My kitchen is a complete mess. Aside from all the unpacked boxes that are scattered around the tiled floor, every countertop surface is crowed with dishes full of food.

That was certainly an interesting welcome to the neighborhood. I certainly never experienced anything like that when I first moved into my old condo in New York.

Lost for where to start, I give up on cleaning and flick through my iPhone. My assistant has sent me a few snaps from the refurb of my new restaurant on Middle Street. I’m pleasantly surprised at the amount of progress my interior designers have achieved in a little over a week. Normally I’d oversee the re-fit myself, but with the house move, and other stuff piling up like the dishes in my kitchen, I decided to put my trust in my PA.

Just as I consider sitting in a dark room and closing my eyes for five minutes, there’s a knock on my kitchen window. I glance over and see the woman from earlier. She’s gazing into the window and smiling at me. I instantly recognize her and her bright red lipstick. She’s the mother of that cook: the cute girl in the fluffy green dressing robe.

I start out to the front door and open it.

“Sorry to disturb you, Mr. De Luca—”

I hold up a hand. “Please, call me Vince.”

Her green eyes widen.

“We’re neighbors,” I continue. “No need to be so formal.”

“Vince,” she says with an easy smile.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name before.”

Her lips curl. “Catherine. Catherine Baxter. I’m the mother of—”

“The girl in the robe,” I finish with a smile. “How can I help you, Catherine?”

Instead of another dish of food to add to the others, she produces a sheet of paper from behind her back. “I just wanted to bring this over.” She hands me the piece of paper and I briefly read it.

“It’s my daughter’s resume,” she says, brushing a lock of her auburn hair behind her ear.

“So I see.”

“I thought you might need a new chef.” She quickly glances at her house next door and then leans forward, whispering, “I didn’t tell Melanie I was coming over to give you that.”

I raise a brow. “Oh?”

“She’s too shy to do it herself. I thought you’d appreciate me giving you the heads up.”

“Right.”

Well this is certainly new.

Her lips stretch into a full smile and I can see her look past me.

“Do you want to come inside, Catherine?”

Her cheeks warm. “No time I’m afraid. I just thought I’d leave the resume with you. I’m sure you’re busy.” She swipes that lock of hair behind her ear again. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

* * *

With a large cup of instant secured in my hand, I shuffle over to the large patio doors at the back of the house. It’s an exceptionally sunny Sunday morning and there’s not a cloud in the sky.

Deciding to get some fresh air, I slide open the double glass doors, take my first swig of coffee, and step outside. The whole neighborhood is the perfect picture of suburban utopia: the whir of a lawnmower, the fresh smell of cut grass, bright white picket fences, flowers of all colors, a water sprinkler spraying out across someone’s immaculate lawn. It’s a world away from the sights and sounds of downtown New York.

As I traverse my new backyard, I hear the sound of a portable transistor radio blaring out a Taylor Swift song.

Walking over to the fence that divides me and my new neighbors, I peek over the top.

Sprawled out on a sun lounger, facing slightly away from me, is the delicate shape of Catherine’s daughter, Melanie. Man, she certainly looks different out of that robe she wore yesterday. And it doesn’t shock me that my dick is in firm agreement to my brain’s appreciation of this beautiful young girl.

She’s wearing a red bikini top, denim short shorts, and a classic pair of Ray Bans. Her dark, curly hair also looks straighter today.

“Need a hand?” I call over.

She bolts up on the lounger and whips off her shades, her foot kicking over the small radio by her side.

“Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Her mouth parts slightly.

“Need a hand then?” I ask again.

She shields her chest with the paperback she’s been reading. “A hand with what?”

I motion to a bottle of sun lotion that rests on the grass near the lounger.

She follows my gaze before quickly looking back at me. “I’m not sun bathing. I was just reading my book.”

“Gotcha.” I look at the bottle again. “So what’s with that?”

Speechless, her plump lips curl into a shy grin.

I feel a little dirty just staring at her, but I can’t help myself. The sweet scent of her youthful skin drifts across the fence, cutting right through the natural smell of summer flowers.

“It’s okay,” I say after a beat. “I’ll let you get back to your book . . . great resume by the way.”

Her beautiful light-green eyes stretch.

I smile. “Mickey’s place, huh?”

“How did you get my resume?”

“Your mother dropped it off yesterday. I would’ve come by last night to discuss it, but with all the unpacking and stuff . . . well, you know how it is.”

Her cheeks turn crimson.

I lean over the fence. “So, would you be interested in a job at my new restaurant? I open in a week.”

She looks shocked.

“But I’d need you to do a test first,” I add. “If you can impress me then I may be able to fit you in. Sound good?”

Her cheeks turn even redder than before.

“Just think about it.”

She brushes her hair past her ear. “I’m flattered, really, but I’m—”

I smirk. “Do you want a job or not?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“But nothing,” I cut in. “Just come over later.”

“What time?”

“Five. I’d like you to fix up a starter. Anything you like. But it must be a hot dish. No cheating with salad or cold fish or meat . . . okay?”

She nods.

“Cool. See you later . . . Melanie.”