It’s Tuesday morning, so I’m working from home, although I can barely concentrate on the manuscript in front of me—a new author’s novel that will no doubt set the literary world on fire. Right now, all I can focus on is Mila. Her black hair is tied up, exposing a very tempting neck. Long legs are wrapped up in some seriously tight jeans, and her over worn Ramones tee is tucked into the waistband.
She’s had my attention for a very long time.
My neighbour of nine years. I remember the day my family and I moved onto this street. I was pissed at having to move over forty miles away, leaving my friends behind, but the second we pulled up to the house, and she came to say hi, I knew I was done for.
One month later, when I saw her reading in the back of her mum’s car, refusing to get out until she’d finished the chapter, I knew I was going to fall in love. I was fifteen. She was twelve, too young, and so uninterested. I don’t think she said more than the odd passing ‘Hey’ since the first day we met. Besides those two evenings: the one in the bar with her friends last year… and one much before that. I doubt she could recall either.
She’s outside now, kicking the wheel of her ridiculous Volkswagen Beetle, as if that’s going to fix whatever the problem is.
Four years ago, my parents moved back home to the place they ripped me from. But I didn’t follow. I work for Wilson Press, a small publisher on the outskirts of the city, about twenty minutes from here. I love my job… and I love my neighbour.
If anyone asks why I didn’t move back to be near family, I tell them it’s due to work.
Mila scowls at the yellow car as Wren pulls up. I’ve seen Mila’s boyfriend in grease-covered overalls before, so I’m pretty sure he’s a mechanic. I don’t know why Mila called Wren instead of him.
Getting out of the car, Wren speaks to her for a second and then kicks the wheel in the same spot Mila did.
Really?
Shaking my head, I lower my eyes and try to focus on the words in front of me. This is a damn good book, and my notes are making it even better.
We’re on a tight deadline here, so I’m home for the two weeks before it needs to be back with the author, Leonard. He’s written three incredible thrillers. I’ve read all of them as first drafts, and Wilson Press bought his strongest. I know it’s going to do well, so I’m keen for us to buy more.
Mila would like it. I’ve seen her carrying horror and thrillers as well as romance. She has a battered copy of Stephen King’s The Shining that looks as if she’s read it a hundred times.
The thought of her pulls my attention back in her direction. I should have stayed at work.
The bonnet of the yellow bubble is up, with both of them looking inside as if the engine is going to tell them what’s wrong.
Jesus, I can’t watch this any longer.
I get up and make my way out of my office, which used to be the dining room when my parents owned it, and head outside.
My house isn’t directly opposite Mila’s—thank God, or I’d never get anything done—but I can see her house from my office. It’s very distracting. I should move the office to another room. I sound like a stalker. I have never followed her or even looked her up online. She probably posts lots of pictures on social media.
Closing the front door behind me, I walk towards them, and my stomach clenches.
Wren looks over as I approach, and she straightens up. “Oh, hey, Reid.”
“How’s it going?” I ask. Talking to Wren is easy. I tutored her in English Literature for a month in high school so she was ready for her exams.
She folds her arms. “I’m good. Mila, however…”
With a scowl and pursed lips, Mila turns to face me.
Eye contact from this girl is comparable to being winded.
She has eyes the same colour as my favourite spiced rum.
“I don’t need to take a look to know that you need a new car.”
“There is nothing wrong with Hilda, thank you,” she says stubbornly.
“I’m sorry, you named the car Hilda?”
“Yes.”
Of course, she did. “Why are you looking under the bonnet if there’s nothing wrong with it?”
“Why are you spying on us?”
Shit.
“I was taking a break from work. It’s pretty hard to not notice that bright thing on your drive. Do you want me to take a look?”
“Aren’t you an editor?”
I tilt my head, trying not to show how much I’m enjoying this. “Do editors have a reputation for not knowing anything about cars?”
Wren smirks at our exchange, saying so much with just one facial expression.
Mila’s folds her arms over her chest and the action pushes her breasts up. “Do you know a lot about cars?”
“Shall we find out?”
She steps to the side, her shoulders dropping. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”
“I should get going?” Wren says.
“Already?”
“Well, you have it covered now, and I was never going to be able to fix it anyway. I don’t know why you messaged me.”
“I thought you would bring Brody!”
Wren frowns. “Oh. Yeah, I should have.”
“Literally no help. I’ll see you later, Wren.”
With a salute, Wren turns around. “Bye, Reid. Good luck!” she calls on her way to her car, which is parked at the side of the road.
“All down to me, then?”
Mila leans against the car and blinks. “I assume you have a penis.”
“You’re good at the assumption game.”
“Then, yes, it’s down to you.”
“That’s rather sexist, Mila.” God, I love talking to her. I would have broken her car myself if I knew this would be the result.
“It’s not sexist. It’s merely probable.”
With a smile that makes my jaw ache, I lean down and look under the bonnet. I know a little about cars—I do minor repairs to my own—but I’m no mechanic.
“Right. As I thought…”
“What?” she asks impatiently, leaning in.
My breath catches at her close proximity. “Erm…” I shake my head and stand up, putting some much needed but unwanted distance between us. “You need a new car.”
“Bullshit! You just don’t know what you’re looking at.”
Laughing, I say, “Take it to a garage and tell them your serpentine belt is worn and needs replacing.”
“Then it’ll be fixed?”
“Well, no, they have to replace it first.”
“Ha ha,” she mutters. “So, are you super busy or can you do me one last favour?”
I could have a deadline in three minutes and I still wouldn’t say no. “What do you need?”
She smiles a toothy smile, like she’s unsure if I’ll go for it, and sways her body from side to side. “A lift home from the garage.”
“All right. Give me a minute to lock the house up first.”
Nodding, she slams the bonnet shut as I cross the road.
I lock the front door and go to my car. Mila is watching me from her drive.
“Ready?” she yells.
“I’ll follow you in case that thing stalls.”
“Don’t diss the car, dick!” she shouts back.
Laughing, I get into my car and follow.
I should just tell her how I feel or ask her out. At least then I will know if she’s at least interested.
Sometimes I’ve come close, but I never know when Liam is on the scene. He’ll be around a lot, and then it’s weeks or months before I see him again.
Mila must love him to keep going back.
The longer I leave it, the more I feel like I need to make her see me.
It might be down to me to open her eyes.