Page 20 of Yes No Maybe

Dick-thoughts aside, shelistenedto me.

She returns to her backyard and retrieves another fallen branch—bigger than the previous one. She grits her teeth as she pulls it through the gap, like a stupidly cute puppy playing tug-of-war. Outside my corner window, she loses her grip and falls on her ass. She pops up quickly, glancing around to make sure no one saw. I duck from view, laughing.

Maybe I should help her. Or, at least, stop watching her. But it’s too amusing. Hell, watching that leaf on her back thigh is enough to keep me entertained.

But I don’t have time.

Craving a drink, I consider my shit-gift. I knew she wouldn’t want whiskey, but I didn’t want to welcome her despite Rose and Vernon’s insistence.

But after 3,327 words, I can’t exactly hate her either.

When she vanishes into her backyard again, I grab an expensive chardonnay from my wine rack, scribble out a sticky note—More your style, princess?—and leave it at her front door.

Conscience cleared.

Then, with the relief and joy of someone being rescued from a long-ass stay on a deserted island, I go back to writing.

Seven

Jack

Myno-namecharacterendsup in a city park and takes solace in moonlight and grass underfoot, if only to avoid thinking about the shadows lurking in the woods—

A loud chime yanks me from the scene. I glance at my phone,motion at the front door, and see Rowan. She takes one step closer to the doorbell, doesn’t ring it, and then takes a step back, reconsidering.

Time has gotten away from me—it’s nearly dark. I’m at 6,277 words.

Tina Turner’s “Better Be Good to Me” blares from the speakers—my badass Cinderella playlist—but it’s interrupted as the chime alerts me again.Motion at the front door, but still, no doorbell.

I leave my desk.

She jumps when the door swings open.

“Um, s-sorry. I didn’t ring the bell yet.”

“I know, Miss Marple.” I point to the Ring camera beside us. Then, I pause the music via a remote in my pocket. “I decided for you. What’s up?”

Her brow pinches like she’s second-guessing her visit. “Thanks for the wine. Itismore my style… though I could’ve done without theprincessremark.”

Ialmostsmile. “You’re welcome. Anything else?”

She’s cleaned up since her experiment with yard work. Shorts show off her long legs—leafless—and a soft teal tank brings out the blue in her eyes. Her hair is down and wavy. She’s not bothering to pull off Cleopatra tonight. Nor is she wearing make-up, but a soft shimmer on her lips makes me think she went for lip gloss before coming over here. Is she taking Mira's words to heart about the hottie next door? Would I actually be down for that?

No. Off-limits.I reach for the pencil tucked in my ear and braid it through my fingers.

“You’re writing—I get it. Rose sent aDo-Not-Disturbtext alert to the whole neighborhood, which feels slightly ridiculous, but… I saw you in there, working. I mean, I didn’t intend to.” She motions to the narrow path between our houses. “Couldn’t help it. I’ve always been fascinated with how authors create their stories. You were antsy, pacing the room.Think. Type. Think. Type.” She looks amused before her pale cheeks turn pink. “Um, sorry. I’mreallynot a Miss Marple. And I don’t want to hold you up. It’s just… we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. You didn’t want a new neighbor, but I’m here. And you’re…you.Can we just get over each other and—”

“Fine. Whatever. Fine.” My words spurt out only because I need to end this as soon as possible. Inspiration’s quickly turning into distraction. And not at all in the way I expect.

“Fine?”

“Yes, fine. Is that all?”

“No, actually. I want the paperwork on the tree, if it’s not too much trouble.”

I groan. “Any other time, yes. Not now. I’m busy.”

Her shoulders sink a fraction, just like they did with the trust-fund asshole and the mere mention of her bad ex earlier. But she straightens. “Are you this rude to your mother?”

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