I’d tried everything to talk him out of that ridiculous haircut.
I’d lost. The hair was cool, and I just didn’t get it.
Gotta love tweens.
Noah was in those special years of development when he would be torn between the simple life of a kid and the alluring complexity of a teen.
My son was just about to enter sixth grade. I wasn’t quite sure what had happened to him in the last few months of grade school, but it was as if the thought and anticipation of going to middle school had suddenly turned him completely upside down and backward.
That, or aliens had abducted my real son, and this was just a stand-in. I was still unclear.
He was constantly moody, going from one extreme to another. One minute, I’d find him in his room, playing Legos and singing to himself, and then the next, he’d be yelling and screaming over being treated like a baby.
We used to talk, from feelings to Sesame Street and everything in between. Now, I would get shouting and a door in my face.
Was it me? Was I coddling him? Or were these raging hormones that had suddenly infiltrated his body, and they were too much for him to handle?
Part of me always wondered if it had something to do with the lack of maternal presence in his life.
What if I’m not enough?
I always tried to be all he needed, but as awesome as I was, I couldn’t be a replacement for a mother.
Standing in the hallway, I watched him shuffle off to his new room, no doubt in search of his phone or iPod, and I just shook my head. I didn’t have time to sulk or ponder over questions I didn’t have the answers to.
That blond hair, blue-eyed boy was the only thing I had in this world.
One way or another, I had to be enough.
~Liv~
I was pleasantly surprised to find my street free and clear of moving vans when I arrived home several hours later, stuffed full of food and high on the smell of baby Asher’s shampoo. He was my fix. I loved that little monster. As usual, Mia and Garrett had to pry him away from me.
I was twenty-eight and had no plans of marrying anytime soon—if ever. Holding my godson every so often kept those baby-wanting tendencies down to a minimum. You might make a certain life plan and fully intend on sticking to it, but that didn’t mean your hormones had to get on board with you.
I wasn’t against marriage, nor did I have a horrible back story to defend my reasoning. I just didn’t think I had that specific gene that allowed a person to mate for life.
One guy—forever?
It sounded so permanent.
Choosing just one would be like picking a favorite piece of jewelry.
I had this gorgeous turquoise pendant. I’d picked it up at a farmers’ market from a jeweler who only made one-of-a-kind designs. It’d immediately become my new favorite thing to wear. The intricate silver and dark color of turquoise went perfectly with almost everything in my closet. I’d wear it so much that my friends forgot what I looked like without it. The pendant and I had become one—that was, until I’d found an amethyst and rose quartz necklace that outdid the turquoise one in every way. I would still wear the turquoise, but it wasn’t nearly as special anymore.
Isn’t it the same with men—the one you’re with is like a turquoise pendant until something better comes along?
So, I had just decided a long time ago to have a very large jewelry collection.
I used the same logic on the men I dated—fun and casual while it lasted but nothing permanent. Life was too short to settle.
As I parked my car on the curb in front of my house, I snuck a quick peek into my rearview mirror, trying to catch a glimpse of my new neighbor.
I’d lived next door to Mrs. Reid for as long as I could remember. She was a sweet, grandmotherly-type woman.
She used to bake cookies every Sunday until the nurses had started coming every day, and then the cookies had stopped. She wasn’t much of a fan of my all-natural version. I’d presented my plate of organic chocolate chip cookies and proudly boasted that I’d used applesauce instead of oil. She’d taken one hesitant bite and crinkled her nose.
“Cookies need fat, honey,” she’d told me.
I’d laughed, not feeling the least bit offended.
She had grown vegetables and roses in her backyard up until she couldn’t walk without assistance, and I’d been tending to her gardens ever since. Mrs. Reid was in her late eighties when she’d passed away.
When I finally stepped out of my car, a gasp escaped my lungs as my eyes lowered to the flower beds separating our two houses.
“Who would do such a thing?” I whispered, looking down at the decapitated and ravaged flowers.
The once beautiful display of multicolored perennials was now a churned-up disaster of footprints and soil.
My heated gaze settled on the lights glowing within the house. A shadow passed by an open window upstairs in what used to be Mrs. Reid’s master bedroom.
I took one step forward, ready to march over, meet my new neighbors, and give them a piece of my mind.
A strong gust of wind sent the curtain into a tailspin and suddenly the shadow solidified, and I saw the finest bare back I’d seen in years. It was tanned, broad, and so muscular that the defined muscles could be seen from two floors down. Hard, lean arms reached out toward a box and grabbed a T-shirt as I begged him to turn around—until my eyes found his ass.
Dear Lord.
My new neighbor was hot—or at least the back of him was.
Turn around, turn around, I silently begged.
The weather took that moment to remind me of its mighty power and sent a strong gust of wind whipping through the two houses. The curtain settled back in place, and I was once again left with shadows.
As the first raindrop fell, signaling the impending storm, I looked down at the once perfect garden that I had painstakingly kept alive as a tribute to my longtime friend and neighbor. It had been trampled on and was now ruined, and I felt the rage boiling back up to the surface.
Hot or not, my new neighbor was a plant-trampling jerk, and when I got home from work tomorrow, I’d make sure he knew it.
I’d also take a moment to see if that face of his matched his perfect back and ass.
Shut up, Liv.
~Jackson~
“You’re taking me where?” Noah asked once again, his voice taking on that edgy whine I’d grown to hate.
“She’s just someone you can talk to—besides me,” I offered with a shrug.
“A counselor, Dad? You said counselor before.”
I sighed. “Okay, yes. She’s a counselor, but she’s a very good one. She’s not a shrink or a doctor. She’s just someone other than your dad. Look, between the move and a new school, I know a lot is going on right now. This hasn’t been easy for either of us, especially you. I just thought it might be a good idea for you to have someone neutral.”