Love Next Door (Lakeside #1) by Helena Hunting

I make a gagging sound and point aggressively at her. “I’m Bee’s grandson, and you’d better not move while I’m putting clothes on, or I’m calling the police.”

“What if I am the police?” she calls after me.

I’m tempted to yell something about showing me her badge, but based on the heels she’s wearing, I’m going to go out on a limb and say she isn’t the police. Besides, if she was, the first thing she would have done was show me her badge. For a moment I consider that I could end up going to jail for stealing money I didn’t take. This day keeps going from bad to worse.

I grab the first pair of shorts I can find—screw the boxers—and jab my feet through the legs. I do up the button and nab a shirt, pulling it over my head as I walk down the hall. I’m still wet, so everything sticks to my skin, but I’m not leaving a random stranger in my grandmother’s living room unattended any longer than necessary. I should have ushered her out the door and made her wait on the porch, but I didn’t want to get that close to her while I was free-balling it and risk getting kicked in the nuts.

When I return to the living room, she’s not standing in the middle of it anymore. Instead she’s over by the credenza, rolling one of my grandmother’s knickknacks between her fingers.

“Hey, that’s not yours to touch. Put it down,” I bark.

She nearly drops it because I startled her, but she manages to recover and sets it down carefully. When she turns to me, her arms are crossed and her eyes are narrowed. Despite her ire, she’s still frustratingly attractive. “You said you were Bee’s grandson. Which one are you?”

I raise a hand in the air, because seriously, who does this woman think she is? Also, I’m done with people being assholes today. “I’m not answering any of your questions until you answer mine. Who are you, and how did you get in here?”

“I’m Bee’s neighbor, and I used a key.” She dangles one from her ring finger. It’s hooked onto a tiny needlepoint chain, which is definitely something Bee would’ve used to keep track of her keys.

“First of all, ‘Bee’s neighbor’ is not a name. And secondly, that could be any key. Maybe you picked the lock. Maybe it should be me threatening to call the cops on you, since you’re the one breaking into my grandmother’s house.” Hell, she could be the reason I’m in so much trouble. The only reason I’m not calling the cops is because I already have enough going on without getting local law enforcement involved.

“Bee called me Lynnie. And you can call the cops if you want, but they’re probably on break, since there are only three in the whole of Pearl Lake and they’re friends of my family. I live over there.” She thumbs over her shoulder. “I’ve known Bee my whole life. Knew her,” she says, correcting herself, and then looks away, rubbing at her lips with her thumb. “So which grandson are you?”

Well, that explains why she’s so familiar. I used to see her all the time, but usually from a distance, through the barrier of trees that separates her property from my grandmother’s. She worked at the food truck one summer. They served the worst hot dogs. “I’m Van.”

“Van?”

“Donovan,” I say in frustration. My grandmother only shortened my name when she was talking to family.

Her eyes flare, and this time not because I’m flashing her. “Donovan? Firestone?”

“Yeah. That’s me.”

“Oh.” She blinks a few times, and her expression goes stony. Or stonier than it already was, anyway. “We’ve been emailing.” She motions between us.

“Huh?” Today has been a cluster, and I’m about ready to throw in the towel.

Her lip curls up in a half sneer. “About Bee’s estate. We’ve been emailing back and forth for months.”

I give my head a shake and drag my gaze away from her mouth. “Nope. I’ve been emailing with some dude named Dillion.”

“Not some dude—me. I’m Dillion. Dillion Stitch.” She crosses her arms, eyes narrowed in distrust.

“I thought you said your name was Lynnie.” I rub my temple; my brain hurts from the crap I’ve been through over the past couple of hours, and this sure isn’t helping.

“No. I said Bee called me Lynnie. My actual name is Dillion.” She pokes at her cheek with her tongue, gaze flitting from my mouth to my eyes and back again.

I rub my lip self-consciously. “Do you have any other names you go by that I should know about?”

“Nope, that covers it.”

“Why did Bee call you Lynnie?” I don’t know why I’m entertaining this. For all I know she’s lying about who she is. I hate how paranoid I suddenly am.

“Because Bee thought Dillion was a boy’s name, so she dropped the first half. I don’t know why she added the i-e to the end, though. I never asked, and she never offered.” She blows out a breath and looks around the cabin, eyes suddenly soft. “Not that that matters. Anyway, I’m guessing you’re here to put the will into probate. You must be here to have the place appraised so you can sell it to developers or whatever. Good luck on getting the lot divided, by the way. Parceling off the land will never happen. Besides, the zoning laws on this side are different, so whatever plan you’re probably hatching isn’t going to work. You might get a fair price for the land, but I’m not sure whoever buys it is gonna get much love from their neighbors.”