Page 34 of Home Field Advantage
Movement draws my eyes to my neighbor’s deck. At first, she’s just a shape in the dim light—a silhouette moving with slow, deliberate grace. I almost look away until the glow from the porch light brushes over her hair. Strawberry blonde hair, nearly copper in the low light, spills over her shoulders as she moves through a slow stretch.
Everything in me stills.
Poppy?
The realization slams into me. She’s facing away from me, but I recognize the shape of her body. It’s been permanently ingrained in my mind since our first meeting.
The woman I haven’t been able to shake from my thoughts, the one whose laugh has haunted me every time my head hits the pillow, is my neighbor?
How did I not know this?
How is this the first time I’m seeing her?
Her back is to me, lost in the kind of concentration that makes it clear she has no idea she’s being watched. She shifts into another stretch, arms lifting, spine curving, and my chest tightens with the ease of her movements. It’s a sharp contrast to how she carried herself at the bar. This is less playful and more peaceful. You can tell just by watching her that this is her true self. The one that doesn’t come out when there’s music, people around, and alcohol involved.
She said this was something that makes her happy, and it shows.
I should look away.
I should go inside and give her privacy.
The logical part of my brain tells me to shout “good morning” across the lawn, joke about small worlds, or acknowledge this twist of fate.
But I don’t.
Instead, I stay quiet, standing there with my coffee, facing toward her house and watching her.
Then, she spreads her legs and bends down until I can see her face through her legs.
I freeze with my mug halfway to my lips as her gaze lands on me instantly. Her lips part slightly as the flicker of recognition hits when her body snaps up, and she sucks in a sharp breath.
She had no idea either.
The air between our homes stretches tight, charged with something I don’t quite understand. Both of us stand there, still and staring. Words sit in my throat, thick and useless.
Say something, dammit.
Instead, I smile over the brim of my coffee mug.
But just as quickly as she found me, she breaks the stare, straightening her spine and stepping inside. The sliding door closes behind her, and I exhale, running my hand through my hair.
So, Poppy is my neighbor, huh?
“Daddy, I’m up!” The soft voice coming from inside, and the creak of the floorboards, remind me I don’t have time to stand out here and process whatever the hell just happened.
With one last look at Poppy’s empty deck, I head back inside.
This just got a lot more interesting.
CHAPTER 9
OR HOW A HOT BASEBALL COACH WATCHES YOU DO YOGA.
Poppy
“You’re here earlier than usual.” Lily laughs, glancing at the clock in the bakery.
I round the counter and collapse into a chair, letting my head fall back as I stare at the ceiling. My heart has been racing since this morning, when I finally saw the man living in the once-vacant house next door. I’m torn between the excitement of a potential romance and the fear of disrupting my routine.
