Make You Miss Me by B. Celeste
CHAPTER THREE
Idon’t know much about lawn mowers since I’ve never used one in my life, but I do know the one my father is currently using shouldn’t be making the sound it is. Not even a few seconds after I stop organizing the various pictures, plants, and trinkets on my new bookshelf in the living room, I hear the telltale signs of my father’s cursing that tells me it’s definitely not a good sign.
Frowning, I walk out with a cold bottle of water for the 66-year-old and see him squatting beside the piece of equipment and scowling.
I tilt my head. “What’s wrong with it?”
He accepts the water and guzzles half of it before shaking his balding head where brown hair used to be. What’s left of his receding hairline is a mixture of dark gray and silver, the same color streaks I started seeing when I turned 30. Since my hair is so dark, the silver highlights basically stand out like a sore thumb. One of my students even thought it was tinsel stuck to my head, which was sort of funny until three more popped up.
“Goddamn Sonny must have mowed over something he shouldn’t have. Again. Your mother told me not to let him use it after last time, but I didn’t listen. Love thy neighbors and all that bullshit.”
I snicker. “Maybe you should listen to Mom next time if this keeps happening.” We both know he won’t because Sonny is one of the most persistent people on this planet. I grew up calling him Uncle Sonny even though there was no relation because he was always just…there. Helping Dad tinker on odds and ends in the garage, barbecuing with our family, helping me learn how to ride a bike when Dad was a little preoccupied elsewhere.
Dad harrumphs but doesn’t give any indication that he knows I’m probably right. It’s ten minutes later when he lets out a heavy sigh and gives me a solemn look from where he has the mower on its side to figure out what’s wrong with it. “I’m going to need to fix this, which means figuring out what parts store has what I need and then actually replacing it all.”
My shoulders drop a fraction. “Oh. Is that going to take a while?”
His dark, sympathetic eyes tell me ‘yes’ before he says, “I’ll need to make some calls, but I probably won’t be able to get everything I need until tomorrow or Tuesday at the latest. Sorry, kiddo.”
“It’s okay.” What else can I say? He’s helping me for free anyway to get me out of a bind. Like always, I’ll figure it out. “Do you need some money for the parts?”
I’ll admit, it hurts to offer knowing I don’t have much to my name right now. But I’ve got food in the kitchen, all my bills paid for the month, and gas in the car. I’d make do.
The scoff from him doesn’t surprise me since that’s usually the sound he makes when I offer to help him with anything. When I was sixteen, I’d gotten a job at a movie theater to save up for my first car, and once in a while, I’d offer Dad part of my paycheck for things like groceries. Mom was worried he’d take it and spend it on things he shouldn’t, but her worries were moot because Dad never accepted the helping hand. “I don’t need any money, Stevie. You worry about yourself now that you’ve got this place. And you should probably call the lawn people, so they’ll add you into their next rotation.”
As always, he’s right. I should have called them yesterday after I’d gotten off the phone with him. “I’ll call them when I go back inside. Do you think—”
“Mower trouble?” a deeper voice asks from not so far away. Both dad and I turn at the same time, looking at the sidewalk where a tall, muscular man built like a tank is standing with the kind of straight posture that’s drilled into heads of others who share the same short buzzcut as he does. His white T-shirt looks like it’s about to bust a stitch from the massive biceps and broad shoulders it’s encasing, and the dark denim on his legs aren’t tight but not loose from where they hang low on his hips. In his hand is a leash with a gorgeous, friendly-looking golden retriever attached to the other end who’s wagging its tail as it watches us.
The dog isn’t what I find myself staring at the longest, though, because when I glance up from the large work boots that look like they’ve been well worn, long legs covered in those faded blue jeans with a rip in one of the knees, and the tee that is either too small or arguably just right, I see the tan face attached to the burly body. Clean-shaven sharp jawline, neutral expression, and eyes that are dark and watchful, always observing through the thick lashes lining them like he’s always on alert.
Dad doesn’t even know why my breath catches, that it has nothing to do with the man’s rugged good looks.
I swallow when the man I’ve seen a handful of times over the years looks from the mower to my dad, then back to me. There doesn’t seem to be recognition at first, but when he gets a good look at my shocked expression and stiff body, he blinks.
Just once.
Then those brawny shoulders draw back.
Dad doesn’t even seem to notice, not that it’d make any sense for him to. He’d never met any of Hunter’s commanding officers, including this man with short brown hair, hair slightly lighter than mine, who stands with the type of authority any other Lieutenant Colonel is trained to have in the army. Stock straight, perfect posture, and eyes that see all to be prepared for anything.
But I bet he didn’t see this.
“My damn neighbor ruined the blade and crankshaft,” Dad announces bitterly to the man still watching me with a careful eye before slowly pulling his gaze downward to my father.
I don’t bother pointing out that the chance of Sonny being responsible for what sounded like an expensive fix isn’t likely since Dad managed to mow half the lawn. It wouldn’t surprise me if Lieutenant Colonel Miller probably knows that too but doesn’t say it.
“If you need to borrow mine,” that baritone voice says, “I can go grab it for you.”
Through my lashes, I glance up to see the familiar set of eyes watching me again, waiting for an answer. But because I’m a coward, I let my father be the one who answers for me. “We’d appreciate that, wouldn’t we, Stevie?”
Heat slithers up the back of my neck as I pick my head up and offer an appreciative nod. The smile with it is tight, still full of surprise and uncertainty as the two circular orbs, the color of my favorite espresso, pins me where I stand with the intensity of the gaze. If Mom were here, she’d tell me I was being rude, then elbow me discreetly to comment on the commanding officer’s looks when he wasn’t looking. There’d been more than one occasion where an attractive man was somewhere nearby, and my mother felt the need to point them out like I didn’t have two eyes of my own. The difference between those times and now was that I could freely ogle the strangers without feeling bad about it because it’d never come to anything.
Fletcher Miller isn’t a stranger, though. Considering I don’t know what he does or doesn’t know about the split one of his soldiers and me, there isn’t a lot I’d trust myself to say without reopening old wounds that I’ve worked hard on mending shut.
“We would appreciate it,” I force out, proud of how steady my voice sounds even if I’m shaking on the inside.
When those piercing eyes lock on me, I don’t dare move or blink. I hold my breath, wondering what he’s thinking, and only release it when he dips his chin once. “Okay.”
Okay.
That’s all.
The man, who has to be in his early to mid-forties by now, tugs on his dog’s leash and starts walking down the street. It isn’t until he crosses it to the house I saw the black truck park in the driveway of yesterday that I realize the cold hard truth reality is smacking me with.
My ex-husband’s commanding officer is my neighbor.