Light streaming in through the window woke me. I blinked and glanced at the bedside clock. It was almost nine. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept so late. Edgar usually needed to go outside before seven, but he wasn’t in the room. Neither was William. He must have been up early, and taken Edgar outside for me.

I’d slept better than I had in years. William’s bed was comfortable, but it was him that had made the difference. He’d held me for most of the night, first with my head against his chest and his arms around me. Later I’d woken up and found myself on my side with him curled up behind me, his arm draped over my waist. His breathing had been rhythmic and slow against my back, lulling me to sleep again.

I got up and used his bathroom, wondering if he was home. It was so quiet. He might have gone for a run, or to the gym. I slipped on a long cardigan and went out to find him.

He was standing behind his easel, shirtless and barefoot in a pair of paint-splattered gray sweats. God, his body was phenomenal. He was lean and muscular, but more than that, he looked strong. Like his muscles were for more than just looks—like he knew how to use them.

His dark hair was carelessly messy, and he had a spot of green paint on his cheek, just above his stubble. He didn’t look up when I approached, his eyes intent on his painting. He tilted his head to the side, then applied a few strokes with a paint brush.

Edgar lay nearby. His ears twitched, and he blinked his eyes open to look at me. Then he huffed out a breath and went back to sleep.

“Good morning.” I kept a little distance, not sure if he wanted me to see what he was working on.

His smile lit up his face. “Hi, beautiful.”

I nibbled on my bottom lip and tucked my hair behind my ear. Hearing him say that gave me a tingly feeling in my tummy. “Hi.”

“How did you sleep?”

“Really good,” I said. “Thanks for taking care of Edgar this morning.”

“Sure,” he said. “I was awake, so I figured I’d let you sleep in.”

“That was nice. I think I needed it.” I stepped closer. “Can I see what you’re working on?”

He looked at his canvas, then back at me. “Sure. It’s close to being finished.”

I went around to where I could see it. He’d painted a red brick building, the façade covered in thick green ivy. The landscape around it was hazy and indistinct, but many of his paintings were like that. It was as if certain things stood out in his mind while the rest were fuzzy.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I thought maybe you could tell me.”

“This is from one of your visions?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “One of the most vivid. I see this building all the time. You don’t recognize it?”

I moved around him, so I could look at it from another angle. It was a beautiful building. But it didn’t seem even vaguely familiar.

“No,” I said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it before.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” I said. “I’d remember a place like this. It’s beautiful. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen it.”

He put his palette and paint brush down. “Can I show you more of them? I don’t want to freak you out, but I thought you’d recognize all of them. I want to see if there are more that are unfamiliar. That might be important.”

“Sure,” I said with a shrug. I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to explain how he could see these things, but at this point it wasn’t doing me any good to dwell on the impossibility of it all. He had painted them, and other than this one, they were things I knew. Figuring out how would have to wait.

He pulled out the canvases that were leaning against the wall. Flipping through them, he showed me each one. I was able to easily identify them all. A park with a twisty slide I remembered from childhood. I’d been afraid to go down it and my dad had bought me an ice cream cone after I’d finally conquered my fear. A girl in the backseat of a car, surrounded by teddy bears and books—just like the time Dad and I had taken a road trip to California. Marshmallows over a campfire. My dad had engineered what he believed was the perfect roasting stick.

There were more, and in every case, I knew exactly what, or where, they were. All except the brick building.

William put his hands on his hips and stared at the painting. “Something must be wrong with it. Maybe I don’t have it right.”

“Or maybe it’s something else,” I said. “Maybe it’s one of your memories.”

“No, I’ve never seen this building,” he said.

“Well, what if there are things you can’t remember?”

He met my eyes. “That isn’t what this is. I’m sure of it.”

Before I could respond there was a knock at his door.

“I’ll be right back.” He leaned in for a quick kiss, then went to answer it.

“Hi, William.” An unreasonably attractive woman in a blouse and skirt stood just outside his door. She had a little boy perched on her hip. He was probably about three, with brown hair and bright blue eyes. “Oliver’s babysitter is sick. I have to go into the office and I’m already late. Is there any way you could watch him again?”

I stared at her while she talked to William, my blood running hot with jealousy at the way William smiled at her.

He turned to me. “Do you mind?”

“No, not at all,” I said, struggling to keep my voice even.

William opened the door wider, inviting them in. I lingered near the back of his apartment, feeling awkward in my pajamas and cardigan, with no makeup and messy hair. Especially because her hair was shiny and perfect, and her clothes looked like they’d been custom tailored for her body—and what a body it was. Her eyes took in William’s exquisite torso and I wanted to launch myself across the room.

“Ivy, this is Stella and Oliver,” he said. “They live next door.”

“Hi,” I said.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” she said, adjusting her son on her hip. “I didn’t realize you had a guest. I can figure out something else.”

“No, it’s okay,” William said in that matter-of-fact tone of his. “Oliver can stay. You get to work. I know how busy you are.”

“You are the best,” she said, beaming at William again. She put Oliver down. “I owe you for this.”

Owe him what, exactly? I hated how jealous I felt, but this woman was gorgeous. Knowing she was William’s neighbor—and they obviously knew each other fairly well—made me envious beyond reason.

“Before I forget,” William said, “you left something last time you were here. Let me go get it.”

He disappeared into his bedroom and my jealousy reached rage-inducing levels. What had she left here that would be in his bedroom?

“William is so amazing,” Stella said. “He’s such a sweetheart. And Oliver just loves him.”

“Yeah,” I said, trying desperately to keep the burning envy out of my voice. “William is great.”

He returned with a book and handed it to her. “Here.”

“Thanks, I totally forgot you had this. And thank you again for watching Oliver.” She stepped in and wrapped her arms around him. He hugged her back and I dug my fingernails into my palms. “I’ll see you later.”

She crouched down to talk to her son, reminding him to be good for Mr. William. After kissing him goodbye, she gave William one last stupidly beautiful smile, and left.

William closed the door behind her and ruffled Oliver’s hair. “Did you have breakfast?”

The kid nodded.

“Do you want to watch cartoons?” he asked.

Oliver nodded again, then ran over and climbed onto the couch.

Edgar sniffed in Oliver’s direction while William turned on the TV. He seemed to deem him unimportant for the time being, and went back to his nap.

William came over and tucked my hair behind my ear again. Beautiful neighbor or no, it was hard to feel anything but a little wave of giddiness when he did that.

“Thanks,” he said. “He probably won’t be here all day. He usually isn’t. Can I get you breakfast?”

“It’s fine,” I said. Oliver was a cute kid. He looked a little bit like William. I coughed and started walking to the kitchen to cover the renewed wave of jealousy that hit me at that thought. “I’ll just have some coffee for now, if you have any.”

“I’ll make you some,” he said.

“That’s okay, I can do it.”

He smiled and followed me into the kitchen, casting a glance at Oliver, who sat happily watching cartoons.

We moved around the kitchen together, William pulling things out of cupboards and handing them to me. I realized I was being silly by insisting I make the coffee. He was the one who knew where everything was. But I needed to do something. The combination of jealousy and being in close quarters with a shirtless William was making my head spin.

“So, how long have you known Stella?” I asked when the coffee was brewing.

“She lived here before I did,” he said.

“Do you know a lot of your neighbors?”

“Not really.”

That wasn’t the answer I’d wanted. What was so special about her? I focused my gaze on the coffee pot, trying to ignore William’s broad chest and the lines of his abs. I knew I was being ridiculous. He’d told me he’d liked it when I used the term boyfriend. We hadn’t talked about it outright, but we were exclusive. Weren’t we? He couldn’t have something casual on the side with one of his neighbors. Could he?

I wasn’t giving William enough credit. That didn’t seem like him. Plus, I already knew William was the type of man who liked to help people. I’d seen him bring groceries to an elderly woman, and a sandwich to a homeless man. Why wouldn’t he be willing to help out a single mother? That was a good thing.

And it wasn’t as if he had Stella’s memories decorating his walls. Points to Ivy for that one.

I managed to keep my foolish jealousy to a low simmer all morning. William was good with Oliver. But then William was good with people in general, so it wasn’t surprising. He didn’t talk to him like a little kid—just spoke as if he was a regular, grown person. Always with that relaxed, calm tone he used with everyone.

After Oliver’s show was over, we took Edgar for a walk. Oliver wanted to play with him, but Edgar made it clear he was not interested in the small human. He didn’t growl, just turned his head away like the snob he was. William distracted Oliver by giving him a shoulder ride while I held Edgar’s leash.

I realized as we walked that we probably looked like a little family—two parents with their son and their dog. Indulging in the fantasy made me blush, but it was definitely enjoyable. William glanced at me a few times, that half-smile playing on his lips, and I wondered what he was thinking.

When we got back, William made lunch for Oliver—a peanut butter and jelly sandwich cut into triangles. I felt a little pouty, wondering why he kept peanut butter and jelly on hand. Did he eat that himself, or were they for when Stella and Oliver came over?

Rather than sit at the table pondering the nature of William’s relationship—past or present—with Stella, I excused myself and went to his bedroom. I still needed to call my insurance company about the break-in. And I was making myself crazy. Getting jealous because he had peanut butter and jelly?

I was feeling fiercely territorial. But I knew my jealousy wasn’t fueled by antagonism toward Stella. It was a sign of how deep my feelings for William ran. Despite all the strangeness surrounding him and his entrance into my life—the way he’d stalked me, how he knew things he shouldn’t, his visions now on canvas all over his apartment—I was falling for him. Hard.