Life Next Door (Love Not Included Series Book 2) (2 page)

Don’t get me wrong. I agree. I didn’t focus on the important things in my marriage, like keeping our sex life alive, but neither did he. We both worked and we were so busy. A year after being back home, he took a huge job as an intern for an attorney firm and I started working as an assistant chef at May’s Bakery. Before I knew it, I was head pastry chef while he was a second-in-line to become a partner. We barely spoke to one another. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he was speaking—it just wasn’t to me.

It’s amazing how something so simple can turn into something so huge and life-changing. I got the mail one day on a Saturday, shuffled through it and saw a personal envelope addressed to the next-door neighbor. Her, I will introduce as Candy. Or Kitty. I am not sure; I try not to take the time out of my busy life to memorize my ex-husband’s new lover. Either way, Kitty Jane Bang’s mail got stuck with ours. I was in the middle of baking a beautiful three-tier wedding cake for Mrs. Humphries’s daughter, so I asked Jeff if he could run it next door. He did without question, and who would have thought that in the end they could thank me for starting their love spark. Vomit.

I don’t share this lovely story with you so you’ll feel bad for me, because trust me, it’s not worth it. If it wasn’t Kiki, it would have been something else that broke us up. But let’s be honest. To be cheated on and lied to basically sucks. To know that he was willing to share his feelings and his bed with someone else instead of attempting to make our life work sucks. It doesn’t just suck. It pisses me off. So I flipped my shit after finding out. And it wasn’t because I was heartbroken, it was because I was pissed he couldn’t give me enough respect to be honest with me, and either try or call it quits.

I don’t have any great drama story for how I caught them in their sexual embrace. It was simple. He had the balls to sit me down and tell me himself. I guess I can give him that much. He came forward. Jeff told me things hadn’t been right with us for years, which I knew, and that he just fell out of love with me and in love with Kitty. They were in love and he wanted to be fair to me and allow me to find the happiness he had. Well, gee, thanks. Good to know chivalry is still alive.

To make sure I stayed in character, I, of course, made a scene. I’m a female and that’s what we do best. I told him to get out, which he did.

It was just too bad he simply walked across the lawn, next door.

He moved his things out while I was at work. We tried to be civil with one another, but having your soon-to-be-ex living next door with your trashy neighbor just didn’t allow for friendly banter. We both agreed on the divorce. Obviously there was no other road for us to go down. He was giving me the house. How nice. And he was going to move his things over to Jane Bang’s. Three weeks later, before the ink was even dry on our divorce papers, there was a
For Rent
sign in the yard next door and the two of them had left without a return address.

As months passed, I lived my life in a kind of trance. I went to work, I baked, I smiled at customers, I came home, I drank. And, on occasion, I found myself outside in the late hours of the night with a carton of eggs, beaming them at the neighbor’s house. Childish? You bet. Therapeutic? Absolutely. The times when I got to sit on my patio the next morning with a fresh cup of coffee and watch some new cleaning company power-wash the house for a new walkthrough, it made me feel a little bit better and a little less bitter.

And yes. I was bitter. And I am still bitter because I want to be loved and have someone love me. I want to have passionate sex and wrap my body around someone who feels just as much crazy chemistry as I do. On more than one pitiful occasion, I saw the way those two looked at each other. They had that. We hadn’t.

So I knew I had to move on. Why was I so beat-up about it? Could I even say I was in love with Jeff? No. I loved him, sure. I had a long history with him. We grew up together. I also admit that I have not yet cried about my life changes. When Jeff sat me down, I did not cry. When we sat in front of lawyers splitting up the years we spent together, I did not cry. When I heard giggling outside my house coming from next door as the new couple packed up their pretty little things and left—I. Did. Not. Cry.

What does that say about me? My husband leaves me for the younger neighbor and I have done nothing but fake yell and break a few things, stuff I’ve been thinking of replacing anyway, truth be told. The conclusion was my pride. No one wants anyone to mess with their pride. When your pride is battered, it makes you bitter. And when you are bitter, you seem to view life less colorfully and with a lot more skepticism.

And at the time being, I am skeptical. And bitter. And in need of change. One night, after too much Cabernet and a Google search on “how to get rid of skepticism,” I decided
feng shui
was the way to fix all my problems. Apparently, all I had to do was get rid of everything from my past and replace it with new things—preferably all purple because it’s the color of love and peace—and my life would fall into order. I was completely onboard with this, and two bottles later, I went nuts on a credit card that Jeff had not yet closed. My theory was that it’s the least he could do for me and purchasing a house full of new furniture and knick-knacks should call us even.

Demolishing more wine than expected, which I must commend myself for, I ended my night with some therapy-throwing next door. I remember stumbling to my fridge and ripping it open to investigate what I had available to throw and what made the most mess. I was clearly running low on eggs, which I remember making a mental list to overstock in the future.

I headed out the front door, down the steps and across the lawn. I noticed the
For Rent
sign was gone and hoped that meant they had decided to take it off the market and bulldoze it instead. I remember tossing eggs, which sadly never made it very far since my throwing arm was way off; I smashed two against the porch steps and three straight into the bushes. Pissed at my low egg supply, I shoved the container into the mailbox and stumbled back home. I made it inside in time to crash on my couch and pass out blissfully into a black oblivion.

This leads me to the present. Me, in my kitchen, crazy pants on, once again. I try to calm myself before realizing what just transpired and the reality begins to sink in. I have a new neighbor. And I just verbally attacked him. I put my face in my hands and sigh.

What’s wrong with me? I really need to get my shit together. My life didn’t end. I still have all my limbs and one thing Jeff didn’t mess with: my wine club membership. Stuff like this happens to people every day. I pick my face up and stare at the mess on the floor. I move toward the pantry to grab the dust buster and broom and begin to clean up my mess.

What I need to do right now, which is more important than drinking, is bake. Baking calms me in a different way than wine does. It helps me clear my head. From the second I stepped foot into my first culinary classroom, I knew I had a gift. I always had a fondness for sweets and sugar was my best friend. I graduated top of my class and it wasn’t hard at all landing my chef spot at May’s Bakery with my stellar referrals. I started small with cupcakes and worked my way quickly to customized wedding cakes. There wasn’t a design or idea I couldn’t execute. I was a culinary genius. I’ve always had a plan to branch away from May’s and open up my own bakery. With the divorce in the mix, I kind of lost faith in that plan.

The ringing of my cell pulls me out of my somber thoughts as I discard the broom and head toward the living room. I look at the Caller ID and see that it is Mrs. Humphries. Dear old Mrs. Humphries has been coming to me for years. She has five kids of all ages, and that means she has a ton of special orders. She never goes through May’s for her large orders because she doesn’t believe in paying “tax” on things, so she comes to me directly for her cake orders. In my spare time, which I have a lot of to be honest, I take orders on the side. If it wasn’t for Mrs. Humphries and her five grown kids, I probably would not have been able to start my business fund. I’m in hopes that her kids soon start to pop out a few more generations because it would get me to my goal faster.

“Hello, Mrs. Humphries, what can I do for you this evening?”

“Oh hello, CeCe dear, I’m so glad you answered. I have an emergency cake order, and I just don’t want to deal with that ratty old May. She never allows me to put my special hint on my cakes.”

And that is no lie. May is not the nicest old lady you will ever meet and she also does not like special orders. May believes the whole saying, “What you see is what you get.” It’s the other reason some people in this town call me personally.

“Oh, okay. What’s the special order?”

“Oh yes, dear. Well, Hector from the butcher told me that he was informed by Grace next door to Mayvis that you have a new neighbor. I haven’t seen him yet, well, because I am on the corner, so my view is not so great. But I was hoping you could bake me a specialty pie of sorts. Something I can bring over there today. To welcome our new neighbor to the neighborhood. I hear he is a sight for sore eyes. Real charmer.”

Oh, why me?

I remember the face of the man who I verbally mutilated less than an hour ago. His muscular arms while he flexed, picking off the paint smears from his strong hands. His tanned skin glistening in the midday sun.
Did I just say glistening?

“Hello, CeCe dear, are you still there?”

“Oh yes, Mrs. Humphries, I’m still here, sorry.”

“So, can you help me? I would really appreciate it. And I will throw in a nice tip as well.” Mrs. Humphries’s
nice tips
consisted of enough money to purchase a pack of gum. Apparently she was still living in the 50s where gum was twenty-five cents.

“Sure, Mrs. Humphries, I can help you out.” I think about what I have at home, which is everything imaginable. “I have the ingredients to make apple, cherry, and gooseberry pie. Any preference?”

“Oh, make your special apple pie. That will most definitely be a nice welcome.”
Sure it will.

I tell Mrs. Humphries that I will begin her emergency order shortly and to come over in about two hours. She praises my quickness and hangs up. Whelp, I was going to bake anyway. It’s not like I
want
to bake for the neighbor. Or anyone who lives in that house. Either way, I get started. I move around my kitchen like a dancing ballerina. Along with wine, baking is another thing I could do blind. I glide to my utensils and grab the things I’ll need to bake. I go over to my iPod dock, set my Pandora station and hit play. The music begins to fill my kitchen and for the next two hours I zone out and create the best apple pie for the newest neighbor in town.

The doorbell rings, breaking into my zone, and I hit the off button on my iPod. I pat my hands on my jeans as I pass by my fancy new plum couches and make my way to the door. I reach for the handle and open my front door to a very eager Mrs. Humphries.

“Why hello there, child, are you all ready for me?” she inquires in her flamboyant, chipper voice.

“I am.” I smile back. “It’s just on the cooling rack. Come in and let me box it for you.” I move aside to welcome Mrs. Humphries inside and head back to the kitchen. I hear her shuffle and halt in front of my shiny new living room. “My my, have you been doing some redecorating in here?”

“Oh yes. I have,” I call over my shoulder. “I figured it was time to make some changes.” May I also fill you in that Mrs. Humphries, if you haven’t already gotten the gist, is the town gossip? As she looks around at my new furniture, I assume she already knew it was in here. I’m sure the street played a game of telephone as each package and delivery came to my door. In fact, I’m pretty sure Mrs. Humphries knew about Jeff before I did.

“It looks quite purplish, dear,” she sneers, surveying the layout. Apparently someone hasn’t read up on her feng shui.

I hurry back into the living room, pie in hand, ready to rap this social up. “Okay! So here you go.” I hand her the warm pie box and watch her eyes light up. I must admit that I do make the best pie in town and Mrs. Humphries is probably debating ditching her idea of handing it over to the neighbor and filling her plump belly with the pie herself.

“Sure smells delicious. I think this is the perfect welcoming gift, don’t you, dear?”

I think manners would be a better gift. “I sure do, Mrs. Humphries. Go get ‘em!”

“Would you like to come with me? I hear you two already met. Mayvis said he was at your door earlier today.”

Ugh, Mayvis and her spying eye. Mayvis is my neighbor across the street and the biggest spy of them all. I’m pretty sure she could tell you my, Jeff’s and the neighbor’s story bit by bit in better detail than I could.

“Oh, yeah, but it was brief. He was looking for a key from the renters. I couldn’t help him out. That was it. He left. Nothing juicy to report.”

“Oh well, that’s too bad. I hear he is a looker. And you can use a decent man in your life. Maybe
you
should be bringing him this pie.”

Oh no! I do not think so, lady.
I think I already made my grand introduction earlier. I start to push Mrs. Humphries toward the door. “Now now, he’s all yours. I have a very busy evening ahead of me. You just go on now. Keep me posted on your review of him.” I open the door, hoping that she gets the hint.

“Oh well then, I will, dear. Thank you again. And here.” She hands me a slim wad of cash. “For your fine work. And there’s a little tip in there for you, as well.”
Little indeed.

“Why thank you, Mrs. Humphries. Have a great day!” I give her the final push and shut the screen door, leaving the main one open. Days in June can get a bit steamy, so the summer breeze feels good flowing through the house.

Pie-shmie. I really have no interest in schmoozing my new neighbor. You know…the one with the strong facial features and the dark thick brown hair that I bet feels really good to grab on to while he’s licking...
Licking?
What the hell?

Am I dirty fantasizing about my new neighbor? I met him for like thirty-seven seconds! What’s wrong with me? The more I think about it, the more I wouldn’t mind seeing his sexy mouth talk again, no matter what banter he’s spitting out of it. I’m leaning against my fuzzy suede couch in deep debate when I hear Mrs. Humphries next door in her over-the-top greeting voice.

And… Three. Two. One. That’s it. My self-control breaks and my curiosity wins over. I scurry over to the window to get a better view of the neighbor’s front porch. Just a peek, I tell myself. Nothing wrong with just a peek. I lean over the couch and look out the side window to see Mrs. Humphries handing over the pie, but I don’t see the neighbor. I begin to get annoyed with the poor housing structure and decide that maybe if I climb onto the couch and lean inward against the wall I can get a better glimpse. Just a little teeny weenie glimpse.

I hear Mrs. Humphries gasp and choke out an “oh my” and then the neighbor comes into view.

“Oh
my
—” I catch 3.5 seconds of bare chest before I slip off the top of the couch, taking out my standing floor lap. On the way down, I grab on to the window drapery, ripping it all the way off the window, finishing my exit fall by smashing into the floor, right on top of the door paint tray. Lovely.

Life just has a way of making everything so much more eventful. I lay there and debate how to get more wine into my system without moving; if I’d just had a little bit more, this whole situation might not seem so pathetic. I also might not be so upset at my brand new blinds now being used as a floor blanket.

I don’t plan on getting up any time soon, but I hear shuffling from outside and footsteps coming up my porch.

Oh crap.

“Knock knock!”

From just behind the thin screen door, I hear Mrs. Humphries. “CeCe, are you in there? We heard a big commotion? Dear, are you okay?”

I try and hold my breath so they don’t notice me on the floor and just go away. I am not in the mood to explain this one. And I have a feeling that dear old Mrs. Humphries is not alone in her rescue mission.

“CeCe, are you okay? I can see you laying there.”

Ugh, mission fail.

As I attempt to pull myself off the floor, I hear the screen door open. Mrs. Humphries welcomes herself into my house, of course, along with the neighbor. I stand up and brush the invisible dust remnants off my skirt and feel at my back for dripping paint.

I endeavor to do anything possible that does not result in looking up and making eye contact with my unwelcomed guests.

“Dear, what were you doing? Did you fall?”

“Oh yeah, oops. I was trying to water a plant and fell. I’m fine though.”

I fail to avoid eye contact at that moment and my eyes are met with ones that are the color of the ocean; they are searing through me, bringing me to a whole new level of hot. It could be due to my extreme sport of couch diving, but I have a bizarre feeling it’s more due to the hot neighbor staring at me like I could possibly be his next meal.

“Honey, I don’t see any plants, are you sure you’re okay?”
Seriously lady?
Mrs. Humphries just needs to beat it.

“Yes, Mrs. Humphries, I’m fine, really.” I know I have paint dripping from my hoodie onto the floor so I proceed to pull it off and bundle it up to stop more paint from sprinkling down.

I stand there in my tank top that of course says “Want some sugar?” across my chest. When I look back up, I seem to have lost eye contact with the neighbor because he is now making very intense eye contact with my chest.

“Well then!” I stress, breaking his rude ogling eyes.
Man, gawk much, pal?
“So, thanks for checking on me. If you both don’t mind, I have a lot of things to do tonight.”

“Oh, why yes, dear. I’m glad you are okay. You need to be more careful.”
Will do!
“Oh, and CeCe, our newest neighbor Trent was just telling me how he
loves
apple pie, that it might be his favorite.” She looks at Trent who then smiles big and they both return their eyes to me.

Someone just bury me in the backyard and put me out of my misery.

“Isn’t that lovely, CeCe? With you two being neighbors you can bake for him all the time!” 

Oh isn’t it!
Just when I am about to tell Mrs. Humphries how lovely it is—for the second time today—I hear the sexiest voice I’ve ever heard come out of a human. Sexy as in, I think my lady parts just jumped and jolted my whole body closer to him.

Man, who am I today?!

“So,” he starts, displaying the most devilish smirk. “If I ever need my fill of some
sugar,
this is the place to come then?”

Yep, that was asked. He totally just went there. I’m not even sure if he is talking to me or my chest. If I wasn’t turning all shades of embarrassment right now, I think I would have the will-power to smack that smirk right off his attractive face.

“Or you can always come next door to my house if you need anything.” He shifts his focus to my window to show us that we can get a nice view of his house. He lifts his chin toward the exact spot I was looking out of and continues, “You know, right there. You can see it perfectly. I’m sure I have a few things you can
fill
up on,” he finishes and winks at me.

Oh. My. God.

He did
not
just say that to me. I can’t tell if he’s flirting with me or he’s totally messing with me, but both intentions seem to set me on fire as well as piss me off. He knows he just silently called me out, too; he sees the scowl I’m sporting.

“I actually don’t have much sugar to share, so you probably shouldn’t depend on finding any over here, like
ever
,” I retort.

That bastard just grins. “Oh, I don’t know about that. As far as I can see you have a great amount of sugar to share.”

Oh no he
didn’t!
I stare at him, my lips parted and my jaw open, gaping.

“You did not just go there,” I say, shocked at his boldness.

Mrs. Humphries finally steps in, breaking our innuendo battle. “Where did he go, dear? You two lost me.”

“Oh nothing, Mrs. Humphries. Seems that CeCe over here may be a bit winded from her fall. Maybe we should let her be. Why don’t you come back to my house and share this delicious pie you so kindly brought for me?”

That, of course, causes her to blush like a schoolgirl. “Oh, why yes,” she says, batting her eyelashes and fawning over his every word. What a traitor she is. She turns to the door and begins to exit, holding the screen door open for Trent.

“If you ever need to borrow anything, feel free to stop by,” he says—winks at me again, if you can believe that—and walks out.

I stand there well after the screen door slams shut, gaping at where they just stood a moment ago.
Feel free to stop by…
Was he just taunting me?! Do I look like I need to
stop by
?

I might need a good ruffle under the covers with a hot steamy man, but I’m pretty sure I am not screaming it. And his shots at my chest and sugar…and...and visions of him touching my chest…and squeezing, and sucking, and…

Oh my God, I need to get laid, and I’m pretty sure the closest thing to it is waiting for me in my nightstand. I decide at that moment that wine is second in importance. I need to take a detour to my bedroom and rid this strange feeling that’s vibrating through my body—as well as the dirty, unwanted thoughts about my new neighbor.