Page 11 of Daddy Next Door

"Actually, yes." He followed me, taking my mug and placing it in the sink alongside his. "I have a peace lily in my office that needs specific care. Would you mind watering it while I'm gone?"

"Sure, no problem."

"Let me show you exactly what it needs." He gestured for me to follow him down the hallway to his home office.

The standing desk dominated one side of the room, his laptop open on it. The peace lily sat on a small table near the window, looking lush and healthy. On his desk lay a notepad I hadn't noticed during the desk assembly—cream-colored with a logo in the corner.

I froze, staring at it. A small teddy bear wearing glasses, identical to ProtectorE's profile picture on LittlesOnline. My pulse thundered in my ears.

ProtectorE hadn’t been online at all since he’d said he couldn’t talk to me about Ethan.

"The plant needs exactly one cup of water, every other day," Ethan was saying, seemingly unaware of my reaction. "No more, no less. I've got a measuring cup here specifically for it."

I nodded automatically, still fixated on the notepad. Could it be coincidence? Maybe it was a common logo for play therapists. But the styling was so specific, so identical to the one I'd seen countless times during my online chats.

"Lily? Is that clear?" Ethan's voice pulled me back to the moment.

"Yes, sorry. One cup, every other day." I dragged my eyes away from the notepad. "I can handle that."

He smiled, relieved. "Perfect. I've written the instructions down too, just in case." He picked up the very notepad I'd been staring at and jotted down the watering schedule, then tore off the page and handed it to me.

I took it carefully, as if the paper might burn my fingers. The teddy bear logo was clearly visible in the corner.

"There's one more thing," he said, his tone shifting slightly. "The room at the end of the hall—that's private. I'd appreciate it if you didn't go in there."

My curiosity immediately piqued. "Of course. I wouldn't snoop."

"I didn't think you would," he assured me. "It's just . . . personal items, not fully unpacked yet. Bit of a mess." His explanation sounded reasonable enough, but there was a careful quality to his voice I hadn't heard before.

"Your house, your rules," I said lightly. "I'll just come in, water the plant, and make sure everything's in order."

"I appreciate it more than you know." His smile seemed to hold something unspoken, something that made my skin prickle with awareness.

Chapter 3

Myeyesflickedtothe clock again—the fifth time in twenty minutes. Ethan had been gone exactly thirty-four hours, and I had promised to water his peace lily today. Such a simple favor for a neighbor, yet my stomach fluttered like I was planning a heist instead of plant care.

"It's just a plant," I muttered, closing my laptop with a definitive click. "Just a stupid plant in a stupid gorgeous house owned by a stupid gorgeous man."

I stretched, my back cracking after six straight hours at my desk. The responsibility weighed on me more than it should. It wasn't the plant—it was the trust. Ethan Hayes, who kept his house as meticulously ordered as his salt-and-pepper stubble, had trusted me with his key.

Me, the woman who—unbeknownst to him—once killed a cactus.

I stood up and walked to my bedroom, staring at my closet. What does one wear to water a plant? Something practical, obviously. But also, what if someone saw me entering Ethan's house?

Why was I overthinking this so much?

I pulled out a pair of well-fitted jeans and a light blue top that brought out my eyes.

Outside, the neighborhood was quiet. A couple of kids rode bikes at the far end of the street, and someone was mowing their lawn two houses down. Normal Sunday afternoon activities. No one would think twice about me walking next door.

The key was exactly where he said it would be, under the loose brick. My fingers trembled slightly as I retrieved it.

"Just water the plant and leave," I reminded myself, slipping the key into the lock. The door swung open with a soft click.

The house was quiet in a way that felt alive, as if it was holding its breath, waiting for its owner to return. Ethan's scent lingered in the air—subtle cologne with notes of cedar and something else I couldn't quite identify. Clean, masculine, comforting.

I stepped inside, measuring cup clutched in my hand. The kitchen gleamed with unused appliances, everything in its place. I completely filled the huge measuring cup, ready to do my duty.

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