Waiting for Love Read online

  “Plans?”

  “Yes, plans.”

  “You have a…date?” What was the look that flashed in his eyes?

  I stand up tall and straighten my back. “Yes, I have a date. He’s…new to town.”

  “The new guy in town? Do you even know him? What if he’s a serial killer?”

  “The only killer here is you. You killed my excitement. You’re like the biggest buzzkill in Appleton.”

  “Wow, that’s a bold statement. Shouldn’t that honor come with a metal?”

  I roll my eyes and send a glare his way. “He’s not a serial killer. You probably don’t know him. He doesn’t work at the hardware store, the gym, or the fast food joint on Blinker Street. He’s a…teacher. An amazing, educated teacher.”

  “Andrei Chikatilo was a literature teacher, and Dennis Rader was his church president. Both were also serial killers.”

  All I can do is blink rapidly. “Do I even want to know why you know that?” I whisper, my brain trying to catch up with his statement.

  Theo shrugs his broad shoulders. “Don’t watch a lot of television, but when I do, it’s true crime and biographies.”

  “That’s…enlightening.” I take a deep breath. “Listen, I appreciate your concern and the vivid picture you’ve now put in my head, but I’ll be fine. Nothing to get all freaked out about.” I should feel bad for lying to him, but I don’t. The mistruth sounds more exciting than admitting I take beginners yoga every Wednesday night in town at the gym.

  His impossibly dark brown eyes bore into me, a mix of concern and curiosity, before he slowly makes his way to my back door. “Well, I’ll let you get to it then. Enjoy your date.” The last word slides off his tongue like a snake bite.

  “Thanks. I’m sure I will,” I reply pleasantly.

  He steps out and moves across my porch, heading for his yard. Even though his hands are stuffed in the pockets of his jeans casually, there’s something so dreadful about the way he walks. As if he were a man heading to the electric chair.

  “Hey, Theo?” I find myself saying before he’s even crossed to his side of the property line. When he glances over his shoulder, I add, “Thank you for your help. I really appreciate it.”

  The small smile he gives me causes a shiver to sweep down my spine and my thighs to clench. He really is a gorgeous man. “You’re welcome, Pen. Have a nice evening.”

  I find a grin spreading across my own face as I watch him disappear into his garage. After he’s long gone, I finally return to my kitchen to put away my groceries. It doesn’t take long, and before I know it, I’m heading down the hall to get ready.

  Except, I don’t go to my bedroom. Instead, I detour into my office and take a seat at my desk. I should be changing, but I find myself searching online the likelihood of dating a serial killer.

  Dammit, Theo!

  ***

  “Exhale slowly as you hit your pose. Good,” the instructor softly commands, striking the stance perfectly.

  I, on the other hand, do not hit the pose correctly. I’ve been bombarded with thoughts of Theo ever since I stepped out of my house and saw him light a fire to the brush we cleaned up, and it hasn’t stopped since. He was along for the drive and followed me to the gym where my yoga class takes place. Now, he’s messing with my poses from halfway across town. So badly that I stumble with the beginner downward dog and almost fall.

  “Clear your mind, Penelope. Let go of whatever’s troubling you,” the instructor says, calling me out when she sees my near-fall.

  “Easier said than done,” I mutter quietly, making sure she can’t hear me. She eyes me curiously before returning to her deep breathing, making me wonder if maybe she did hear me. Or read my lips.

  That’d be my luck.

  Somehow, I make it through the class. Usually, I’d stay and visit with a few other women, who hang around the smoothie bar by the lobby, but I’m just not feeling it tonight. I’d rather go home, take a quick shower, and start that new book I purchased earlier this morning. It’s about a cocky baseball player and the woman who finally tames him.

  Better yet, I can check out this week’s podcast from The Love Vixen.

  I’ve been a diehard fan of hers since I first stumbled across her bestselling book, Love Like a PB&J Sammie. I was hooked from that moment on. I’ve never missed her weekly blog post or podcast. Her relationship advice is real and timely, and most of the time, spot-on. I’ve only read of a few instances where the writer did as suggested, only to be burned at the end. The world adores The Love Vixen, and frankly, so do I.

  I may have even written her a month or so back, following a particularly bad blind date where the guy I was meeting quoted lines from Fast Times at Ridgemont High through the entire evening and wore a Pokémon getting bent over by Pikachu necktie. He found it hilarious.

  I did not.

  Determined to slip out before anyone flags me down, I keep my eyes lowered and speed-walk to the exit. Someone calls my name behind me, but I pretend not to hear them and push through the door. The last thing I need is for someone to ask why my downward dog resembled a newborn calf trying to stand for the first time.

  It only takes me a few minutes to get home, and for that, I’m grateful. I park in my garage just as the skies open up, and the rain starts to fall. The air holds a chill as I hold my bag over my head and dart through the yard for the back door. Cold rain pelts my face and hair as I move the bag to release the lock. I lunge through the opening and slam the door, just as the hard rain turns to a downpour.

  Sighing, I drop my wet bag and slowly trudge to my room, eager to get out of my soaked clothes. As soon as I’m in comfy sweats, I make a quick cup of gourmet hot chocolate my boss sent me for my birthday and settle in my office. A few clicks later and The Love Vixen’s website pops up, brightly colored and inviting.

  I take a sip of my cocoa and click on the podcast link for her latest show, anticipation bubbling through me. At least the night is finally looking up.

  Her latest video podcast starts to play. “Good evening, friends. I’m so happy you’re joining me this evening. I have a great show in store for you. Three people from around the world who are searching for love and needing a little help doing it. Let’s not delay any longer. First up,” she says, holding up a sheet of paper and reading from it.

  “Dear Love Vixen, You know the saying ‘always a bridesmaid, never a bride’? That’s me. I’ve stood beside six best friends, with the seventh to marry the man of her dreams in less than a month. I’ve tried everything, from dating apps to websites that promise to find you deep, meaningful love, only to set you up with a dud who leaves you with the whole check. So, I’m done. Throwing in the towel. Over dating. I’m just going to sit here and wait for it to show up on my doorstep like pizza delivery. I’m… Ugh! Sorry, my neighbor is horrible! I wish you could hear how loud and annoying he is. He’s the worst, even if he is slightly gorgeous. The problem is…he knows it. Anyway, back to my issue. I’m tired of looking for love in all the wrong places! (Wow, cue Johnny Lee.) Help!

  Sincerely,

  Waiting in Washington”

  Holy shit!

  She’s reading my letter!

  I realize I’m holding my breath and waiting to hear what she’s going to say next. I lean forward, my forehead dangerously close to the screen, as if that’ll help me hear better. When she finally continues, I inhale sharply, my eyes practically bugged out of my head.

  “This letter from Waiting in Washington really caught my attention. I’m sure many, when faced with the impending wedding of a friend, feel like they’re the last single person on earth and may question whether or not they’ll ever find what their friend has found. So here’s my reply to Waiting. You’re going about this all wrong. Don’t think of it as giving up. Think of it as the perfect time to do some inner soul-searching and find out exactly who you are and what you have to offer those you love. You know I always say, you’ll never find love u
ntil you find yourself. Sweetie, I wish I could tell you a timeline, but there isn’t one. Finding true love could take years or it could be closer than you think. Good luck, hon!” She winks at the camera and sets down the sheet of paper before adding, “I’ve shared this letter and my reply on my latest blog post, which you can read after tonight’s show.”

  I stare at the screen, begging for more. I need her to tell me what to do! How do I go about finding Mr. Right? Can’t she offer me even one suggestion? A hint? Something?

  But, she doesn’t. The Love Vixen moves on to the next letter, reading about someone else’s painful quest for true love.

  I sigh deeply and lean back in my chair. She suggested some inner soul-searching, but I already know who I am. I’m a thirty-three-year-old toy buyer from Appleton who can’t seem to find even one decent guy left in the state of Washington. I own my own home, my own vehicle, and pay all of my bills the day they arrive in the mail. I have a great group of friends who think I’m funny and smart and a good, caring person, so what more do I need to search for?

  I’m a catch, dammit!

  I sign off my computer, uninterested in hearing the rest of the podcast right now. What I really need is a quiet bath with lots of bubbles and soothing music. Maybe even a glass of wine. If The Love Vixen thinks I need to do a little more soul-searching, then I guess that’s what I’ll do. I’ll search until I’m all pruney and tipsy from too much wine.

  Thanks to The Love Vixen, maybe then I’ll finally be on the right track to finding Mr. Forever.

  Chapter Four

  Theo

  It’s early, but I couldn’t sleep. After trying to watch some documentary about Jeffrey Dahmer on TV last night, I went to bed, only to toss and turn half the night. My thoughts and dreams were plagued with visions of her, of my sexy neighbor who can’t stand me.

  That’s one hell of a plot twist, if you ask me.

  I heard her come home, earlier than I expected for someone going on a date. When I finally got off the couch, I took one quick glance out the window toward her house, only to find her office light filtering through the cracks of her blinds. Couldn’t have been a very good date if she was home working by eight o’clock.

  If there really was a date.

  Eventually, when sleep kept eluding me, I got up and drank extra coffee while watching the sunrise. Now, I’m outside in my shop, eager to busy my hands and my mind. I have plenty of custom orders to work on, yet that’s not where my brain is focused. Instead, an idea popped into my head very early this morning and hasn’t left. It’s all I can think about, which is why I’m out here, sanding strips of oak before my normal working hours.

  When the dust starts to get thick, I open my garage door to help it settle. As it slowly starts to raise, a pair of legs comes into view. They’re connected to a pair of fuzzy rainbow slippers and covered in Snoopy sleep pants. It continues to rise, exposing more of the woman on the other side. She’s wearing a matching Snoopy shirt, her arms crossed over her chest and an annoyed look on her face.

  “Morning,” I say chipperly, making her eyes narrow.

  She taps a slipper on the concrete, which makes the messy bun thing on the top of her hair bounce from the slight motion. “It’s not even seven yet.”

  I glance down at my watch before blowing the sawdust off the face. “Huh, so it is.”

  Her eyes narrow into tiny slits, but that’s not what catches my attention. It’s cool outside, and even though her arms are across her chest, I can see…things. Things that make my dick stand up and take notice.

  “Do you not care that people may still be sleeping?” she demands, dropping her hands to her hips and glaring at me expectantly.

  My eyes, treacherous bastards, drop to her chest and drink in their fill. I don’t want to look, but I can’t help it. They’re there, her nipples are hard and strained firmly against the soft material of her sleep shirt. My brain practically short-circuits. It’s a vision I’ll never forget as long as I live.

  I quickly look away, searching for anything other than her chest to focus on. I find it in the way her eyes narrow in annoyance, a look I’ve become accustomed to in the time I’ve lived here. A look I find absolutely adorable.

  Of course, no way can I tell her that or she might cut my balls off and hang them from her rearview mirror like fuzzy dice.

  “Sorry, Pen. Did I wake you?” I ask, leaning a shoulder against the side of the garage door and focusing on her pissed-off, albeit cute, face.

  “Not everyone gets up at the butt crack of dawn on a Thursday, Theo,” she practically growls at me.

  I glance down at my watch. “It’s almost seven, clearly not the butt crack of dawn. Wow, you’re a little cranky this morning. Did the date not go well? He not ask for another?”

  Her eyes narrow. “None of your business.”

  “Well, then why so grumpy? Did you run out of coffee? I have some on my counter if you’d like. You know, since I’m so neighborly, you might as well help yourself.”

  She huffs out a breath, one that I can faintly see in the late October morning. “If you were wanting to be neighborly, you’d let me get a little sleep every once in a while. Instead, I get woken up to the grinding of a saw.”

  I glance back at the project I’m working on. One I’ve been able to whip out in just a short amount of time this morning. If she were to walk in and look at it, she’d probably be able to tell what it is. Instead, she glances down, realizing her nipples are saluting me in the cool air and practically sprints back to her house.

  “The offer for coffee stands, Pen. It’s in the kitchen,” I holler just before her back door slams shut.

  Yeah, I’m pretty sure she won’t be heading over to my place any time soon.

  Chuckling, I head back into my shop and start sweeping up the sawdust. I could probably get a few coats of stain on this bad boy today, as well as start that custom kitchen island I was commissioned to do for the owner of the jewelry store in town. Maybe then I’ll be able to put thoughts of Penelope out of my head.

  Ahh, who am I kidding?

  After seeing her nipples poking through her pajama top?

  No way in hell am I getting that image out of my head any time soon. It’s branded there like a tattoo. A sexy, enticing tattoo I’ll stare at for the rest of my life. Only this one is visible every time I close my eyes.

  Time to finish sweeping and get back to work. I know it won’t erase her from my brain, but I’m hoping it helps for a while. This stuff won’t build itself, and I’m pretty sure the clients want square, straight products. The quicker I get Penelope out of my head, the better.

  Yeah, I don’t buy it either.

  Fat chance of that happening, Theo.

  ***

  Trevor: Final fitting today. Noon. Don’t forget.

  I glance down at my phone and groan. Yeah, I completely forgot about the final fitting for next weekend’s nuptials. The little clock in the corner of the device tells me I have about thirty minutes before I need to get on the road, having to drive nearly forty-five minutes to get to the closest men’s store that offers suits and tuxedo rentals.

  Fortunately, my brother—or more accurately, Teagan—chose a tan suit as our attire for their big day. I’m just glad as fuck I don’t have to wear the damn black penguin suit. I mean, I’d do it for him but would hate every second of it. He went that route for his first marriage, and so far, this wedding is night and day different than the first time I stood up for him.

  Clicking on the message app, I fire off a quick note to my friend, Patrick. He’s a local police officer and was one of the first residents of Appleton I met when I moved to town. He was dealing with a small fender bender at the local supermarket when I pulled in and parked not too far from where everyone had gathered to watch the action.

  And by action, I mean listening to the old men argue over who had the right-of-way and who was at fault. I admit, it was entertaining as hell, like a scen
e from the movie Grumpy Old Men. Patrick ended up stepping between the men when one pulled out a loaf of bread and it escalated to assault charges.

  When the scene finally dissipated, I made my way inside to get some fridge staples and a case of beer. I was definitely in need of a drink after that little display of small-town bickering. As I was grabbing a pack of my favorite brew, Patrick walked up beside me and said, “I can tell you exactly what I’m doing the moment I get off duty this afternoon.” He was eyeing my beer with jealousy and longing, making me laugh.

  After a brief introduction, we ended up visiting for a few minutes in the beer aisle before he invited himself over to my place later that afternoon when he got off work. He’s been a good friend ever since.

  Me: I have to go to Charleston for my final suit fitting. Wanna ride along?

  It only takes him a few seconds to reply.

  Patrick: You buying lunch afterward? Don’t think you’re getting into my pants for free, Mister. *insert grinning devil emoji* *insert sunglasses guy emoji*

  Me: Fine, but only if you promise not to get all clingy afterward.

  Patrick: Me, clingy? Be there in fifteen. LOVE YOU!

  I snort at his reply and slip my phone back into my pocket. I glance at the project I completed just an hour ago. It’s stained, with the first coat of sealer drying. When I get back, I’ll be able to give it a light sanding and a second coat of polyurethane. By the end of the night, it’ll be finished and ready for its new home.

  I head inside to quickly change into a clean long-sleeved T-shirt not covered in dust, make sure I have my wallet, and get ready to leave. As I’m locking up the back door, Patrick parks in front of my shop, leaving me room to pull my truck out of the garage.

  “Ready?” I ask as he moves for my passenger door.

  “As an eighteen-year-old on his way to his first titty bar.”

  I snort out a laugh and shut my door. “I thought the legal limit for bars was twenty-one.”