A thick French accent and an in-charge tone when he spoke. He couldn’t help but wonder who he was.
Honestly, he shouldn’t care. Avery hadn’t held up her end of the relationship. It would only figure she’d moved on.
She’d wanted to feel out those Pierpont roots. He supposed she had now.
Pete picked up his cell phone and hit the power button on the side. He was too tired to even climb the stairs to bed.
He set the phone back down and pulled the afghan his mother had crocheted off the back of the couch. Wrapping himself in the comfort of its stitches, he lie down on the couch and let the day take him under.
Chapter Twelve
They were getting married. Pete couldn’t be happier as he watched his bride walking toward him. The veil covered her face, but he knew who it was.
Family surrounded them. Birds chirped in nearby trees and his best man gave him a solid slap on the back.
Pete looked up at him, but who was he? Certainly if he were marrying Avery he’d have chosen Spencer to stand with him.
“Who are you?”
The man smiled and said, “I think you are in my space.”
His accent was deep and heavy. French.
This wasn’t his wedding. Avery wasn’t walking toward him though he still couldn’t see her face.
Suddenly an enormous crash pierced his ears and Pete sat up in a cold sweat. He was on his couch, in the living room, and it was daylight.
The man was gone. The bride to be was gone. He was alone.
“Shit!”
He heard the word yelled from the backyard and it took him a moment to realize someone was outside.
Pete scrambled to his feet and ran to the backdoor.
In the driveway, he could see a big, old, blue Ford pickup truck full of boxes. Knelt down beside the truck was a woman with a blonde ponytail high on the top of her head bent over a box of broken plates.
“Can I help you?” Pete called from the back porch, his eyes batting to focus in the sun.
“Sorry. I dropped this box and of course it had all my dishes. They’re just Walmart dishes, but I think I might have broken every single one of them. This is the worst.” She rolled her head from side to side. “Well, in hindsight it isn’t really bad at all. It’s just some cheap plates. I can eat off of something else for a few days until I can buy a new plate. Start small, you know. One at a time.”
Pete batted his eyes again, but this time to try and clear the cobwebs out of his head.
The woman finished loading the few shards that had escaped back into the box, then stood and stretched her back.
“This is a lovely morning, isn’t it? It’s days like this I wish I were a runner.” Then she laughed and looked down at herself. “Right, as if I’d ever run.”
He gave her a look. She was soft—yeah, soft. But he was sure she was criticizing her body. Women, his sisters mostly, did that all the time.
“Anyway,” she stopped, pushed the sunglasses from her eyes and rested them atop her head. She looked him over and smiled. “You must think I’m a nit. Here I am screaming obscenities early on a Saturday morning and you obviously were sleeping. Trust me, I’ll be a very quiet neighbor. This really isn’t like me at all. I don’t usually…” She stopped, took a breath, and started toward him.
Pete blinked again against the sun as the woman walked up the steps of the porch.
She reached out her hand. “I’m Jill. Jill Yance. I’m going to be living downstairs.”
Pete nodded as she shook his hand and then realized the entire time he hadn’t had a chance to say anything.
“Pete.”
“Nice to meet you, Pete.” She smiled a smile that was nearly as bubbly as her personality and Pete realized he might have smiled back. “I’ll let you get back to sleep and I’ll try to be quiet.”
Pete nodded as she pulled her hand back and started down the steps.
“Hey, Jill.” He heard his own voice call out to her. “Let me brush my teeth and I’ll come help. Those stairs are steep.”
“Awesome!” she
Honestly, he shouldn’t care. Avery hadn’t held up her end of the relationship. It would only figure she’d moved on.
She’d wanted to feel out those Pierpont roots. He supposed she had now.
Pete picked up his cell phone and hit the power button on the side. He was too tired to even climb the stairs to bed.
He set the phone back down and pulled the afghan his mother had crocheted off the back of the couch. Wrapping himself in the comfort of its stitches, he lie down on the couch and let the day take him under.
Chapter Twelve
They were getting married. Pete couldn’t be happier as he watched his bride walking toward him. The veil covered her face, but he knew who it was.
Family surrounded them. Birds chirped in nearby trees and his best man gave him a solid slap on the back.
Pete looked up at him, but who was he? Certainly if he were marrying Avery he’d have chosen Spencer to stand with him.
“Who are you?”
The man smiled and said, “I think you are in my space.”
His accent was deep and heavy. French.
This wasn’t his wedding. Avery wasn’t walking toward him though he still couldn’t see her face.
Suddenly an enormous crash pierced his ears and Pete sat up in a cold sweat. He was on his couch, in the living room, and it was daylight.
The man was gone. The bride to be was gone. He was alone.
“Shit!”
He heard the word yelled from the backyard and it took him a moment to realize someone was outside.
Pete scrambled to his feet and ran to the backdoor.
In the driveway, he could see a big, old, blue Ford pickup truck full of boxes. Knelt down beside the truck was a woman with a blonde ponytail high on the top of her head bent over a box of broken plates.
“Can I help you?” Pete called from the back porch, his eyes batting to focus in the sun.
“Sorry. I dropped this box and of course it had all my dishes. They’re just Walmart dishes, but I think I might have broken every single one of them. This is the worst.” She rolled her head from side to side. “Well, in hindsight it isn’t really bad at all. It’s just some cheap plates. I can eat off of something else for a few days until I can buy a new plate. Start small, you know. One at a time.”
Pete batted his eyes again, but this time to try and clear the cobwebs out of his head.
The woman finished loading the few shards that had escaped back into the box, then stood and stretched her back.
“This is a lovely morning, isn’t it? It’s days like this I wish I were a runner.” Then she laughed and looked down at herself. “Right, as if I’d ever run.”
He gave her a look. She was soft—yeah, soft. But he was sure she was criticizing her body. Women, his sisters mostly, did that all the time.
“Anyway,” she stopped, pushed the sunglasses from her eyes and rested them atop her head. She looked him over and smiled. “You must think I’m a nit. Here I am screaming obscenities early on a Saturday morning and you obviously were sleeping. Trust me, I’ll be a very quiet neighbor. This really isn’t like me at all. I don’t usually…” She stopped, took a breath, and started toward him.
Pete blinked again against the sun as the woman walked up the steps of the porch.
She reached out her hand. “I’m Jill. Jill Yance. I’m going to be living downstairs.”
Pete nodded as she shook his hand and then realized the entire time he hadn’t had a chance to say anything.
“Pete.”
“Nice to meet you, Pete.” She smiled a smile that was nearly as bubbly as her personality and Pete realized he might have smiled back. “I’ll let you get back to sleep and I’ll try to be quiet.”
Pete nodded as she pulled her hand back and started down the steps.
“Hey, Jill.” He heard his own voice call out to her. “Let me brush my teeth and I’ll come help. Those stairs are steep.”
“Awesome!” she
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