Page 1 of Handy

Chapter 1

LEDGER

The alarm on myphone plays distantly, probably muffled somewhere under my comforter, down the hall in my bedroom. I don’t know why I haven’t deleted this particular alarm at this point. This is the third time this week that I was already up by the time it went off, hurrying through the house, leaving a trail of coffee behind me as it sloshes over the edges of my favorite chipped mug. My little buddy, Trash Panda—TP for short—snuffles and chirps as she happily follows along behind me, licking up the spill.

When you have an incentive like this, there’s no need for alarms. Just like you don’t have to tell a kid to wake up early on Christmas morning. And this is so much better than any mountain bike or BB gun tucked under the Christmas tree. The best part is that it’s like clockwork every morning. Every time I start cursing myself for using the money my grandpa left me to buy this money pit of a fixer-upper, a new day dawns and my favorite view turns my attitude right the hell around.

I skid to a halt, my sock catching on an exposed nail in the floor and another tidal wave of coffee sloshing over the edge of my mug. I’m all smiles though as I push back the curtains and wait. Maybe I’ll try going out there again this morning. Last time I did it backfired, but I’m nothing if not persistent. Pathologically so if you listen to my mother… and my friends… and that one therapist I saw for a little while. Socially, that is, not for therapy, although some people have suggested that it wouldn’t be the worst idea.

If having a teeny, tiny, mildly obsessive crush on my neighbor means I need therapy, well then bust out the straitjacket because my ass must be unhinged.

“Here he comes,” I gasp, pressing myself partially up against the window to get a better look while TP chases her favorite red ball around the floor. Girlfriend needs to get her priorities straight if you ask me.

The sliding door to the back porch of the house directly behind me opens and I hold my breath, my heart hammering with excitement. You’d think that after weeks of practically licking my window every morning, some of the thrill would have worn off, but I swear on Dolly Parton’s iconic cleavage that I’m only getting more worked up with each glorious sighting.

I make a strangled sound in my throat as he finally steps out, his hair sticking up in all directions, a sleepy scowl etched deeply into his face. His bushy eyebrows are low and scrunched together and he’s frowning down into his coffee mug like it did something to personally offend him. Just like every single morning over the past few weeks, he stands there blinking at the rising sun, dressed in nothing but a pair of low slung black-and-white checkered pajama pants. His hairy chest and slightly rounded belly are on glorious display as he raises his coffee mug to his lips, completely oblivious to my shameless drooling.

“Should I go for it?” I ask out loud, even though I already know TP doesn’t care about any of this. The blissfully uncomplicated life of raccoons; you have to envy it.

“I’m going for it.” I take a sip of my coffee to fortify my nerves and push myself away from the window. “Wish me luck.”

TP bares her teeth at me in her version of a smile and holds out her ball. I take it and roll it, aiming it under the couch to give her a challenge, and she bounds after it while I slip out the back door to shoot my shot.

It’s already warm and humid out and there’s a cacophony of different bird songs. I quickly pick out the trill of a wood thrush, the coo of a mourning dove, and the distinctyank-yankof a red-breasted nuthatch. I do my best to appear casual, like I just happen to be enjoying coffee on my deck this morning too and not like I’m desperately hoping to get my hot, scowly neighbor to acknowledge my existence. That’s not totally fair. He has acknowledged me. The last time I tried to talk to him he grunted and then went back inside. Not sure I’m going to count that in the win column though.

I take another sip of my coffee and risk a glance in his direction.Oh my god, he’s looking. Ahhhhhh. Holy Shit. Okay, stay calm. Stay fucking calm.There’s not much space between our backyards. We’re close enough that I can see the forest-green color of his irises and smell the hazelnut flavoring of his coffee or creamer. He raises his free hand and a thrill jolts through me, making my knees wobble and my stomach erupt with butterflies. Without even a second’s pause, I smile wider and lift my hand to wave back enthusiastically.

Except,shit, he isn’t waving at all. The furrow between his eyebrows deepens and he drags his hand through his unruly hair.Nooooooo. Okay, I can recover from this. Commit! It’s the only way forward.

“Morning,” I call out cheerfully.

He grunts and lifts his coffee to his lips to take a sip. He doesn’t immediately turn around to go back inside like he did the last time, which means I’m still in the game. I just have to stick the landing.

“I’m Ledger. I moved in a little over a month ago.” I point over my shoulder at my house like an overeager dumbass. The guy knows where I live, he’s seen me out here more than once.Get it together, Ledge. He still hasn’t said anything—not his name, not another grunt, nothing. Oh no, I can feel Awkward Rambling Modeactivating. There’s no stopping it. It’s like vomit rising in my throat and there’s nothing to do except open my mouth and let it all out.

“If you can believe it, it’s a bigger mess on the inside than the outside. My eyes were definitely bigger than my tool belt. Then again, that’s not hard because I’m not all that handy. I can patch drywall and put together Ikea furniture, but outside of that I’m a bit hopeless. So if you know any construction workers willing to work for cheap, send them my way.”

The muscle in his cheek twitches. Is he annoyed or is that his version of a smile? I need to knoooooow. I bounce a little on my toes and make a move to stuff my free hand into my pocket, only to realize I’m not wearing any pants. Lord help me, I am seriously standing here rambling like a moron in my underwear. Are they respectable, solid-colored boxers or briefs? Of course not. Nope, they’re the pair my bestie got me for Christmas with a woodpecker right over my dick bulge and the words “nice pecker” in big, bold letters.

And my hot neighbor is now staring right at them. Is there any amount of cheekiness that will overcome this? Doubtful. I can’t read a damn thing in his expression either. Is he charmed? Amused? Wondering what kind of total weirdo moved in right behind him? I’m guessing it’s that last one.

“I’m a park ranger and a major bird nerd,” I explain with a hoarse chuckle. His expression doesn’t waver. “And now I’m going to go back inside and let you enjoy your coffee in peace. Have a good morning…”

“Griff.”

He speaks! His voice is everything I hoped it would be—deep and rich and smooth. I will not embarrass myself further by doing any kind of happy dance.Don’t do it. Don’t. Ah, okay, one tiny wiggle.

“Have a good morning,Griff,” I repeat, smiling wider again and backing towards my door.

As soon as I’m back inside and safely out of his sight, I scoop TP up and do the happy dance I mostly resisted while outside. I have his name. That one isdefinitelygoing in the win column.

GRIFF

What the hell even was that? My neighbor—Ledger, apparently—is gone before I have the chance to process half of his speedy, over-excited rambling. It should be illegal to have that much energy before eight in the morning… or any other time of the day for that matter. He looked young. Maybe the endless slog of time hasn’t managed to break his spirit or grind down his joints yet. Lucky bastard. If that’s the case, he wasdefinitelytoo young for me to have stared so long at his… woodpecker.

I grunt and absently palm my dick through my pajama pants, taking another sip of my coffee and closing my eyes to get lost in the quiet of the morning for a few more minutes. Well, not exactlyquietwith all the racket the birds are making this morning, but quiet enough.

I need all the peace I can get before I face the chaos of my workday. Not just chaos, chummy, chatty,cheerfulchaos. Is that enough c-words for the noisy bears I work for? Guys who seemfucking determined to pull me out of my shell and make me family, or something equally obnoxious and overly saccharine.

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