The Boy Next Door: A Standalone Small Town Romance (Soulmates Series Book 3) (3 page)

Chapter 5: Laney

He was even more handsome than I
remembered.

Not that I tried to remember
often.

If anything I did the opposite.

After all, I still believed
breaking up with him was the biggest mistake of my life, which made it kind of
weird to have small talk with him at my grandma’s house over lemonade.

It was like no time had passed,
and yet, at the same time, there was a tangible tension in the air between us.

I don’t think the wall to wall
crystals were making the whole thing any less surreal.

And there were so many questions
I wanted to ask him, but the answers to those questions were none of my business
any more. Or at least, the last time we’d spoken, I’d made it clear that he
should go about his business without me.

I felt sick just thinking about
it.

“What about you?” he asked.

“What about me?” I asked, wishing
he would just talk, that he would just instinctively know all the questions I
had and let me listen to his voice, a voice that at one time was the only thing
I would’ve dropped anything to hear.

“Well I know you went to art
school because your grandma told me.”

I nodded. “I did, yeah. In Boston.”

He raised his eyebrows. “And?”

“I loved it,” I said. “It was the
best thing I’ve ever done.”

“And you’re still there?”

“I’ve been in New York since I
graduated,” I said. “Because I like to make things extra hard for myself.”

He smiled.

My heart didn’t know if it should
stop or skip a beat.

“What are you making lately?”

“Nothing,” I said. “I’m cleaning
up other people’s art.”

He tilted an ear towards me.

“Mostly the art that children
make with the ingredients of their breakfast.”

He nodded. “I see.”

“It’s only temporary, though.”

“How long you been at it?” he
asked.

“Almost two years.”

He looked at me like he could see
through all my bullshit. It was a familiar expression, one I hadn’t seen in a
long time but remembered well.

He used to make it a lot when we
first met, when he’d sense that I was hiding things from him, which I was. But
it wasn’t personal. I was hiding things from everyone back then, myself
included.

But he always got the truth out
of me. Always. For better or for worse.

I don’t know what it was about
him that made me trust him with my most buried thoughts and hopes and secrets,
but it was intoxicating to have someone in my life like that as a teenage girl.

Hell, it was probably intoxicating
to have that at any stage in life, but I hadn’t found it since.

In fact, I’d lied to Henry about
everything. I don’t know why. He probably could’ve handled the truth. I guess
in the beginning it was just fun to be who I thought he wanted. He liked that
version of myself and so did I.

But it wasn’t authentic.

It was a show, a show I couldn’t
promise him I’d always have the energy to put on. And that was why I had to
figure out how to break up with him when he’d literally never put a foot or a
word wrong since I met him.

Though sometimes I wished he’d be
a little bolder in the bedroom.

“So you aren’t exactly using your
degree?” Connor asked.

“What are you the degree police?”

“No. Sorry. I don’t mean it like
that,” he said. “I just mean I’m surprised. You’re such a fantastic artist.”

I swallowed.

“I can remember walking along the
beach in college and people would be doing the most amazing stuff in the
street, and I’d always think ‘I wonder what Laney’s making right now.’”

“You thought about me? After you
went away to school?”

He gave me a hard look. “I’m not
even going to dignify that with a response.”

“I think you just did,” I said,
trying to cut through the seriousness of his tone.

“You know damn well I thought
about you.”

I pursed my lips.

“You don’t just think about
someone every day for years- love someone every day for years- and then stop
thinking about them overnight.”

“I’m sorry, Con-”

“Save it,” he said. “If you were
sorry, you would’ve gotten in touch a long time ago.”

A lump formed in my throat.

“But since you asked, cold turkey
didn’t work for me when things ended between us. And I couldn’t exactly find a
Laney patch to slap on my arm to help get you out of my system.”

The gravity in his voice was
uncomfortable. It made me wish all those screaming kids at the diner would run
through the kitchen making airplane noises and spurting milk to break the
tension.

He clenched his jaw. “You made
promises you never intended to keep-”

“That’s not true,” I said,
craning my neck forward.

“It is. But I’m over it.”

I wasn’t convinced, and I felt
like a bad person for not being totally disheartened by that.

He drained the rest of his
lemonade.

“Do you want some more?”

He raised a flat hand off the
table. “No thanks.”

“Is now a bad time to ask if
you’ve met anyone special?”

He laughed. “I can see how you
might think so, but you’ve asked now, haven’t you?”

“Well?”

“I haven’t done much dating since
I left to be honest. It’s hard to maintain a serious relationship when you’re
trying to become a vet in six years.”

“How long is it supposed to
take?” I asked.

“Eight.”

“So why do it in six?”

He shrugged. “Stubbornness? I
don’t know. Patience isn’t my favorite virtue.”

I remembered the silly arguments
we used to have over nothing. By the time the makeup sex was through, we
couldn’t even remember what we’d been fighting about.

“I did meet a lot of special
animals, though.”

I raised my eyebrows. “I bet.”

“And I have a new puppy. Well,
he’s not technically a puppy any more. More like a difficult teenager.”

“What kind of dog is he?”

“A golden retriever.”

I smiled. “What’s his name?”

“Sargent Pepper.”

“Cute.”

“He goes by Sarge, though,” he
said. “That is, if he’s in the mood to take direction.”

“I’d love to meet him.”

“How long are you staying in
town?” he asked.

“I’m not quite sure yet.”

“Helly must be happy to have
you.”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “She’s the
best.”

“I lucked out with her as a
neighbor anyway,” he said. “She brought me a pie when I moved in, and she’s
brought over double chocolate brownies twice.”

“Hence the tomatoes?”

“Hence me making sure I run
regularly with my dog,” he said. “What about you? Anyone special eagerly
awaiting your return to New York?”

“Yeah. Sort of.” Henry didn’t
even know I’d left yet.

Connor furrowed his brow.

“It’s complicated.”

I couldn’t be sure, but I swore
he glanced at my finger. It was the kind of thing I never would’ve noticed if I
hadn’t been so aware of that exact digit all morning.

“Well,” he said, pushing his
chair back. “I’ll leave you to it.”

I stood up, hating myself for
selfishly wishing he wouldn’t go. “Thanks for stopping by. I’ll be sure to drop
a hint that brownies would be very welcome payback for the tomatoes.”

“Sarge and I are happy with pies,
too,” he said, heading for the door.

“Connor,” I said when he pulled
the door open.

He stopped and turned towards me.

“It was good to see you.”

“You too,” he said, stepping
outside.

“And I’m sorry,” I blurted.

“About what?”

“About before. About-”

“It’s okay,” he said. “Don’t
worry about it.”

I felt hollow.

His mouth twitched. “All I ever
wanted was for you to be happy.”

But I wasn’t. Couldn’t he see
that I wasn’t? I hadn’t been happy since-

“But if you insist on making it
up to me-”

I craned my neck back, positive
I’d suggested no such thing.

“Have dinner with me.”

I tilted an ear towards him. “What?”

“Dinner,” he said. “Have dinner
with me.”

“Can I think about it?”

“Come on, Laney. It’s just
dinner.”

My lips fell apart.

“It’s not like I proposed.”

Chapter 6: Connor

I tried to say it with good humor, but she flinched so hard I
regretted it instantly.

And I was glad I hadn’t verbalized the thought I had after the
proposal comment, which was that I wouldn’t make that mistake again.

It would only hurt her feelings.

Plus, it was a complete lie.

I didn’t think proposing to her was a mistake at all.

I meant every word I said to her that day in the park, and I
still meant it for months after she said no.

God those were the longest months of my life. Not only was she
on the other side of the country, but she was gone from my life. Overnight.

I remember thinking it was some kind of cruel joke how jovial
and sun kissed and smiley every surface of California seemed to be. Like the
whole world was laughing at my broken heart.

It never even crossed my mind that she would say no.

But even now I was glad I asked. At least I didn’t have any
regrets about making sure she knew what she meant to me before I went, regrets
I’d often wondered if she had.

Of course, I had to assume she didn’t have any either. She never
got in touch, never so much as poked me online. She didn’t even have social
media. Lord knows I checked.

I only wanted to know if she was okay.

Instead, it felt like she wanted me to know nothing, which is
exactly what I knew. For years. Sure, my parents might’ve given me news if I’d
asked. But after a while, it was just too sad to try and casually mention her.

I had too much pride to let others know how much she’d broken my
heart.

But she knew.

She must’ve.

She had to have seen it in my face that day when I had a knee full
of woodchips and the purest kind of hope in my eyes a man could have.

Until I asked her.

And not only did she say no, she said it was over.

It was a complete mindfuck.

After all, she was the girl who made me want things I thought
other people were crazy for wanting. Like kids. And a mortgage. And staged Christmas
cards. She was the one that made simple things amazing, the one who laughed
hardest at my jokes, and the one I wanted to get old with.

I almost didn’t accept my enrollment at UC Davis for her.

And she didn’t even love me back. Not enough anyway. Not enough
to justify how much those years meant to me.

She told me I was all she had more times than I could count.

But her actions forced me to wonder if it was just a line, if
she’d just used me because she was the pretty new girl and knew that her beauty
would be all consuming for a thirteen year old boy like me.

It didn’t ruin me or anything.

My parents were living proof that true love existed.

If it weren’t for them, though, my personal experience would be
enough to give me doubts.

But seeing her again… It all came back.

All those nights she climbed the lattice work up to my bedroom
window, all those nights we snuck out to go skinny dipping, all those classes
we used to skip to have sex in my car.

She was my first everything. And at the time, my everything
period.

But I was that for her, too.

I know I was. She told me so, and I could feel it in every bone
in my body.

And I know love makes people stupid and crazy, but it felt good
to be those things with her.

I would’ve bet anything then that we would’ve stayed that way forever.

But she had other plans, I guess. Plans I still didn’t
understand.

When she didn’t say anything after I joked about the proposal, I
told her she knew where to find me. Then I went next door and grabbed Sarge for
a quick walk.

I couldn’t bear the thought of sitting still in my house knowing
she was just fifty yards away.

For years, I worked my ass off, knowing I’d come home eventually
and hoping deep down she’d be back, too. But the reunion wasn’t all laughs and
hugs.

There were too many unanswered questions, too many unfelt
feelings. Or felt in my case, but certainly not expressed.

And I’d let myself down for even letting her glimpse how much
she’d hurt me. But she always had that effect on me.

She inspired me to want to become a man and yet, at the same
time, her attention made me feel so safe I always ended up saying too much, feeling
too much, and ultimately, wanting too much.

I had no business having nice thoughts about her, no business
noticing how stunning she’d become, but it was like my mind and body weren’t
playing for the same side.

Logically, she was no good for me. She’d hurt me worse than I’d
ever been hurt by anyone.

But I also knew she’d been hurt so much worse, and the fact that
she ever even allowed herself to feel for me in high school was a miracle after
what she’d been through.

So I couldn’t hate her.

But I couldn’t want her either.

And above all, I couldn’t fall for her again when she’d so
obviously moved on.

Besides, she wasn’t entirely the person I remembered.

It was bizarre that she wasn’t doing art any more. That fact
alone made her sort of unrecognizable.

Still, I couldn’t help but be curious about what went wrong. Why
would someone with her gifts, her creativity, her eye for color and texture and
light, settle for waitressing?

And the fact that she was still in New York?

Was Central Park really enough for her?

This was a girl whose favorite thing used to be walking barefoot
through fields of wildflowers, laying in the tall grass, and talking about how
wonderful it would be if we were wild lions stalking prey through the African
plains.

Not that talking was the only thing we did in that grass.

But I couldn’t quite put my finger on why she seemed slightly
distant from herself.

The best way to describe it would be to say that she seemed a
bit lost.

Right when I’d found her, ironically.

Worst of all, the stupid, stubborn, hopelessly sprung seventeen
year old inside me spent the whole time I was with her jabbing me in the ribs
so I would notice she wasn’t wearing a ring.

And despite my best efforts to not give a shit, for some reason,
it mattered.