Page 182 of Secret Shifters Next Door

“What brought you to town?” he asked as I started bringing bags inside.

“Just a little getaway. I’ll only be here two more weeks.”

“Only two weeks? How come?”

“Um…well, I was only supposed to be in town for a month, and I’ve been here two weeks already. So, yeah. Gone in two weeks.” I wasn’t sure why he was so intrigued.

From the corner of my eye, I saw him glance back to his apartment. He then mumbled under his breath what sounded like, “probably for the best.”

I had no idea what that was supposed to mean. I would have dwelled on it, and maybe obsessed over what the heck he was talking about, but I was exhausted. The amount of interaction I’d had today was enough to last me a month. My brain was overloaded, and I desperately wanted some quiet to recharge.

The fact that the guy talking to me looked like he’d walked off the pages of a Harlequin romance novel didn’t help. Not only was I mentally exhausted, but I was also nervous, anxious, and excited in his presence. My palms were sweaty, and it was all I could do not to drop another bag as I brought the last one inside.

“Can I ask your?—”

“Thanks for helping me. Have a good day,” I blurted, then slammed the door in his face. My eyes went wide as I realized how rude I’d been. I let out an embarrassed sigh and locked the door.

My heart was still beating heavily in my chest while I put my groceries away. It wasn’t like I was never around men. I wasn’t a nun or a total shut-in, and I’d even tried a bit of dating. By dating, I mean matching with some guys on a dating app and having a cup of coffee. Those guys all inevitably ghosted me once they realized how awkward and weird I was. At least I was self-aware. I knew I was awkward and weird. It would have been way worse had I not known that about myself.

Not a single one of those guys had been even half as hot as my new neighbor. What was his name? Had he told me? He did, I was sure of it. Mitchell? Mike? Miles? I thought it was Miles. I liked that name. Not that I’d ever get the chance to use it in conversation. I’d made an absolute fool out of myself, and I planned on staying out of his way for the next two weeks. There was no reason to relive my idiocy every time he laid eyes on me. I blew out a breath. Well, at least my eggs didn’t break.

Even though I’d decided to stay away from the sexy neighbor, my mind constantly harked back to him the rest of the afternoon. After spending an hour trying to read a book, I finally threw it aside and groaned internally. Why couldn’t I be normal? It was during times like this that I wished I had some true girlfriends. Someone to talk to. Tiffany didn’t count since I paid her. She was a business associate, not a friend. I couldn’t call herand ask how to talk to a guy. Or, God forbid, how to flirt with one.

Growing up in shitty foster care had left me with a lack of social skills that made the simplest things, like making friends, difficult. I’d picked up a few friends over the years, but the friendships never lasted long. I was too odd; we had nothing in common; I was too antisocial.

I took a deep breath and went to the kitchen. The self-destructive thoughts had to stop. One way I’d discovered to get my mind off bad things was to bake. I’d made sure to get all the ingredients I’d need should baking therapy be needed. It actually helped. I had a batch of chocolate chip cookies in the oven in less than thirty minutes.

Almost as soon as I closed the oven, ideas flooded my mind. In fact, I knew exactly what I wanted to do with my manuscript. The next three or four chapters sprung, almost fully formed, into my head. Before the mental flashes of genius could disappear, I snatched up my laptop and flopped onto the couch. My fingers flew across the keyboard. Usually, I would write a couple hundred words, stare into space for a minute, write a hundred more, and repeat. Now, it was like my hands were possessed, and my brain had been jolted by adrenaline. By the time the buzzer went off for the cookies, I’d written almost three thousand words. I’d knocked out my usual daily word count goal in less than twenty minutes.

I pulled the cookies from the oven and stared at them in wonder. Where had that come from? My writer’s block had been plaguing me for over a month before I decided to come to Lilly Valley. What I’d written had been pretty good, if I did say so myself. Why now?

Slowly, like rising floodwaters, a thought dawned on me. First angling my eyes toward the door, then letting my head follow, I stared at the thick wood. The door was closed, but in mymind, I could see my neighbor’s apartment across the hall. Was he my…muse? The word was trite and silly, but I couldn’t think of another synonym that worked as well.

Even as I shooed the thought away, images of him flashed through my mind––his tall, muscular frame, his deep masculine voice, how he looked at me. My mind’s eye started undressing him before I could stop it. I gently shook my head to clear those thoughts before they went too far.

What was wrong with me? Did I need to buy a vibrator or something? Had I reverted to a horny seventeen-year-old? I needed to get my head back in the real world. Even if I was the type of person to ask a guy out, why would I? I would be leaving in a couple weeks anyway.

I busied my mind by counting the cookies as I moved them to a cooling rack. I frowned at the end. I’d made over four dozen of the damned things. In my desire to zone out and bake, it looked like I’d doubled the recipe. There was no way I could eat all these. Years of being damn-near starved by awful foster parents had filled me with a deep aversion to wasting food. I chewed at my lip as an idea sprouted to life.

I grabbed a plastic container from the cupboard—one of my few non-food purchases—and placed twelve cookies into it. Then, like it had a mind of its own, my hand pulled the pad of sticky notes off the counter and scribbled a note, then stuck it on the lid. I scooped up the container, walked out the door, and across the hall to Miles’s door before I could let doubt filter in. I stopped to take a deep, steadying breath, then put the plastic tub down on the floor. I shoved my finger into his doorbell for one solid second before spinning on my heel and damned-near sprinting back into my apartment.

I clicked the door closed and pressed my eye to my peephole. After a few more seconds, Miles opened the door and looked left and right before tilting his eyes down and seeing the tub. I heldmy breath as he read the note. All it said wasEnjoy,but I still thought it said too much. He looked up from the note, and even though there was no way he could see me through my peephole, he looked right at the lens. I stifled a squeal as he locked his eyes on my door. It was like we were staring at each other. I froze in fear. If he called out, I would die. Not a metaphor, no. I would fall over dead. My heart exploded in terror and embarrassment.

Thankfully, he just grinned and stepped back into his apartment. My heart was jackhammering. I’d never done anything like that in my life. It may have been the single most ballsy thing I’d ever done. It was terrifying. Terrifying and exciting. God, I needed to go to bed to calm the blood racing through my veins. The clock said it was past ten—way past my usual bedtime.

The next morning, I rolled over and had a moment of panic as the memory of what I’d done the night before came flooding back. I pressed a hand to my mouth and glanced at my bedroom door. Beyond that threshold was the front door. Through that portal was the hallway where I’d left cookies for the neighbor. It really had happened.

Desperate to know if he’d done anything in return, I got out of bed and grabbed my robe. I threw it around myself as I went to my door. Outside, the hallway looked the same. Once I opened the door, I saw what was on my welcome mat. It was my empty cookie tub, with a new note placed on top. I picked it up and read what it said:

Cookies were great.Thanks. It was nice meeting you - Miles

FOUR

MILES

She was beautiful. The most gorgeous woman I’d ever seen in my life. I was fucked. From the moment I saw those big blue eyes, I’d known I was screwed. My wolf’s growl had almost escaped my throat when our fingers touched as I handed her the bag. It was less than a second of contact, but it had been enough to send the wolf into a frenzy.

After she’d slammed her door in my face, I’d gone into my apartment and did my best to relax. That hadn’t gone well since all I could do was think about her. I’d spent thirty minutes sitting at my kitchen table staring into space, her face flashing across my mind. She was young. At least ten years younger than I was. Probably too young for me in a normal situation—this situation was preordained by a magical curse, though.

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