Home > How to Not Fall for the Guy Next Door

How to Not Fall for the Guy Next Door
Author: Meg Easton

1

 

 

Addison

 

 

Addison turned into the parking lot of Gateway Groceries in Quicksand, Oregon and pulled into a parking spot. Then she called her sister. As soon as she heard her sister’s concerned voice on the other end, Addison said, “I didn’t die.”

Chloe squealed. “So you’re home, then?”

Home. It felt weird to call Quicksand “home.” She had spent her summers from ages ten to thirteen here, but that hadn’t made it “home” any more than playing Barbie Dreamhouse meant she was married to Ken. Amarillo was home. Quicksand had always been temporary. An exciting game of dress-up. She wondered how long it would take before calling this place home wouldn’t seem weird.

“I’m in Quicksand, but not at the inn. The moving truck is forty-five minutes behind me, so I’m stopping at the grocery store.” Her stomach had been growling almost as loudly as the radio was playing, so getting food was essential.

“Oh, I’m so glad you made it safely.”

“I told you I could make it seventeen hundred miles across seven states on my own. See? You should leave the worrying to the older sister. I’m better at it anyway.”

She grabbed her purse and stepped out of her car as her sister laughed. The air was fresh here, like she could smell the trees and the soil. Both of which were wet from a recent rainstorm. Even the air itself felt wet. She wasn’t sure which was more plentiful—the trees with the moss-covered trunks or the blackberry bushes.

“Speaking of worrying, I still feel awful that I left a week before you move out of the freaking country. Do you need me to fly back to make sure you get off okay?” She shook out her legs before walking toward the building. Spending twenty-seven hours in the car, six of them this morning, was really doing a number on her muscles.

“Nope. Dustin and I have everything under control. You stay there.” Each word was a punch. A hammer on a nail to hold her tether firmly in Quicksand. “I didn’t make your website and ads for you to miss your first clients.”

“You’re so bossy.”

She could hear Chloe’s grin through the phone. “I learned from the best. Now, go grab that fresh start by the horns and show it who’s boss!”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“And then call me after the movers leave.”

“I will.”

Addison pushed the phone into her purse, took a deep breath, and walked through the automatic front doors of Gateway Grocery. Leaving the city she’d lived in her entire life, packing up everything she owned, and moving halfway across the country to a city where she knew exactly zero people was fine. She was fine. Everything would be fine.

Piece of cake.

As she wandered up and down the aisles, she realized she probably should’ve spent less time on the drive jamming out to the radio, playing the license plate game with herself, and trying to distract herself from thoughts of Matthew and her old job and her hometown and everything she was leaving behind, and more time coming up with a grocery list. She had no idea what kind of food was at the inn, if there was anything at all. For the past four years, her Aunt Helen hadn’t used the property as an inn—she lived there with her nurse like it was just a big house. And for the past three months since she passed away, no one had lived there at all.

So there could be things like spices, flour, sugar, coffee, and maybe even some food in the freezer. Or there could be nothing—she had no idea if anyone packed anything up at all. It was a mystery. And mysteries were fun, right? At least, that was what she was always trying to convince Matthew of. It would probably drive him nuts, all the not knowing. But things between them were over, so she was going to relish every mystery he would’ve hated.

It was probably best to forget shopping for staples and just get some fresh fruits and vegetables and maybe some soup she could easily warm up. With only a few things in her cart from her meandering trip through the store, she turned toward the produce aisle.

The deli faced the produce section, and as the older man behind the counter finished up with a customer, he turned his attention to her, studying her. Against his darker skin, his white eyebrows stood out, looking rather judgy as they came together over his curious eyes. At a population of ten thousand, Quicksand wasn’t exactly small-town-ish enough for everyone to know everyone. So she must have that I’m new here look about her, and he was trying to figure out if she was visiting or staying.

He had pretty keen eyes, though. Maybe he was seeing deeply enough to notice that under the surface, she had a panicked my life was recently planned out, perfect, and organized and is now a big mess of uncertainty and chaos look about her.

She just gave him a smile and shifted her eyes to the case, hoping he would do the same. Her stomach rumbled again. It had been too many hours since she’d grabbed that muffin and orange juice from her hotel back in Spokane. Maybe she should forget the microwaveable soup and go up to the man and get some fried chicken or a burrito or some potato wedges. It wasn’t really what her body was begging for, but she could at least eat it in the car on her way to the inn.

After she got produce. She turned away from the warm, fried foods and turned to the apples.

Before long, she had a cart full of enough fruits and vegetables of different colors that her Aunt Helen would’ve been proud. They said you shouldn’t go grocery shopping when you were hungry. But maybe going when you were hungry after having just spent two and a half days in a car, eating nothing but junk food, was the absolute best time if you wanted a cart full of healthy stuff.

The fruit aisle had a few other shoppers in it, so she left her cart at the end of the aisle and started making her way down it. Blueberries! That’s what her body needed. She picked up a few of the plastic cases, inspecting them closely to find the ones that were the freshest. Two containers looked perfect enough that her mouth was already watering. Anxious to finish her shopping trip soon so she could ravenously eat at least one of the containers, she spun around toward her cart, and both containers of blueberries smacked right into a man’s firm chest.

Addison yelped and several nearby customers leapt back as the flimsy plastic containers burst open and blueberries flew out of them like soda from a shaken can, hitting the laminate floor with the softest pings, followed by the only slightly louder sound of the two containers following them to the floor.

“Oh no. I am so sorry.” She quickly brushed at the bluish-purple spots that a few of the more aggressive blueberries left on the man’s light blue t-shirt, as if a few swipes of her fingers would make the stains disappear.

“It’s okay.” The man gently moved her frantic hands away from his shirt. Probably because he was a little uncomfortable with her hands all over his chest. “It’s not a big deal. Really. I never even liked this shirt.”

The man’s voice was deep and rumbly, like summer thunder on the beach. Face burning, she finally looked up to meet his eyes and blushed at seeing that his face was even nicer than his considerably nice chest. And his incredibly beautiful blue eyes—which were definitely looking like his shirt should get a medal for what they did for them—weren’t angry or irritated or frustrated They seemed amused.

Amused was good. It wasn’t good good, but on a scale of one to thoroughly embarrassed at the grocery store, she’d take being the source of someone’s amusement over being the source of someone’s anger.

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