Page 3 of Beneath Southern Stars

This is the type of home you’d find in one of the private communities surrounding a lake outside of Nashville. For this small town, it seems a little out of place. None of the other homes I saw during our drive had the same opulence. Although, with the boom of short-term rentals it really isn’t too far-fetched.

Putting the gear shift in park, I kill the engine and take a deep breath. My instinct is to slide a ballcap on my head and hope along with the sunglasses I’m wearing that my appearance is disguised enough. Though I keep Gordon’s assurance in the forefront of my mind as I look around the grounds. I don’t see anyone lurking, so I leave the cap on the passenger seat and slip out of the driver’s seat.

Something I’ve learned about living in the south is that no matter how much you think you aren’t affected by the humidity, it can still be stifling. My feet hit the ground and my skin tingles from the change in temperature. Making quick work of it, I help Pepper out of her seat and grip her hand as we venture toward the side door. Releasing her hand, I tap the note app on my phone and punch the code into the door’s keypad. Behind me, a string of giggles flow from my daughter’s lips. It isn’t quiet, like in the car. This is the sound I’ve missed. Pure joy.

Turning on my heel, I look down to see her with a squirming little dog in her arms. That sad stuffed bunny has been discarded like an afterthought. A furry little guy is licking her face and waggling his behind like she’s the greatest thing to ever walk in his path. A huge smile on Pepper’s face brings one to my own. I’ll ignore the way my nose burns and a lump forms in my throat. It’s a sweet moment. Until a woman’s shouting breaks through.

“Steve!! Stop kissing the neighbors!”

Chapter Two

Laney

Handson my waist and my feet firmly planted, I take a long breath in through my nose and exhale slowly. It’s a struggle, but I think I manage to not scare the man and child before me. At least I know the child isn’t horrified at my lack of cardio and inability to breathe properly. She’s too consumed with my rotten dog and his love for face kisses. Once my breathing is regulated, I look at the curly-haired little girl, her nose scrunched as Steve knocks her glasses askew. Been there, kid. I feel your pain.

When my eyes flick to the man standing with his hand on the door handle, I quirk my head and try to figure out what his expression means. Shock that a woman in her mid-twenties almost died from a light trot across the lawn? No. It’s a look less of surprise and more of horror. Or is it fear? Weird.

Oh no, I hope this family isn’t awful. Not that I wish for the groups of partiers that invaded my safe place over the summer but at least they were friendly. This man looks like he’s in his own battle of fight or flight. Something tells me he’s leaning toward flight. Until he drops his chin to his chest and adjusts his sunglasses. It is pretty bright out here but the polite thing to do would be to lift those shades off his face and give me a little eye contact.

Shrugging off his weirdness, I turn my attention to the little girl. Her curly hair sways from side to side as she snuggles Steve into her chest, the tight grip on his neck causing me to grimace. So long as he doesn’t mind, I guess it’s fine. With a smile that most southern women possess, I dig deep for my manners and turn back to the man who has now turned so he’s angled toward the house.

“I’m sorry for Steve’s behavior. He’s normally more civilized but I think when he sees someone closer to his size, he can’t control himself.” My chuckle is not reciprocated. Instead, the stranger grunts and turns his back on me completely before turning the doorknob. I put my hand on his arm—a very muscley arm if anyone was curious—to stop him. He freezes, and either shivers or shrugs off my touch, I’m not sure which but it’s something, that’s for sure.

“I wouldn’t do that unless you want Steve to get the zoomies. He loves a good hardwood floor but hasn’t quite learned not everyone thinks his antics are adorable.”

He removes his hand with the door slightly open and looks down at his daughter. Her giggles have ceased and she’s staring up at him, her eyes wide and a slight smile on her face. Like his own kryptonite, the aloofness melts away as he pushes his sunglasses to rest on his head and looks at her adoringly. A little bit of envy flashes through my mind. I was a little older than this girl when my parents died but I remember those looks from my daddy. He had me convinced I hung the moon. I don’t need to see this man’s eyes from behind his sunglasses to know he’s wearing the same look.

Squatting down, I run my hand down Steve’s back and smile at the little girl. Her pink framed glasses are maybe the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. My first pair of glasses was not nearly as trendy or fashionable. Boring tortoiseshell has been my standard all of my life. Sure, my current frames have a littlesparkle but only if you are up close. Which nobody ever is. Small town life and all that.

“Steve likes you. I hope you didn’t mind his kisses.” She shakes her head, that mop of curls in motion once again. “My name is Laney, and I live right there,” I say as I point to my house. Her gaze follows and she looks back at me. Okay, not much of a talker. I can respect that. “If you ever want to play with Steve, just let me know. He’d love someone to watch his zoomies.”

“Zoomies?”

I jump at the sound and stand quickly. Muscley stranger is staring at me, his brows furrowed and head tilted. Oh right. Not everyone has a little dynamo like Steve.

“Yep, zoomies. You’d think with those little legs he couldn’t move as quickly as he does but this guy,” I say thumbing over my shoulder like Steve has grown and is somewhere in the yard, “he loves a good cardio run around the house. Hence, the name zoomies. He zooms.”

I’m not sure what kind of response I’m expecting but his grunt with a side of snort laugh wasn’t it. His behavior is strange but I have to remind myself that not everyone is talkative with strangers. At least the little girl seems to be friendlier. Maybe she got that from her mom.

Shaking off the awkwardness, I put that smile back on my face and greet him. “Hi there. I’m Laney Whitfield.” I extend my hand but before he reciprocates, Steve scrambles off his new friend’s lap and squeezes through the small opening of the door.

“Oh crud. Here we go with the zoomies.”

A look of horror on the man’s face confirms he is not pleased with this change of events. I can’t say I blame him. Motioning toward the door I ask, “Uh, do you mind if I go in and get him?”

The way his eyes blink like a dragonfly’s wings, I would think he’s been shocked silent if he’d said anything more than a wordup to this point. He steps aside and I move to the door, the younger of the new arrivals hot on my heels.

As expected, Steve is on a mission rushing from room to room while the wind he’s created blows through his long locks. I just love this guy. A few minutes of zoomies and he’s living his best life.

After two failed attempts, I manage to scoop Steve into my arms and chastise him for being a rude neighbor. My mouth lifts to a real smile, not the fake one I had outside.

“Sorry about this. We’ll have a long discussion about boundaries when we get home. Like I said before, I’m Laney and I live next door. If you need anything, just holler. Welcome to Magnolia Grove.”

“Thanks. And, uh, good luck with the boundaries talk.”

Ah, so he does speak. Good to know. Instead of responding, I smile and squat down eye-level with the little girl. “It was nice to meet you. Next time, we’ll make sure Steve lets you in on the zoomies.”

She giggles and I make my way to the front door. Pausing, I turn to the man standing behind me and give him a little wave before stepping outside and crossing the connected lawn to my own house.

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