Page 40 of Faking it with my Off Limits Neighbor

“Well, if we’re going to get a fresh start, I don’t think bringing the past up every five minutes is helpful, do you? So, new rule. The past is off the table.”

“Completely?” he gawks at me.

“Why is that a problem?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Because I’d like to believe there was some good stuff, too.”

I can’t deny that, can I? When we were together, I was happy. Truly happy. And I guess I’m being unrealistic to imagine that we can just wipe the slate entirely clean.

“Fine,” I concede. “But this huge boulder of regret you’re carrying is completely unnecessary, Troy. What happened was a long time ago.”

“I hurt you, Charlie. How am I supposed to forgive myself for that?”

“The real question is, how are we supposed to move forward if you can’t?” I counter.

Troy drops his head and looks at his feet. I can see that this is hard for him, but that doesn’t make my point any less true. I’m taking a chance as it is. I don’t want what happened between us hanging over our heads, or the weight of his guilt might destroy any chance we have before we even begin.

I step forward and take hold of his hand. “Hey.”

He lifts his head and looks down at me.

“I want us to give this another go. Isn’t that what you want?”

“You know it is,” he replies, his voice heavy. “I just can’t turn off feeling awful about what I did, Charlie. It’s not that easy.”

“Fair enough. I understand that. Can we at least make a pact that you try? If it takes time, that’s fine. But you have to try,” I say, gazing up at him pleadingly.

His eyes soften, and he nods his head. “All right. I promise I will try.” He smiles down at me then. “I don’t deserve you.”

Playfully, I scowl and slap his arm with my free hand. “You promised.”

He chuckles then, and lifting his two hands in surrender, he says, “All right. All right. I give up.”

Hooking his finger under my chin, he bends his head and brushes the lightest of kisses across my lips. It makes my breath catch in my throat, and I gasp and melt at the same time. When he steps back, he gazes at me tenderly, swooping a lock of my hair off my face.

“I still don’t deserve you.” Grinning, he jumps back before I can whack him again.

“I swear, if you’re not careful, I’ll use some of these brand-new utensils on your head.”

“That would give a whole new meaning to head chef.” He chuckles some more.

Lightly frustrated, but seeing the funny side, I shake my head. “You’re incorrigible.”

“You like that word. That’s the second time you’ve said that to me.”

“You ever think it’s because it’s true?” I counter.

“Maybe.” He shrugs with a grin.

We spend the next half hour walking through the restaurant while Troy tells me his vision of what he wants the layout to look like. He has ideas for colors, some of which I’m not too keen on, and I say so.

“Too much navy is going to overpower the interior. A medium blue will highlight the silver of your logo and the cutlery, but so will sea green, emerald green, and turquoise. You’ll still have that classic look you’re aiming for, but your customers won’t feel like they’re dining in an abyss.”

Troy takes a long look at me, as though he’s trying to figure something out. Then he says, “I want to hire you.”

“Pardon me?” I blurt.

“I’m being serious, Charlie. I’ve been trying to do this on my own, but my expertise is in the kitchen. If I want this to be a complete success, I need someone who knows what they’re doing. Clearly, that’s you.”

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