The Nice Guy Next Door Read online

  I walk to the road to check the mail, waving at the elderly couple on their porch swing across the road on the way. I wonder if they know they’re living the dream.

  I open my mailbox. No mail sits inside, only a folded piece of paper. I unfold it and read the words written on it.

  I know where you live now. There’s nowhere to hide.

  Feeling a sense of dread in the pit of my stomach, I look around at my surroundings, wondering if this deranged person is lurking out there, watching me at this very moment. Before, I wasn’t all that worried, but now that they know where I live, I know I can’t let this go on any longer.

  I worry for my family and friends. I worry for my neighbors who live around me who could be in danger as well, especially Millie. I grab my phone out of my pocket and call up my friend at the sheriff’s department to get some extra help finding this guy.

  Chapter Nine

  Millie

  I’ve now been in Waverly for three full weeks, and I feel like Lo and I are getting into a groove. Lo has started working at Rebel Rose, the cute little clothing boutique in the town square. She’s loving it. She gets a 30% discount on all of their items, and she’s made a few more friends.

  She went on a bit of an extreme shopping spree with that 30% discount after she got her first paycheck, and I had to lovingly remind her that she won’t be able to get a car if she doesn’t save enough for her car note. She scoffed at me like I was completely unreasonable. I feel like I’m being more than fair since I’ll be paying her insurance—which is outrageously expensive, by the way!

  Today is Friday, and it’s also her seventeenth birthday. We’re ditching work and school to celebrate and go get her car. We agreed that we would do what Daddy did for me. He put down half the cost of the car, and I made the payments for the other half. The car won’t be fancy—not even remotely close—but she’s so excited. She turned into an emotional mess last night when I told her we were going to pick out her car today. I’m glad I can do it for her.

  First thing’s first, though. Every birthday girl needs some donuts to start her day. She’s still asleep, so I sneak out of the house on tiptoes. I look up at the sky and see gray clouds hanging low in the sky. Not the best weather for a birthday, but she’s getting a car. She can’t complain too much.

  Jameson is outside doing yard work, so I take a moment to appreciate the way his arm muscles bulge as he rakes the leaves scattered all over his yard.

  It’s not fair for someone to look this good. It’s really very distracting. For example, I can’t remember what I’m supposed to be doing right now. Why am I standing in this driveway holding my keys? What’s my name? Who am I?

  Forget whatever plans I had for the day. If anyone needs me, I’ll be right here, drooling over Jameson’s chiseled physique. There are a lot of leaves in his yard. It’ll probably take him a while. I have quite a lot of leaves in my yard. Maybe he’d be willing to rake my leaves too, and I could sit on the front porch and admire him.

  He lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, and I get a glimpse of his glorious abs. I hear a squeak come from somewhere and look around to see if some other crazy person is watching him too. He looks up from his work and stares right at me. It occurs to me that I may have been the weirdo making the absurd squeaking sound.

  Act like an adult, Millie. You have seen a man before. Geez. In my own defense, I’ve never seen a man quite like Jameson Lane before.

  He’s walking over to me with a huge grin on his face. He so knows that I was checking him out. Act natural, act natural. I run my hand through my hair and walk toward him, trying to look calm and effortless. I trip on a rock and land on my knee. So graceful. He rushes over to me and helps me up. He brushes the tiny pebbles off my knee, and I savor the feel of his callouses brushing over my skin.

  I’m a girl who loves cuddles and hugs and physical affection living with a teenage sister who would probably hibernate in her room with only angsty music and YA novels to keep her company. I’m clearly starved for human contact if a man brushing debris from my knee is making me all quivery inside. And it is. There’s that stampede of wild horses in the pit of my stomach again.

  “Where are you off to dressed so casually on a work day?” he asks.

  I lower my brows and ask, “What?” He gestures to the keys in my hand and my jean shorts, t-shirt, and sandals. “Oh, right. It’s Lo’s birthday, so we’re ditching all responsibilities today. I’m going to buy donuts and coffee before she wakes up.”

  “Cool. Tell her happy birthday for me. So, while I have you here, have you seen anyone suspicious around?” he asks.

  “Suspicious how?”

  “Maybe a car that drives by slowly, sits on the street nearby, or someone other than the mail person putting something in my mailbox?”

  “No, I haven’t, but I can watch out for something like that if you want me to,” I say. His questions are making me nervous. Since moving here I’ve liked the idea of living next to a state trooper. It feels safe. I mean, how many criminals are going to choose the house right next to the state trooper to burglarize. Now, I’m wondering if I’ve been trusting in a false sense of security.

  “I’ve been receiving some threats,” he says and pulls a folded piece of paper from his pocket and hands it over to me. I read the note and gasp in shock. My heart races in fear.

  It’s only a matter of time until I get my revenge. Watch your back, the note says.

  “This was in your mailbox?” I whisper and look around our quiet street. This is one of the nicest parts of town. It’s surprising that something like this would happen anywhere in Waverly, especially here in this neighborhood where parents allow their children to run and play freely.

  “Yeah, it started a few weeks ago. I found this one in my mailbox last night. It’s the second one I’ve gotten here, but I’ve found some on my car in town too,” he says. He’s trying to stay calm. Probably more for me than any other reason. I wish he knew he didn’t have to do that. He can tell me how he feels. I want to know what’s going through his head. That’s what friends are for.

  “Do you know who it is?”

  He takes a deep breath and thinks for a minute. “I have a few ideas. It’s probably someone I arrested in the past.” A shudder runs through my whole body. There’s a criminal out there, possibly someone who is angry with Jameson for doing his job—no, not just angry…vengeful. How far is this person willing to go to get their supposed revenge?

  “Is this normal? Does this happen a lot?”

  “No, definitely not normal. Do you have a security system?” he asks me. I shake my head no. I’ve always wanted a security system, but it never fit into my budget. I’ve looked into it a few times, but once I found out the prices, my bank account ran screaming for the hills.

  I was living in a somewhat sketchy apartment complex then. I thought now that I’m living in a nice, quiet neighborhood—where the worst thing to happen is your neighbor leaves their trash can on the curb for too long—that it wouldn’t be a necessary expense. I see now that I was being naive. Criminals are everywhere.

  How well do I really know my neighbors? Like that elderly couple across the street who sits out on their porch holding hands and drinking their coffee together every single morning. They’re out there right now, looking all deceitfully cute. For all I know, they’re discussing their next bank heist. I’ll be watching them from now on.

  “Would it be okay with you if I pick you up some equipment and install it later today? I know it’s Lo’s birthday, so I’ll try to stay out of the way,” he says. His eyes are pleading with me to allow him to do this. It’s a sweet gesture, and what did I say to his family last week? I’m learning that it’s okay to accept help from people.

  “Sure, just put the receipts on the counter, and I’ll pay you back,” I say with a nod. He breathes a sigh of relief. We make a plan, and I head out to get the donuts much later than planned and feeling far less relaxed.

 
Lo pulls her new-to-her 2009 Toyota Camry into our driveway and puts it in park. She leans back in the seat and sighs contentedly. If anyone deserves this, it’s her.

  Jameson walks out of our front door and comes to inspect her car. He walks around it, checking the tires. He pops the hood to check the engine and all of the fluids. He looks like the quintessential dad, checking his kid’s car, and the visual makes my heart ache. This is exactly what Daddy would be doing if he were here. And Lo would be rolling her eyes at him, just as she’s doing with Jameson right now.

  He’ll be a good dad someday, I think, as he questions Lo about whether or not she knows how to change a tire. She begrudgingly admits that she does not, and Jameson chooses to remedy that this instant. Lo looks up to the sky and groans.

  “It’s my birthday! Can’t we do this another time?” she protests, looking to me for backup.

  “No. What if you get a flat away from home before ‘another time’ rolls around? Do you not remember how we met?” he lifts an eyebrow and asks. He does have a point. I scooch over to where he starts his demonstration because I shamefully don’t know how to change a tire either. Don’t judge Daddy too harshly. He did show me once, but I was distracted by the cute boys across the street playing basketball in their driveway.

  Jameson walks her (us) through all of the steps, and Lo asks questions like the good student she is. I’m surprised she’s able to concentrate on anything he’s saying or doing. The only thing I’m seeing are those biceps. When they both stand up, I’m surprised to realize that I still don’t know how to change a tire. I guess I could Google it, if I get desperate enough.

  Lo turns to go inside, but Jameson stops her, asking where she’s going.

  “Uhh, inside…” she says, pointing up at the sky that looks like it’s going to pour any second now.

  “No, no, no. You have to show me that you can do it,” he says.

  “What do you mean?” Lo asks.

  “Change the tire,” he says. Lo looks at me with wide eyes and clenched jaw, begging me to shut this man down. I shrug my shoulders and back away from them. I actually agree with Jameson. Look at my situation. Twenty-six years old, and I can’t change a tire. It’s unacceptable. Also, this gives me one more chance to try to pay attention.

  “I cannot believe you’re making me do this on my birthday of all days,” she grumbles, but she gets to work changing the tire. She struggles to get some of the lugnuts off, and she’s a bit sweaty, but she does get the tire changed back. She stands up and whoops excitedly, giving Jameson a high five.

  I watch as Lo talks to Jameson with a huge smile of success on her face. She waves her hands around and shows off her almost non-existent muscles. Jameson watches on like a doting big brother. He looks up to me from his crouched position with a crooked smile as he gathers up his tools.

  A drop of rain lands on my nose. I’ve been waiting for the rain to start all day. I’m glad it waited a while. I move to walk to the house, but Lo’s voice stops me.

  “We’re going to order pizza and watch a movie. Do you want to join us?” she asks, and my heart stops beating. What does she think she’s doing, inviting a grown man to eat dinner with us? I want to banish her to her room with no dinner. Who cares if it’s her birthday? I can’t rescind her offer, though, so that would leave me stuck with him alone. On one hand it wouldn’t be so bad, because he’s fun and I like him. On the other hand, it would be horrible, because he’s gorgeous and I really like him.

  Jameson watches me, unsure about what to do. I can’t be rude, so I face him and assure him that I would love it if he joined us. Lie, lie, lie. But am I lying to him or myself?

  The pizza has been ordered, Lo is choosing a movie to watch, and Jameson is watching the rain pour outside, probably wishing he could go home since Lo is only considering unbearable chick flicks to watch. Mean Girls seems to be her top pick for now.

  “Remember being a kid and making blanket forts on rainy days like this?” he asks out of nowhere.

  Lo and I both look at him and say, “No.”

  He turns away from the window with a look of disgust on his face. “What do you mean ‘no’? You mean neither of you have ever made a blanket fort?”

  We both shake our heads, and Jameson’s eyes grow even wider.

  “Like, never?” he asks as if he cannot believe what he’s hearing.

  “Never, Jameson,” I say. We lived in a small, two-bedroom house. There wasn’t much room for stuff like that. After mom left us, Daddy was always very busy trying to provide for us. He worked full-time as a music teacher, he cooked, he cleaned, he helped us with homework—he did it all. Even if there had been space for something like a blanket fort, I doubt that’s what he would have spent his time doing. Daddy took us to do stuff like the zoo, aquarium, or children’s museum. Things that got us out of the house.

  I give Jameson a questioning look. It’s just a blanket fort. What’s the big deal? He’s acting like we’ve missed some key component of our childhood.

  “We have to remedy this very real tragedy,” he says and starts moving all of our kitchen chairs into the living room. “Where are your blankets? Bring me all of the blankets you own!”

  Lo hops up and runs to the hall closet. She comes back with blankets draped over her head and both arms, but still Jameson says, “Not enough! We need more!” I’ve never seen him like this. I laugh and go to my room to grab the blankets from my bed. When I come back, he and Lo are busy turning the couch around to use the back as part of the frame.

  The doorbell rings, and Lo runs to open the door for her friend Amy. As soon as Amy walks in and sees what’s going down, she squeals, “Blanket fort! Yes!” She throws off her rain jacket and kicks off her shoes as fast as lightning and runs over to join the building process. I guess it is a big childhood experience.

  We finish draping blankets over the chairs and then we get to work making the inside of the fort comfy with blankets and pillows. I climb inside and get comfortable against the back of the couch. The fort is huge and cozy, and now that I’m sitting in here, I can imagine how magical this would feel as a child.

  Jameson climbs in and reclines beside me. His arm pressed against mine will be seared into my memory for eternity. I look at his long legs stretched out in front of him, and the difference between my legs and his is hilarious. His are long and muscular, while mine resemble limp spaghetti noodles.

  Lo grabs the pizza from the delivery boy while Jameson and I sit in tense silence in the fort. Lo and Amy eat in record time and then decide they want to meet up with some other friends at the coffee shop. I assure Lo repeatedly that it’s fine. It’s her big day, and she should get to hang out with friends if that’s what she wants to do. Even if I am feeling particularly anxious about Jameson.

  I’m left alone in a blanket fort with the most beautiful man in the world. I never thought I would be in a situation like this. I’ve always been so careful in my interactions with men. Somehow, Jameson is systematically bypassing all of my security measures and breaking down all of my walls. What are we supposed to do now?

  “So, do you have any board games?” he asks. That is not what I was expecting. Not even close.

  “Yeah, I have Catan, Monopoly, dominoes, and cards. That’s it, I’m afraid.”

  “I love Catan. I’m sort of the undefeated champion in my family,” he says with an arrogant smirk. And for that, I have to beat him. I want nothing more than to take that smirk off his face. There’s nothing I love more than defeating someone who thinks they can’t lose.

  I go retrieve the game from Lo’s room and climb back into the fort and place the box between us. He narrows his eyes at me and says, “You’re going down, Amelia…” taking another guess at my name.

  “Nope, not Amelia,” I say with a raised brow. Amelia is a lovely name. Why would anyone try to keep the name Amelia a secret? He probably did a search online for all the names Millie could be short for. And it’s likely that he saw my actual name on the list a
nd said no, it wouldn’t be that. He’s going to exhaust all of the other names on the list and come to realize that yes, that is my name.

  “I’m going to figure it out,” he points a finger at me and says.

  “I’m sure you will. Now let’s set up this board so I can beat you at Catan.”

  “Those are fighting words, young lady!”

  “Oh, are you scared?” I tease him, because I think maybe he is a little terrified of losing his champion title.

  He studies me for a second, his eyes roving over me, making my breath hitch in my throat. “I’ve never been more scared in my life,” he finally says in a deep, rough voice.

  I shake my head to get rid of the nervous energy and say, “Good, I wouldn’t want you to underestimate me.” I’m not convinced that we’re still talking about Catan. I hope we’re not just talking about a nerdy board game.

  He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear and says, “I definitely do not underestimate you.” Okay, no, we’re definitely not talking about the game. Whatever’s happening here has to stop. Jameson’s a great guy—a catch, really. Just not for me. I’m not interested in a relationship, no matter how much he sends my heart fluttering.

  “Alright, it’s all set up,” I say in a voice an octave higher than usual. “I’ll be red!”

  He looks at me like I’ve lost all of my marbles, and I look down at my hands to realize I’ve grabbed the bag of blue pieces. He swaps them out for the red, and we set them up. We roll the dice to decide who goes first and begin the game.

  The first thing I learn about Jameson is he is a smack talker. The second thing is that he is ruthless. He notices my strategies and does everything in his power to stop me. I swear he’s cheating somehow, because every single time I’m about to do something, he rolls a seven, and I have to give up half of my cards. I hate that rule.