Page 24 of Faking it with my Off Limits Neighbor

“Why not?”

“Because there’s nothing to talk about. Now, come on. We’ve got groceries to buy.” I gesture for him to get up off his chair. “Let’s go.”

Though he raises his eyebrows at me mockingly, he doesn’t continue, and I’m more relieved than I care to admit.

It’s not just the fact that I know Dad never really liked Troy. It’s far more than that. Since inviting him in for coffee, I’ve been thinking more about my new next-door neighbor. When he first arrived, I swore I wouldn’t let myself get involved, but I think it’s a little late for that.

While it’s been ten years, we’re not that different from before, except that we’ve both grown up. Troy has made great leaps and bounds in his life, and he is clearly far more mature than I ever imagined he’d be. I’ve made my own life too, but as far as personalities are concerned, we’re pretty much the same.

And I know that all the things he’s been doing are his attempts to make up for hurting me. It’s not rocket science. But I’ve forgotten that pain now. Sure, when I think about it, I’m reminded of it, and I know it existed, but I don’t carry it with me. I’ve never held a grudge. I think I was too sad to hate him.

When he moved back to Cherryville, I was determined to keep my distance, but while my head is still fully on board with that idea, my heart has jumped ship and started freestyling across unknown waters. The way he’s being overly kind and helpful is hardly helping.

When we get to the store, Dad does his usual. He leaves me to grab the groceries while he stands talking to Mr. Shore. They’re about the same age, though I think Mr. Shore has a few years on Dad. Ironically, but not surprisingly, Dad is the one who looks older.

My basket is full, and I’m just about to round the corner of an aisle and head toward the checkout counter when I stop in my tracks.

“Hello, Mr. Woods,” Troy’s voice travels to my ears.

Seriously! Of all the days Troy could’ve come into the store, it had to be now? This cannot be happening.

Believe it. It’s happening.

“I heard you were back in town,” Dad growls. His tone has done a swift one-eighty from the amicable way he was speaking to Mr. Shore not a moment before. I can just imagine the look on his face, too. His upper lip will be curled, and he’ll be baring his teeth like some rabid dog.

“How are you?” Troy says. His tone is polite, but I can hear the slightest strain.

“Fit as a fiddle,” Dad nearly spits.

“That’s good to hear.”

I can feel the tension level of the grocery store rising. It’s like a balloon being blown up, bigger and bigger. At any minute, it’s going to explode, and here I am, a grown woman, cowering behind the Choco-Pops trying to avoid the fallout.

I peek around the cereal just as Troy is bidding my father farewell. “Well, I’ve got to be going. Nice to see you again.”

“Sure,” Dad says back with a scowl.

Even then, I don’t move. Partly because I want to make certain the coast is completely clear, even though I know Troy is now wandering about the grocery store. And partly because I can already feel the heat in my face. It’s a mixture of embarrassment and anger.

My father has no right to be mad at Troy after all this time. He never liked him, and he was delighted when Troy left. But Dad got his wish all those years ago. He doesn’t own this town, and Troy has every right to return. He was raised here, for heaven’s sake.

When I was speaking to Troy the other day, I told him things were better between me and Dad. And they are. But there are still parts of Dad that haven't changed. Including his hotheaded arrogance.

“What are you doing?” Troy whispers in my ear.

I jump so far out of my skin that I fall back into the shelf behind me, knocking several boxes of cereal onto the floor.

“Oh, my Lord!” My free hand slams to my chest and I glare up at him. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

Troy is grinning down at me. I feel my face go even redder than it was before; to avoid looking at him, I drop the basket to the floor and crouch to pick up the cereal boxes I just knocked off the shelf. Troy crouches beside me and helps.

“So, why are you sneaking about Mr. Shore’s store?” he says, still whispering and grinning.

“I am not sneaking about Mr. Shore’s store,” I hiss back, lying through my teeth.

He raises his eyebrows at me. “Right,” he says in that knowing tone. “I see now. It’s totally normal to be hiding behind sugar-filled cereal.”

I don’t know why, but I don’t want him to know that I witnessed his interaction with my father—so, like an idiot, I flounder some more. “I was… I was looking at… the ingredients,” I say unconvincingly, stabbing a finger at the back of the box in my hand.

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