What in the hell was I thinking? I ask myself for the millionth time since Ian left to go wash up. Standing under the spray of the shower, I can’t help but wonder if I’ve lost my damn mind. Or maybe he has?

He agreed to dinner fairly quickly even though I’d been nothing but bitchy to him all day. Lucky for me, he asked if it would be okay if he went home and cleaned up first, and I didn’t waste a second saying yes. I needed some time to wash up as well. And berate myself for being a goddamn idiot.

Why did I ask him to stay for dinner? Why had I let him stick around all day?

Well, I knew the answer to that one actually. Despite my resolve to do this all myself, it really was great to have some help. I’d expected those stairs to take me the rest of the weekend. And we were able to knock them out in a few hours.

But look at where it got me. I might have finished stairs, but now, I am going to have dinner with the gorgeous man who lives next door.

This is not good.

I tried scaring him away when he first showed up this morning. After my reaction to being close to him on the street the other day, I knew I needed to stay as far away from him as possible. So, I acted like a complete asshole. I was short, rude, and unfriendly as hell. And, still, he stayed to help. I thought giving him the silent treatment would get him to leave. But he seemed to accept it, working alongside me in an unspoken pact of silence. It was…odd. But nice. There was a certain comfort that came from being with someone who didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with idle chatter all the time.

When lunchtime rolled around, I wasn’t able to help myself from asking him a few questions. I didn’t like not knowing my next-door neighbor’s name, especially when he was doing so much to help me out. And then, by the end of the day, I’d gotten so comfortable with being around him, the invitation to dinner slipped out before I could stop it.

And therein lies the problem. In a few short hours, I’ve grown comfortable with Ian.

And that can’t happen.

I can’t exactly uninvite him now though. I’ll just have to whip together something fast, feed him, and then feign exhaustion. Hopefully, he’ll get the hint and get his ass out of my house before I have to resort to being rude again.

I finish rinsing off and step out of the shower, a twinge in my back indicating I might not have to pretend to be exhausted too much. A long, hard day of work certainly takes more of a toll on you at twenty-seven than it does at twenty-three.

My mind flashes briefly to the long days and nights I spent fixing up Simply Chic. The hours I devoted to painting and redecorating, making sure everything was perfect before opening. It was the first thing I could call all my own. And I couldn’t have been prouder of the way it turned out.

Before I let it all go to hell.

Refusing to let myself go down that path right now, I hurry and get dressed, squashing down the memories in the back of my mind.

Where they belong.

I head downstairs, dumping some water into a pot, and set about making pasta. Simple, easy, and not exactly the type of meal you sit and savor. Ian can eat and run. Emphasis on the run.

Twenty minutes later, the noodles are done, and the sauce is simmering. And I’m stewing in a chair. It’s been almost an hour since he said he’d be back soon. Evidently, his idea of soon is different than mine.

Or maybe I’m getting lucky, and he’s decided not to show.

I try to tell myself that would be a good thing. It would save me a whole lot of trouble of trying to get him to leave and stay away. But I can’t deny the soft pang of remorse that courses through me at the thought of him standing me up.

Don’t be ridiculous, Lexi. It’s better this way.

But what about the pasta? I can’t eat it all myself. It’d be a shame to let it go to waste.

Pasta-schmasta. Pull your head out of your ass, and get your shit together.

Yep. I’ve officially lost my mind.

Before the fight in my head can come to blows—’cause, if anybody could go that crazy, it would be me—a knock sounds at the door. My internal bickering instantly quiets, the pounding of my heart overtaking my every breath.

I stare at the door, as if I can somehow both will him away and invite him inside with the power of my mind.

After a moment, he knocks again, his voice coming from the other side of the door. “Lexi? You in there?”

Hearing the confusion in his voice snaps me out of my trance, and I spring into action. Switching the burner on the stove off before the sauce scorches to the pan, I make my way over to the door. I plaster on a smile before I swing it open.

Big mistake.

My phony smile falls the moment I lay eyes on him. If I thought he was gorgeous in dark jeans and a sweater the other day, he’s downright mouthwatering tonight.

His dark hair is still damp, the wet strands combed back, emphasizing his stylish undercut. He’s wearing a pair of black jeans, a white T-shirt, and a fitted black blazer. A very fitted black blazer. The stretch of the fabric over his biceps is just plain obscene.

Whoever coined the term arm porn did so after seeing this man in a blazer.

Guaranteed.

Ian’s soft chuckle forces my gaze away from his arms and back to his face where I find a soul-crushing smile waiting for me.

“Um, hi,” I mutter, blushing like an idiot for being caught checking him out.

Ian has the decency to let it slide though, his dimples deepening as he looks at me. “You look great.”

Heat flushes my cheeks, and if the glint in his eye is any indication, he sees it, too.

“Um, thank you.”

He flicks his chin over my shoulder, looking at the living room behind me. “Can I come in?”

I look back, my brows furrowing as I take in the dingy space. I haven’t been inside his place, but judging from the outside and the small part I can see through the windows from my dock, my tiny living room is not at all what he’s used to.

“Um, yes. It’s, um, still a work in progress though, so please excuse the dust.”

Oh my God. How many times can one person say the word um? Pull yourself together, Lexi!

I step back, allowing Ian to step over the threshold. He’s careful in his perusal, taking in every detail of the room around him. I twist my hands behind my back, suddenly even more self-conscious than before. If that’s possible.

I wait by the door as he assesses the space. When he turns and smiles at me, I can’t help but smile back.

“I like it. It’s got a lot of charm. I’m sure, by the time you’re finished with it, it’ll be the nicest place in town.”

I scoff. “Well, it’s nothing compared to your house, of course. But I have high hopes.”

Ian sits down on the couch, making himself comfortable. I didn’t invite him to do so, but I guess the dinner invitation sort of implies a casual chat. I take a seat in the armchair across the room.

“That’s actually my buddy Brandon’s place. He’s letting me stay there for a bit.”

I’m not sure why, but hearing that the huge, ostentatious house isn’t his fills me with a sense of relief. When he continues, that feeling only intensifies.

“I could never live in a place like that. Not long-term anyway. I mean, it’s a beautiful house. But it’s so…I don’t know. Over the top? I’m not much for showing off. I prefer something much more cozy. Something like this,” he adds, almost as an afterthought, his hand waving at the space around us.

I smile softly. “Thank you. My sister thinks I’m crazy for buying this place. But I know it’s going to be great.”

“You’re not crazy. If I had more time, this is exactly the kind of thing I’d want to do. Fix up an old house. Restore former glory to a place that’s fallen on hard times.”

Something flashes behind his eyes as he says those words, making me think he’s touched on a subject that delves deeper than simply renovating a home.

Before I can even consider asking him what he means, he stands, grabbing something from the floor by his feet. I was so dumbstruck by watching him as he looked around my living room, I didn’t even notice he’d brought something with him.

When he holds up the six-pack of beer, he gives me another panty-melting smile. “I wasn’t sure what your drink was, but I took a chance. I mean, who doesn’t like an ice-cold beer after a long day of hard labor?”

My mouth goes dry at the sight of alcohol, my tongue feeling roughly twice its usual size. My fingers tremble as I curl them into fists and tuck them under my seated legs. “I’m fine, thank you.”

He pouts his lower lip a tad. On any other man, it would look ridiculous. But, on Ian, it just looks…enticing.

“Come on, Lex. Don’t make me drink alone.”

My heart skips a beat at the use of the pet name. My sister calls me Lex. All my old friends back in Chicago called me Lex. But, coming from Ian’s lips, it sounds more intimate. It sounds warm, like I could curl up around him and listen to him say my name over and over until I fell asleep.

Holy fuck. What is wrong with me?

You need a few good rounds with Mr. Reliable; that’s what’s wrong with you.

Thinking of the nickname I gave my vibrator, the blush on my cheeks deepens even further. I shake myself out of it, getting to my feet and walking past Ian to the kitchen.

“I’m fine. I actually don’t drink. But, please, don’t let that stop you.”

He grabs hold of my arm as I reach to open the cupboard for a few plates. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t,” I say shortly, turning back to the task at hand.

“I did. I thought I was being funny. It wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable.”

It kills me that he was able to read my reaction so easily. It only further solidifies the fact that I need to watch myself around this guy. He’s already tearing down walls I thought were indestructible. And that’s without even trying.

I turn and hand him a plate, trying my hardest to give him a genuine smile. “It’s okay. You didn’t know. But, really, don’t let my teetotalism affect you. It won’t bother me if you have a few beers with your dinner.”

He turns and walks back over to the front door, and I briefly wonder if he might leave.

But, when he simply opens the door, depositing the six-pack on the porch before turning back and saying, “Water is great. I need to lose a few pounds anyway,” I can’t help but laugh.

“You didn’t have to do that. And, believe me, the last thing you need is to lose a few pounds.”

“Why, Lexi, have you been checking me out?” he asks, an amused smile spreading across his lips.

My cheeks must be the color of a boiled lobster at this point, but I can’t seem to bring myself to care. I grin at him, rolling my eyes instead of looking away. “Oh, yes. You’re such a stud; I couldn’t help myself.”

My words are laced with sarcasm, and Ian snickers right along with me. He doesn’t have to know how much truth was also mixed into that statement.

“Come on, your dinner is getting cold,” I say, leading him over to the colander and scooping out a generous portion of spaghetti noodles.

Dinner passes quickly, Ian making me laugh more often than he probably should—most times while I have a mouthful of food. At one point, I snort so hard, I’m almost positive a noodle passes through my nose. When I cover my face with my hands, Ian refuses to leave me alone until I tell him what’s wrong, the two of us doubling over in a desperate attempt to catch our breaths as he tries to pry my hands from my face.

Luckily, no offending spaghetti is hanging from my nose. But, when I tell Ian what I was afraid of him finding, his hysterics only deepen.

Before I know it, the old clock on the wall behind me—one of the only possessions I’d had back in Chicago that made the journey to Maple Lake—chimes, indicating it’s now nine o’clock. Ian seems to realize how late it’s gotten at the same time I do, and he stands.

“I should get going. We’ve both had a long day. And I definitely need my beauty sleep.”

I smile at his ridiculous statement. “Thank you for your help today, Ian. It was greatly appreciated.”

He hits me with another dimpled smile, his eyes sparkling in the dim light of the living room. “It was my pleasure, Lexi. And thank you for dinner. I haven’t laughed that hard in ages.”

He takes my hand in his, lifting it to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to my knuckles. “I’ll see you soon.”

After he leaves, I sink down onto the couch, thinking back over what he said.

“I haven’t laughed that hard in ages.”

Neither have I. I laughed with Ian—sometimes so hard, tears seeped out the corners of my eyes. I can’t remember the last time I allowed myself to laugh like that.

For the first time in over a year, I let myself be…me.

The guilt that has been my ever-present companion for the past eighteen months is nowhere to be found.

Until now.

A guilt so deep that I feel it in my bones settles over me.

That’s more like it.