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And facial hair.

And a deep voice that makes my insides do somersaults.

I’m so lost in my thoughts, I don’t realize when the back door to Joshua’s house actually does open. But unlike all those years ago, it doesn’t hit the exterior wall with a bang.

Also unlike all those years ago, the person who steps outside is a man.

And he’s shirtless.

Holy hell.

A thin sheen of sweat covers his skin despite the chilly air. Gray athletic shorts ride low on his hips, and a white towel is draped loosely around his neck. He must have just finished his morning workout.

In a heartbeat, I completely forget about my coffee. Forget about Gary. I even forget my own name for a second.

Instead, all I can focus on is Joshua.

Or, more accurately, his body.

I should look away. Pretend I never noticed him. The last thing I need is for my twenty-five-year-old neighbor to catch me ogling him.

So, naturally, I slink into the shadows of the deck so I can appreciate every inch of him. Broad shoulders give way to strong arms. His defined chest is dusted with dark hair. A faint trail of hair disappears beneath the waistband of his shorts.

I don’t think Wyatt ever looked like this, even in the prime of his professional football career. He was in decent shape, but built for taking hits, not for show.

Joshua isn’t built like that at all. Yes, he’s muscular, but every line of him is lean and cut.

He lifts a bottle of water to his lips, and my eyes follow the movement before I can stop myself, lingering as his throat works with each long swallow.

Drinking water shouldn’t be this sexy. But I have a feeling Joshua could make even the most mundane task look indecent. Especially when he’s not wearing a shirt.

He lowers the bottle, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth before rolling his shoulders. The motion stretches the muscles across his chest, and I angle myself a little farther behind one of the deck posts, peeking around it just enough to keep him in view.

The only thing that might make this worse is if I grabbed my father’s binoculars. Or got caught. Or got caught with the binoculars.

I haven’t stooped that low.

Yet.

It’s not like I’m doing anything wrong. He’s an adult. I’m an adult. And his body deserves to be appreciated.

Joshua sets the water bottle down and lifts his arms, resting his hands on the overhead beam of his back porch. His biceps flex, his abs tighten, and the morning sunlight catches the sweat covering his chest.

Good Lord.

I fight the urge to fan myself. Is it possible to experience perimenopause symptoms at thirty-three? Because I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what’s going on right now.

He leans into the stretch, every muscle pulling taut before he straightens and drags a hand through his dark hair, leaving it adorably mussed.

He tips his face toward the pale sky and closes his eyes, drawing in a slow breath like he doesn’t have a single worry in the world.

A sudden, sharp bark cuts through the quiet, and I tear my gaze away, spinning to open the door for Gary, who barrels into the house.

But before I follow him inside, I risk one last glance at Joshua. His gaze meets mine, his lips curving into a mischievous smirk.

Great. He definitely caught me ogling.

I hurry inside with whatever dignity I can salvage, which isn’t much.