The Nice Guy Next Door (When In Waverly 1)

I see the disappointment in his face, and I despise myself for putting it there. I hate that he hopes for something that I can never give him. I wish I didn’t know he’s feeling this too. It would make it easier to ignore, to pretend that this is all in my head. I wish he didn’t have these feelings at all.

It doesn’t make sense. He could have any woman he wants. Why has he decided that I’m the one he wants?

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll leave you to it.” He backs out of the bathroom, and I immediately miss his presence. I want to drag him back in here and throw myself at him.

No, no. This is unacceptable.You’re a brick wall, remember?

I turn on the warm water, dump a ton of baking soda into the running water, and climb into the tub.

I try to think about anything and everything other than Jameson: storytime ideas for the library, dress styles that would look cute for Lo’s dance, plot ideas for my book. The task proves to be impossible because I’m in his childhood home. I’m sitting in the bathtub that he probably bathed in thousands of times when he was a stinky little boy. And that thought brings a whole slew of images of adorable little Jamesons running around, which makes me think of how cute his babies will be someday, which leads me to pondering what our children would look like, and on and on...

I’m supposed to soak for at least fifteen minutes, but my restless energy has me getting out after ten. There’s too much to do to spend the day sitting in a bathtub, daydreaming about things that will never be.

After calling every carpet-cleaning company in the area and finding the best price (hello, I’m on a budget here!), I’ve scheduled for a company to come out tomorrow and clean the carpets and all the upholstery left in my house. It’s costing more than I can afford at the moment, but it’s a must.

I’ll have to lower the budget for Lo’s homecoming dress. I’m scared to tell her, even though I know she’ll pretend like she’s fine with it. It’s her first formal at her new school, and I know she’s excited about it. I don’t know what kind of dress we’ll be able to find with a hundred bucks. I’d really like to lower it even more, but I want to spoil her. We’re already doing this so last minute, and she swears all of the good dresses are taken. I can’t bring myself to take any more away from her.

Lo and I load up into her car—she insisted on driving—and head to the mall a few towns over for a day of dress and shoe shopping. She’s bursting with excitement, and it reminds me of all the dances I got to attend. Daddy would insist on taking hundreds of pictures standing in the living room with all of its horrible lighting.

You better believe that I’ll be doing the same thing to Lo next weekend. And I’ll be so disappointed if she doesn’t grumble and groan about it between every picture. We need the full experience here.

Four hours later, we pull back in front of Nana and Pops’ house, and Lo runs into the house, carrying her dress, shoes, and jewelry she was able to snag at the mall. She ended up buying her own shoes and jewelry with money she earned at work, which helped a ton.

“Eilleen!” I hear her squeal when I walk through the front door. They’re in the kitchen where Eilleen is baking cookies. “Look at the dress I got for the dance!”

Eilleen stops what she’s doing, and Jameson comes in from the back room where he and Pops have been hanging out. I thought he would be out enjoying his Saturday with friends since he’s not working this weekend. I didn’t think I’d have to spend all day looking at him. It’s a chore having to work this hard to avoid staring at that handsome face.

I turn my attention to Lo as she takes her light-blue dress out of the garment bag. The bottom half of the dress is a flowy chiffon material, but the bodice is the truly stunning part. It’s bedazzled with a floral pattern, and it has adorable cap sleeves. The back is low cut, giving it a little unexpected edge.

Jameson oohs and ahhs, sounding like the audience of a cheesy game show. I turn to watch him as he watches his nana gush over Lo and her dress. His eyes soften as the two interact. I look toward Eilleen and Lo and see the tenderness between them. Lo has never had a mother or a grandmother figure in her life. She’s told me over and over that I have been more than enough for her, but I’m only ten years older. I could never give her the wisdom that someone like Eilleen can.

“Do you have someone to do your hair and makeup?” Jameson asks, and I’m truly surprised that he knows that’s something girls do before school dances.

Lo shakes her head and says, “I’ll probably just do it myself.” She shrugs her shoulders like it’s no big deal, but I see the look of disappointment and resignation on her face. She’s trying her best to be okay with our circumstances, and I love her for it. A lot of teenage girls would complain, but not my Lo.

“I bet my mom could come over and do it for you after she’s finished with her other clients for the day,” Jameson says.

My lungs ratchet up into my throat. He can’t say things like this and get Lo’s hopes up. I’ll never be able to afford to pay someone to do her hair and makeup right now. He sees the panic written all over my face, and says, “I doubt my mom would charge you.”

Why wouldn’t she charge us? I’ve only met her a handful of times. I barely know her. I doubt she goes around doing work for free for desperate older sisters all the time. She wouldn’t be able to pay her bills if that were the case. I can’t allow her to do that for us. And I can’t let Jameson think that he and I have the kind of relationship where he can suggest something like that.

“I’m sure she’ll be too busy with all the other girls in town. It’s really okay. I’m decent at doing hair,” I argue to get him off my scent.

Eilleen convinces Lo to model the dress for us, and the hair and makeup is dropped for now. I sit on the couch beside Jameson while we wait for Lo to get changed. He nudges me with his shoulder and asks, “What’s going on? Why won’t you look at me?” I stare at the pictures on the wall in front of me. Jameson in a baseball uniform, Jameson in a tux with an adorable girl in a poofy pink dress, Jameson graduating from high school, Jameson graduating from college. No matter what I do, I can’t get away from his face.

He is the center of his grandparents’ and mom’s universe, and I can see how easily I could make him the center of mine. I never want a man to consume me in that way, because I don’t want to feel like my world is crumbling when the relationship inevitably ends. He can preach to me about true, lasting love all he wants, but I’ve seen enough to know that all relationships end in heartbreak whether they last six months or sixty years. Someone is going to be left crying, and that is something I will avoid at all costs.

He nudges me again to get my attention. “Talk to me, Millie,” he says in a deep, sultry tone. I shake my head and try to scoot away from him, but he wraps his arms around me and pulls me into his chest. I’m tense and evaluating my fight-or-flight reaction, but then he goes and rubs my back, knowing full well how his touch affects me.

His cheek is resting on top of my head when he says, “You know I care about you. I wish you would confide in me.” He places a kiss on the top of my head and then releases me. I take longer than I should putting space between our bodies.

“I care about you too,” I admit, wishing it weren’t true. “More than I should.” I cover my face with my hands and groan. I don’t want to have this conversation, especially not here in his grandparents’ home.

I want to keep pretending like my feelings are not real until Jameson decides he’s done waiting for me and finds another woman to love. They’ll get married, and it’ll be the talk of the town. I’ll have to endure never-ending conversations about how Jameson’s eyes radiated love and joy as he watched his perfect bride walk down the aisle. She’ll move in with him, and I’ll be forced to watch their wedded bliss as I glare at them through my front window. I’ll grow old and haggard and bitter while he forgets I exist and has beautiful babies.

I’m insane. My imagination needs to calm the heck down. This doesn’t sound remotely like the life I want or envision for myself. A long time ago, I decided I would be a strong, independent woman. Instead of a man, I’d surround myself with friends. But I’m seeing now that it could be a lonely life. Friends have families of their own and the many commitments that come along with that.

Lo will eventually graduate and move out on her own. And where will that leave me? Lonely and pining for the man next door who could have been mine if I’d only taken the chance? The problem is, I don’t actually know what I want anymore, and that’s the scariest part of all.