection. I won’t even try to hold your hand. I’ll leave two feet of space between us at all times. Unless we see Tucker the Fucker. Then all bets are off.”

I roll my eyes.

“I’m taking that as a yes. I can’t wait to not touch you in a public place later.” He flops over beside me and tucks his hands behind his head, grinning like a loon.

“I bet you don’t last more than twenty minutes before you put your hands on me.”

“That sounds like a dare.” He winks. “Careful, Dillion. I’m a fan of a challenge.”

I leave Bee’s cottage with a spring in my step and a smile on my face; despite the fact that I haven’t slept much, nothing can get me down.

At least not until I step inside my trailer and find the place is a huge mess, thanks to last night’s storm. I left the windows unzipped, and I was obviously too busy getting busy to remember to close them, so my sheets are soaked, and I’m betting so is my mattress. The floor has several puddles, and the paperwork I was going over on my table is scattered across the floor, the ink bleeding across the pages. I’m lucky my laptop is at work and not on the table where I usually leave it, since there’s a very prominent leak there, based on the shallow pool that a few dead bugs and pine needles are floating in.

The rain has stopped, but the damage is already done, and there isn’t anything I can do other than throw everything I can in the wash and put all the cushions out to dry in the sun for the day. I don’t have time to tackle the rest of the mess, so I do what I can, then rush into the house and have a quick shower.

I’m grateful that most of my clothes are stored inside the house; otherwise, I’d probably be struggling to find a clean, dry outfit that doesn’t smell like old wet trailer. My dad and I spend the next four hours at a huge, gorgeous five-thousand-square-foot “cottage” that has not one, but three kitchens: one on the main floor, one in the walk-out basement (which functions like a fully outfitted apartment), and a third outside.

It’s amazing and lavish and probably one of the most beautiful homes I’ve ever been in. I’ve never had so much kitchen envy in my life. I’ve lived with secondhand, renovated kitchens or the kind you get when you live in a small apartment in the city—tiny, functional, and not very exciting. So helping someone else decide on the cabinets, counters, floors, and lighting for a kitchen that is literally my own personal version of heaven is both wonderful and painful.

Wonderful because we’re building a whole new client base that will keep my dad busy through the entire winter; painful because my current kitchen status consists of a tiny sink, a hot plate, and two small cupboards.

One thing I did as soon as we started working on the Bowmans’ place was to have signs made so we could stick them at the end of the driveway and another on the lakeside for all the nosy boaters. Since I took that step, we’ve had at least two calls a day from other interested lake dwellers. We’ve more than made up for the two lost clients resulting from Billy’s accident.

With enough winter projects, my dad won’t have to take on quite so many snowplowing contracts. Those contracts are lucrative but also dangerous, because the winter storms can be particularly fierce here, and a lot of car accidents happen as a result.