Page 3 of Naughty-ish

He didn’t respond at first, but his body stilled once more.

“I’m Holliday,” I’d offered. “That’s with two l’s.” There’s irony in the name, and I’d waited for him to comment, but he didn’t. “My children are Eloise and Nash.”

I’d paused, thinking he would introduce himself. Or not.

“Just thought you should know.” I’d previously lived in a neighborhood where everyone knew each other’s names and the names of their children. It takes a village. Then again, that village knew everyone else’s business.

Like how my ex-husband cheated on me while attending a reunion at his alma mater. A rambunctious Big Ten football game led to post-game shenanigans with his college sweetheart.

This new-to-me neighborhood, however, consisted of mainly older homes with elderly residents, and I was out of my element here.

With the growing silence between my neighbor and me, I’d turned on my heels and headed toward my back door.

“I’m Nick,” he’d finally stated.

I’d stopped walking but hadn’t spun to face him before he added, “You should get your old man to cut the grass.”

Glancing at what I could see of my yard, I’d taken offense at several things.

One, I didn’t have an old man.

Two, I was aware my grass was overgrown, but I didn’t have a mower yet—it was just one more item on a list of growing necessities.

And three, I could take care of my own damn lawn, even if I wasn’t certain that was true. I didn’t need an old man to do it for me.

“I’ll get right on that,” I’d muttered, turning only my head over my shoulder and giving him a friendly salute when what I really wanted to do was give him the finger. “Nice to meet you.” Sarcasm had dripped in my tone. So much for being neighborly.

However, within a few days, the drone of a lawnmower filled the air, and the sound came particularly close to my home. When I’d stepped out on my front stoop, Nick was mowing my grass.

“What the hell are you doing?” I’d snapped, wondering what he was playing at by encroaching on my yard. I’d said I’d take care of it. But I didn’t have a viable plan. I’d considered asking Mitch if I could borrow his lawnmower, the one I’d bought him two years ago as a Father’s Day present, but the thought of asking Mitch for anything made me sick.

The loud hum of the mower cut off, and Nick halted in my yard. Looking up at me, he clutched the handle of his mower.

“I wanted to apologize.” Those dark eyes were sparkling sapphires under the bright summer sunshine. “Your kid told me you’re . . .”

The unspoken word could be one of many.

Single? Divorced? Helpless?

“I’ll speak to my children about bothering the neighbors.” I crossed my arms and stared back at him.

His arms were covered in tattoos, and some even crept up his neck, sticking out from the collar of his tee, which was plastered to his chest from the exertion. A giant wet stain formed between the solid flat of his pecs beneath the cotton. Jeans covered his legs, accenting the curve of firm thigh muscles. He wore a baseball cap on his head. He was a beautiful man—slightly dangerous-looking but gorgeous nonetheless—and he was sweet to cut my grass, even if it was out of pity.

“I can pay you,” I’d stated.

He’d tipped up a brow. “Consider it my apology.”

“For what?” Kissing a woman on his front porch? Fighting with said woman in his yard? Or insulting me about needing a man to tend my lawn?

“I can take care of it.” I’d nodded at the grass. I didn’t need his apology. I was only being friendly that day when I’d asked about his well-being, foolishly thinking we were kindred spirits through our relationship failures. I had been wrong. He didn’t need to prove anything to me.

Heading into the house for my last twenty-dollar bill, I’d returned to find the mower running again. Walking up to him, I held out the money. He’d stilled but didn’t cut off the mower this time. He’d stared at the bill in my hand.

“Don’t want it!” he’d hollered over the drone of the lawn mower.

“I’d feel better if you take it.” My pride was on the line. I’d flicked my wrist once, emphasizing the outstretched twenty.

His gaze lifted, and those sharp eyes met mine. “Buy yourself something pretty with it, and we’ll call us even.”