Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
“Mr. Bartlett, what brings you here this morning?”
My gaze shifts to the older woman next to Cassie. “Morning, Mrs. Tanner.” I flash an easy smile that my friends tell me could disarm a dictator. Not that Lydia Tanner is a dictator. She’s a perfectly nice lady, based on the interactions we’ve had when I was housesitting the place next door. This is my fourth summer staying at Gil and Shirley Jackson’s luxury waterfront property. I’ve been looking forward to it for weeks.
“Just wanted to stop by and let you know I’m watching the Jackson place again for the summer,” I tell her. “So if you see lights on at random hours, or, you know, handsome guys walking around in the nude, don’t be alarmed … and feel free to keep looking.” I wink.
Cassie snorts out a sarcastic laugh.
“Cassandra,” Lydia chides. “Let the boy think he’s charming us.”
“Think?” I mock good-naturedly. “You know you love me, Mrs. Tanner.”
“As I told you last year, you can call me Lydia. This is my granddaughter, Cassandra.”
“Cassie,” she corrects.
“Actually, we met last night,” I inform Lydia. “Ran into each other at a party. How’s it going, ginger?”
“Do not call me that.” Cassie glowers at me.
Lydia turns to her granddaughter. “Well, there you go, dear. We were just discussing your lack of friend options, and look, now you’ll have a friend right next door. And he’s already given you an amusing nickname! This is wonderful.” She reaches out and pats Cassie on the arm, as if placating a distressed puppy.
Cassie’s cheeks redden. “You are the worst,” she grumbles at her grandmother.
Chuckling, Lydia descends the steps of the wraparound porch. “I’ll go start the car.”
“She said that on purpose just to embarrass me,” Cassie mutters. She narrows her eyes at me. “I have friends.”
I blink innocently. “Sure sounds like it.”
“I have friends,” she insists, a growl coming from the back of her throat.
I choke down a laugh. Fuck, she’s cute. Like, ridiculously cute. I have a thing for chicks with freckles. And ones who blush when I smile at them.
“Does that mean you don’t want to be my friend?” I ask, eyeing Cassie in amusement.
“Friendship is a huge commitment. We should probably just stick to being neighbors. But you’re in luck, because that means we can do lots of fun neighborly things.” She pauses. “I’m not quite sure what. Maybe stand at two windows that face each other and use flashlights to send Morse code messages?”
“Is that what you think neighbors do?”
“I don’t know. My dorm window looks out at a brick wall, so nobody’s sending any covert messages to me, unless you count the drunk frat boy who always gets lost on his way to Greek Row and stumbles around shouting that the moon isn’t real. And I’m not friends with any of the neighbors at Mom’s house in Boston. Not that you and I are friends. I mean, I don’t even know you. We’re total strangers. Although, I did see you get dumped, which was equally upsetting for both of us, and that kind of shared humiliation leads to a forced kind of intimacy that nobody should ever have to experience—” She cuts herself off. “You know what? I’m just gonna go. Grandma and I are going into town. Goodbye, Tate.”
My lips twitch in a difficult attempt to suppress a grin. “Uh-huh. Cool. See you later, neighbor.”
She huffs, and my smile springs loose as I watch her march off. My gaze lowers, resting briefly on her ass. Damn, a great rack and a great ass. She’s on the shorter side, though. I’ve always been drawn to taller girls. At six-one, I don’t want to break my neck bending down to kiss someone. Cassie’s five-two, five-three tops, but something about the set of her shoulders and the way she walks gives her more stature. And she’s funny. A little strange. But funny. I was already looking forward to these next eight weeks at the Jackson house. Having Cassie next door for the summer is the icing on an already delicious cake.
The white Range Rover heads for the end of the circular driveway with Mrs. Tanner behind the wheel. I watch it disappear, then head next door. Because the homes on this stretch of the waterfront are situated on a slope, there isn’t a lot of space between the houses, at least not on the street-facing side, which means you’re always seeing your neighbors. But the high, westerly location also means spectacular views of Avalon Bay, and unparalleled sunsets.
The Jackson house took a few hits in the last storm, but Gil instantly hired a contractor to fix it up and a landscaper to haul out all the fallen trees and debris. All that remains now are the moss-draped oaks and other mature trees that have stood strong and proud for decades. The property is loaded with charm. It blows me away every time I stay here.