The Holiday List (The Script Club 4)

“Maybe we could make him dinner? Or mow his lawn?”

“We could offer to pick up groceries.”

Asher inclined his head. “Good ideas, but I think he needs help with the child.”

Silence.

And more silence.

I raised my hand again, less enthusiastically than before. “At the risk of sounding indelicate…is there something amiss with the youngster in question?”

Ash shook his head as he rubbed his palms together for warmth. “Well, no. But he’s…a handful.”

“That’s a nice way to put it,” George scoffed.

“He’s a prankster,” Topher explained. “His trickery is relatively harmless, but it can be—”

“Annoying,” Tommy supplied. “He’s been known to put phony mustaches on taillights, plastic reptiles in mailboxes, balloons under tires.”

“He loves silly string too,” Holden added.

“All true,” Asher agreed. “But we have to help somehow. ’Tis the season, boys. Look, I don’t think we’re going to reach a decision tonight. It’s almost dinnertime and it’s c-cold in here. I’ll swing by Mr. Rooney McSwoony’s house tomorrow after work, offer a few suggestions, and get back to everyone when—oh, shoot. I can’t do it tomorrow. Blake’s team has a game.”

“I volunteer,” I blurted.

George exchanged a glance with Asher before addressing me. “Chet…you don’t know what you’re getting into.”

“Sure, I do. I haven’t met Mr. McSwoony, so I’m the logical choice for the job. I’ll bring him homemade shortbread cookies tonight after dinner, introduce myself, and unobtrusively inquire after his health and well-being. Then, I’ll gently offer non-tutoring aid and share our discussion via email with you all tomorrow.” I smiled broadly at my roommates, hoping to convey gratitude without overdoing it when I added, “I don’t mind at all.”

“Well, if you’re sure…” Asher eyed me carefully as if waiting for my confirmation. When I nodded in response, he smacked his hand on his iPad lightly. “Excellent. The Script Club meeting is officially adjourned.”

So, that was how I ended up on the front porch of my neighbor’s two-storied Spanish-style home later that evening. I caught my reflection in the pane of glass on the side of the massive wood front door as I leaned in to press the doorbell. Yikes. I combed my windblown hair into place, then smoothed the edges of the foil-wrapped plate in my hand and waited.

And waited.

The lights were on in the upstairs windows, and Mr. McSwoony’s Tesla was parked in the driveway. He had to be home. Perhaps the volume on his television was impeding his hearing. I adjusted the plate of cookies in my hand and pressed the button again, knocking for good measure too.

Still nothing.

Just when I was about to give up, the lock clicked, the door creaked open, and a large, shadowy figure filled the space.

“Hello?”

Oh. Wow.

Gosh, he had a sexy voice.

I hadn’t known it was possible to get turned-on by a single low-timbred grunt, but a shiver of awareness trickled through me. My tongue felt heavy in my mouth as I licked my lips and shoved the plate at his chest.

“Good evening, Mr. Mc—um, these are for you.”

He fumbled the plate with one hand as he stepped out of the shadows. And wow…Rooney McSwoony was the most handsome man I’d ever met in my life. Tall, fit, and scrumdeliciously striking with sharp, angular features, and thick dark hair graying at the temples. He looked dashing, debonair, and strong in spite of the sling around his left shoulder.

“Um, thanks. Do I know you?”

I swallowed hard, willing my brain to keep up. I was currently drowning in a sea of blue. His eyes were like a pool of pretty marbles glittering in golden sunlight. His brown hair curled at his ears enticingly and that mouth—was asking me something.

Did he know me? Gosh, I didn’t know me. I hoped he didn’t ask my name. No, that was the first thing he’d ask.

Think, think, think.

“Yes, I mean, no…but, I’m neighboring you. As in, I think I’m your neighbor.”

“You think?”

“No, no. I know I am. I live in the big house on the corner. Somewhere that-away.” I motioned wildly toward the street before brusquely offering my hand. “Chet Miller, resident robotic engineering specialist at your service, Mr. McSwoony.”

This time the gorgeous man grinned, and his whole face was involved in the effort. That smile was transformative, like an experience you hoped everyone was privy to at least once in a lifetime. His eyes crinkled at the corners, his full lips curled, then parted, revealing perfect white teeth, and oh, my…dimples. They were almost hidden under his light beard growth, but not quite.

“This would be a nice time to turn into an octopus,” he quipped, glancing down at his wounded arm and the plate of cookies he held in his uninjured one. “I don’t have an extra hand to offer, but I’m—”

“Rooney. Yes, I know.” I gripped the two fingers peeking out from his sling and squeezed them. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”