Page 3 of Rose and the Grouch Next Door

“See that you do,” I agree, sounding more gruff than necessary. Rose gives me a soft nod, turning to leave.

Who names their male dogHoneybun, anyway?

Someone like Rose Flowers, that’s who. As if by giving him the name, she could make him that sweet. I scoff at the thought. That dog has issues.

I watch the sway of her ass as they disappear from view and let out a long breath I didn't realize I was holding. I’ve already spent more energy on this woman and her crazy dog than intended.

“She's going to be trouble." But for the life of me, I can't decide if that's a warning or a challenge.

She’s nothing like the sophisticated socialites I've spent a lifetime avoiding in New York, and that rattles me.

I head back inside my newly built home on the Mississippi Gulf. My steps echo in the quiet space and the scent of the sea and new construction linger in the air. As I enter my office, I take a moment to appreciate the pristine space, with rich wood furnishings, light airy beach decor and large windows that offer a majestic view of the gulf water. My desk is organized and clutter-free, just as I like it, a contrast to the chaos in my mind.

Sitting down in my chair, the blank page on my laptop continues to mock me as it has for days. Each beat of the blinking cursor is an incessant reminder of the state of my current novel. Non-existent.

"Damn it," I mutter, slumping into the leather chair. "This isn't working." Stories used to flow from me like a river bursting through a dam. Now, they're more like dripping water from a leaky faucet and self-doubt is creating a writer’s block I’ve never experienced before.

I keeptryingto envision the story lingering in the fog of my brain. I know it’s there, but it’s always just beyond my reach. As an acclaimed mystery thriller author with over thirty bestsellers and a movie franchise to my name, this process used to be so much easier. Now, it’s just painful.

Earlier, my pity party was interrupted when a splash from the pool shattered my solitude. Honestly, that damned dog gave me a much-needed break from my thoughts. Now, I need to get back to work and hope inspiration will strike.

Chapter Two

Rose

Twenty minutes earlier

The morning sun casts a glow over Sea Shanty Cove as I burst out of my cozy cottage, my bare feet slapping against the dew-kissed grass. "Honeybun!" I call out, my voice a blend of affection and exasperation. My mischievous boxer has become the Houdini of our small seaside town, his escapades an almost daily routine.

"Have you seen Honeybun?" I ask Mrs. Beckett, who’s tending to her roses across the street. She shakes her head, her soft, gray curls bouncing like little springs. "Sorry, dear," she replies with a sympathetic smile.

“Fiddlesticks. Thank you anyway, and good morning,” I wave to her, in a hurry to find my animal and not wanting to get stuck in a conversation with my sweet, but nosy neighbor. “Beautiful roses!”

As I round the corner of my house, my heart leaps when I realize I know all too well what the four-legged troublemaker isdoing. Apparently, he’s enjoying his morning exercise in my new neighbor’s pool.

Mother of pearl! This is gonna be bad.

Darting forward with renewed urgency, I arrive at the scene of the crime: grumpy guy’s backyard.

And there’s the runaway, in all his glory, shamelessly standing in the cool, shimmering waters of my neighbor’s pool, basking in the morning sun. The image would be adorable if it wasn't so darn incriminating.

"Good gravy, Honeybun!" I groan to myself, my hands going to my hips as I approach the gate.

I hear the deep tones of a male who I’m assuming is my neighbor and I start apologizing before I even breach the gate. The latch gives way with a click, and I barrel inside the neatly landscaped yard.

I’m trying to figure out how to maintain some semblance of authority over my naughty pet who is enjoying the cool pool water on this hot Mississippi morning and can’t help but wonder if this whole thing is some kind of cosmic payback for all the times I’ve spent laughing at funny viral dog videos instead of being productive at home or at work.

The one person I was hoping to avoid in this rescue mission was my brooding new neighbor, but Braxton Barrows is now standing in front of me as if he's come straight off a romance novel cover shoot. Some hot combination of Greek god and dirty professor due to his dark tortoiseshell glasses.

Seriously?Did he practice that intense Poseidon-like stance in the mirror every morning?

The grumpy man is standing near the pool, his pool skimmer planted at his side as if it’s Poseidon’s trident, a visible frown creasing his striking features. Dark hair whips gently in the sea breeze, framing a face that’s so chiseled and masculine, he really does look like a Greek god carved in stone. His glasses give hima hot, academic professor vibe that would make college girls everywhere drop their panties for extra credit.

His white shirt is unbuttoned, revealing toned abs, with the sleeves rolled up, showcasing veiny, bronzed forearms. Couple that with his tight khaki cotton shorts highlighting thick, muscular legs, and my mouth feels drier than all the sand on the beach.

Barnacles. This is bad.

Gulping, it seems all coherent thought has left my brain, and my greedy girly parts are in overdrive.

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