Claire

Almost three years later, June

“Almost home, Smitty,” I said to my dog through uneven breaths.

Of course, he already knew we were close to home. He was smarter than most humans. Definitely gentler and easier to talk to.

Not to mention, he’d been my only companion the last few years.

He looked up at the mention of his name, tongue hanging out, smiling like only a goofy yellow Labrador could, and I felt a smallish smile cross my face. It wasn’t up to my eyes, where sweat currently dripped, but it was better than not smiling at all—which was my typical state of affairs.

Lose the resting bitch face, Mary always said when she looked at me, telling me to smile so often she’d become a broken record. Smiling came easy when I was with Smitty or my students—the bright spots in my life.

I used the neck of my ratty T-shirt to wipe my eyes, my breath continuing to come in pants, my legs burning and my clothes drenched the way I liked it. I’d be tired enough to make it through another Saturday with nothing to do, no one to take care of, and no papers to grade. Mary, aka Dr. McCullough, the head of my department, who also happened to be my closest friend, had suggested I take the summer off teaching, even though I’d protested. I liked going to class—it guaranteed I had some type of human interaction—but she wouldn’t allow it. Told me it was time to take a breather, find life again, or whatever the hell that meant.

My life was buried in Rose Park Cemetery, row F, plot 305.

Life had once meant shuttling kids, rushing to class, grading papers in between soccer games on Sunday and remembering once being married to David—before he found a new life.

Now this was it.

My life.

Taking a long, sweat-inducing run was as good as it got.

Smitty jarred me from my negative thoughts, tugging on the leash and dragging me up the street, nearly pulling my shoulder out of its socket. “Whoa, boy.”

Stilling my feet and leaning over my knees, I watched a few beads of sweat roll into my cleavage as I caught my breath. “That’s a good boy.” I patted him on top of the head while he finally sat at my feet.

“Hey there.” The deep voice rang in my ears as I continued to watch sweat fall into my boobs. I debated not standing—I didn’t do deep voices that dripped with sex appeal. I even considered breaking back into a run, but I was a thirty-six-year-old woman, not a teenage girl, so I stood up tall and proud. “Hey there to you,” I whipped back. “Can I help you? You seem to have nabbed the attention of my dog.”

I noticed a large moving truck blocking the driveway alongside mine and an equally large black pickup truck blocking my own driveway. Standing in front of me was an Adonis, a very young Adonis. Dark olive complexion, eyes glistening as blue as the Mediterranean (from what I’d seen in movies and online). Of course, he came complete with a wife-beater tank (they still called it that…I learned from my students) and mesh athletic shorts. He didn’t even try to hide his perusal of me, his eyes stopping for several beats on my heaving breasts.

My heartbeat quickened in a way it never did running. After years of being dormant, my body rumbled back to life from a lone (extra-long) glance from a much-younger dude.

I’d never felt more alive or passionate.

From a single look.

A smirk formed on his face. Maybe it was a smile. What the hell did I know? I barely knew what to do with the desire rushing through my veins.

My mind raced through possibilities as to what he could be doing here.

In front of me. On my street.

With all that dirty-blond mussed hair.

My brain finally settled on, He works for the moving company and needs to borrow a hammer or something.

His voice broke through my inner banter. “Sorry to snag you at a bad time.”

“Umm, it’s okay. I was just finishing my run. I live over there, the red brick one with the truck blocking the driveway.” I pointed to my house that was smallish but still too big for one person and one dog. I moved the back of my hand across my forehead, pushing a few errant hairs out of the way.

“Yeah, I know. I saw you go for a run on the day of my closing. Sorry about the truck. I’m going to move it in a sec. You have to get out right away?”

Closing? Get out?

“I’m Aiken, by the way. I bought the house next door to you. Aiken Fordham. Uh, do you want to grab a cold drink or something? You look thirsty…I have some waters in the cooler...right over there in my truck.” He cocked his thumb over his shoulder and smiled.

Confusion clattered around in my brain, a cold sweat collected under my arms—not from running—and a longing swirled in my belly. It was utter madness.

My breath felt short, but I managed to get out, “No, I’m fine. I’ll get one inside, and don’t worry about the driveway.”

After a deep breath, I added, “I don’t have anywhere to be, and I usually park on the street anyways. You bought the house?” I felt my wrinkles deepen. This kid could be my student, for all I knew, and now he was living next door—to me—in the prettiest house on the block.

“I did.”

I took in his house, painted yellow, perfect flower boxes attached to each window—they weren’t filled—and a bright red door. We’d all walked through the open house. It was the envy of the whole street, and now this young buck owned it.

I nodded and pointed at my dog. “This is Smitty.”

“Heyyy, boy.” He scratched my all-too-willing dog on the head. His tail went ballistic. Traitor. Here I was, trying to squelch any ridiculous feelings my new neighbor made me feel, and my dog welcomed him with open paws.

All the while, Aiken smiled at me like I wasn’t standing there, several decades older than he was, dripping sweat and stinking to high hell.

For a moment, I was appearing in my own rom-com, but this was me—Claire Richards—and there were zero rom-coms in my future.

Or my past, tbh (another acronym I sadly knew).

“I have to go get changed.”

For nothing.

“Nice meeting you.” I cut to the chase. If I didn’t, I pictured myself climbing this man, who didn’t even know my name, forcing myself on him, looking for some feeling I couldn’t even identify.

He gave me a little dip of his chin and let me pass. I tried to forget having to tug extra hard on Smitty’s leash as soon as I had to do it. On the long list of males in my life, even my dog was bored with me. Okay, maybe only one. My ex.

As I made my way up the three steps in front of my house, dreaming of having somewhere to be, forgetting the fact that I was barricaded in by his pickup truck, I heard him call, “Smitty’s mom!”

My chest clenched at a single word. Of course, I was technically Smitty’s mom, but I wasn’t a mom mom anymore, a scarlet letter I’d come to wear well.

A big body came up behind me, smoldering heat and all male emanating from it. “You have a name? Smitty’s mom?”

The second time he said that word, my heart stopped beating for one beat, then two. Grateful for the interruption to the pitter-patter he’d caused moments earlier, I took a long inhale and resolved to resist any further feelings when it came to Aiken.

Mom.

It was such a simple word, with only one meaning.

Mother of a child.

Dog moms were stupid.

People made fun of dog moms.

But real moms were real.

I shook my head, clearing any additional rampant thoughts, bent, and untied my key from my shoe.

“Come on, I don’t bite,” he said from behind me.

I simply said, “No worries. I have to go. That’s it.”

Aiken might have created a tornado of emotions inside me, but there was no reason to take it out on him.

With the door unlocked and the screen door propped open, I turned sideways. “I’m sure you’re very sweet. Kind too, but my life is sort of closed. I’d like to keep it that way. In fact, I kind of need to.”

Hurt flickered in his eyes, a small wave of doubt in a large sea of confidence. For one brief second, I felt my walls shifting.

I told myself not to care. Repeated my mantra. If you love it, it dies. First, David’s affections, then Abby. I didn’t need any more affirmations. I was the equivalent of a weed whacker when it came to love. “I don’t mean to be harsh…it’s just—”

“Okay, well, I’m right next door if you change your mind,” he interrupted. “Bye, Smitty.”

Thank God, who the hell knew what I was going to admit?

I quickly shut the door behind me, refusing to watch him walk away.

I’d had enough goodbyes, and I didn’t want any more hellos.