Page 2 of A Very Grumpy Thanksgiving

“You shouldn’t be doing this alone,” he says, his tone gruff.

I blink, taken aback. I’ve lived next to him for months, and this is the longest conversation we’ve ever had.

“It’s just the gutters,” I reply, trying to brush off the near-disaster.

“Yeah, and you almost fell off the roof.”

“I wasn’t on the roof!” I protest, though I know he’s right. If he hadn’t shown up, I probably would’ve been on my way to the hospital by now.

Nolan doesn’t seem convinced.

“You shouldn’t be up there alone,” he says again, his tone gruff, as if he was scolding me.

“I, um... I’m fine,” I manage, though the slight tremble in my voice probably gives me away. I wasn’t fine. I was flustered, embarrassed, and way too aware of how close he was standing.

He folds his arms over his chest, his biceps straining against the fabric of his worn-out T-shirt. “Doesn’t look like you’ve got this under control.”

I bristled a little at that. Sure, I wasn’t exactlysucceeding, but I was trying. And maybe it wasn’t going perfectly, but that didn’t mean I was helpless.

“I’ve been handling it,” I say, a bit more defensive than I intended.

His eyes flicker to the tools scattered around the yard and front porch, then back to me. “Uh-huh.”

I exhale sharply and cross my arms, trying to regain some sense of dignity. “I’m just... I’m learning as I go.”

His brow lifts, skepticism clear in his expression, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he shifts his weight and glances up at the roof. “That’s dangerous. You should hire someone.”

“I can’t,” I blurt, then immediately regret it. The last thing I wanted was to admit to him, of all people, that I was in way over my head. But there it was, out in the open.

His gaze softens slightly, though his expression remains unreadable. “You can’t, or you won’t?”

I sigh, feeling the weight of my situation settles back onto my shoulders. “I... I can’t afford it,” I admit quietly. “I spent everything on buying the house. I don’t have anything left to hire help.”

Nolan is silent for a moment, his eyes scanning my face as if he is weighing his next words carefully. When he finally speaks, his voice is a little less gruff, almost... concerned. “You can’t do this all on your own, Saffron.”

I blink, surprised he even remembers my name. We’ve had exactly two conversations before this, both of them awkward, and he’d always seemed more interested in keeping to himself than in getting to know me.

“I’ll figure it out,” I mumble, not meeting his gaze. I had to. I don’t have a choice.

But the truth is, I was starting to realize I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. The house needs way more work than I’d anticipated, and I was only one person with very little DIY experience. The roof alone is a nightmare, not to mention the plumbing, the electrical issues, and the peeling paint. I’m overwhelmed, and no amount of internet tutorials is going to fix that.

Nolan shifts again, and I can feel his eyes on me, but I don’t dare look up. It’s bad enough that I’d nearly fallen off the roof in front of him. I don’t need him seeing the cracks in my carefully built facade too.

“If you need help,” he says after a long pause, “you should ask.”

I blink, surprised by the offer. He doesn’t strike me as the helpful type, at least not with how standoffish he’s been since moving in. And yet, here he is, catching me before I fall and offering... what, exactly?

For a moment, neither of us says anything. The wind rustles the leaves in the trees, and I can hear the faint hum of traffic from the road in the distance. I expect Nolan to walk away, to go back to whatever it is he does all day in his house. But instead, he surprises me.

“Thanks, but I’m okay,” I say quickly, even though I know it’s a lie.

He clears his throat, giving me a long, measured look before nodding once. “Suit yourself.”

With that, he turns and walks back to his side of the yard, leaving me standing there, heart pounding, wondering if I’ve just made a huge mistake.

I watch him go, biting my lip as I imagine what it would be like if he were the hero in one of my books. The brooding, handsome neighbor, swooping in to save the day, and me—the damsel in distress, swept off her feet. But this isn’t a story. It’s real life. And in real life, grumpy neighbors don’t just offer to fix your roof and sweep you off your feet.

Right?

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