7

Beth

I'm scarfing down my salad in the break room slash storage space slash admin office at the back of the store.

It's three days before Christmas, and Comfort Bay is a flurry of activity.

Twinkling lights are strung across lampposts and storefronts as shoppers—a mix of locals as well as the usual influx of seasonal tourists—crowd the sidewalks, scurrying about from store to store, carrying shopping bags filled with gifts, local crafts, and holiday treats.

A group of carolers are positioned a few doors down from the bookstore, and their songs filter into the bookstore as people bustle in and out.

We've been doing a brisk trade all week, too, and as if that weren't enough, we've set up a craft activities station for kids, so the store is busy and noisy.

I take a big bite of my salad and continue what's become my usual lunchtime activity—scrolling through a message thread that started with Milo over two months ago.

Oh, yeah, we've been texting since the day after his house inspection. He got my number off Fraser and messaged the next day.

Because we're neighbors, and it's important to be on good texting terms with your neighbors, right?

The bombshell Milo revealed during his property viewing has been ricocheting in my head ever since he dropped it. It's been hard, almost impossible, not to think about it—and about him—especially since he did buy the house and has moved in next door to me.

Not that I see much of the guy. With the hockey season in full swing, he's barely been home.

I haven't met the kids in person, either, but I have seen photos. Plenty of photos. They're adorable.

Milo has filled me in on some of the details of the situation, revealing he has full custody of Josie and temporary custody of Jonah, and also mentioning that he's on good terms with the kids' grandparents. He hasn't said much beyond that, and I haven't asked for more, even though I'm curious.

How does he feel about becoming an instant father?

What's the story with the kids' mom?

And how on earth is he coping, juggling his hectic pro hockey schedule with the responsibilities of fatherhood?

He has hired a nanny to travel with him and help him out as he plays.

A male nanny.

And yeah, I may or may not have let out a huge sigh of relief when he texted me that.

I'm re-reading the message thread from the very start that began with, Hey neighbor…ish, and includes frequent detours into book recommendations, me teasing him about his man bun, him asking about my day, and of course, a ton of photos of the kids, because I want to be a really good neighbor.

That's all it is.

Really.

Okay, let's say that—hypothetically—I did want something more to develop between us. There is zero chance of it ever happening.

One, Milo is adjusting to fatherhood as a pro athlete. In between training, traveling, and taking care of his kids, he simply doesn't have the time to add a girlfriend into the mix. His focus needs to be on his kids, and I would never want to get in the way of that.

Two, there's the not-so-insignificant matter of being unsure whether we even like each other. Yes, we exchange neighborly texts, and yes, he told me about the kids before telling anyone else he knew—he released a statement to the media a few weeks later—but so what? That doesn't mean he likes me in that way.

I don't even know if he likes me at all. I don't treat him the way I suspect most other women do. I don't fawn over him. I tease him pretty much all the time. And there's a fine line between bantering with each other and mildly peeving one another off. I'm sure he'll get sick of it—and me—soon enough.

And three, even if Milo were ready to date, and I had written and notarized confirmation that he liked me, there's another not-so-insignificant roadblock in my way—me.

I'm not exactly the easiest person to deal with. I have major trust issues, and even though I may have lost a lot of weight since high school, I still have insecurities about my body. Those feelings didn't just disappear when the weight came off, unfortunately.

I don't know if I'm ready, or even capable, of being emotionally vulnerable in that way with a guy. The two exes who hurt me preyed on my body issues, and I haven't healed from that pain. I've buried it deep down inside, raised my walls, and kept all men at arm's length ever since.

Milo's the first guy who I've let slip past my defenses, even if it's only a tiny bit. I'm not sure if I'm ready to let him in anymore.

I'm fine with how things between us currently stand.

I am.

Really.

"Why are you sitting alone in the dark re-reading for the millionth time messages from the guy you claim is only your neighbor?" my boss Courtland asks, flicking on the overhead light.

My eyes squint as I adjust the brightness. "I wasn't sitting alone in the dark, I had a lamp on. It's called creating a cozy atmosphere."

He surveys the tight quarters packed with books, folders, and cleaning supplies, and then turns to me, sitting at the tiny table in the middle of it all.

"This isn't cozy. This is one step away from becoming a crazy cat lady." I shoot him a pointed stare. He raises his hands in the air. "As a proud crazy cat dude, I'm totally allowed to say that."

"Fair enough."

Courtland is Babette's second—or is it third?—cousin, and she is the official crazy cat lady of Comfort Bay. Must be something that runs in that family's gene pool.

"Listen, I won't keep you from…" His eyes slide to my phone. "That. I came in to ask if you wouldn't mind staying back tonight?"

"Sure. That's fine."

"Awesome. I'm going to be scheduling author visits for next year, and you mentioned last time you'd like to be involved."

"I did. That sounds great. Ooh, I'm so excited."

"Me, too." He leans against the table and arches a brow. "I'm really hoping we can get Lori Connors."

"Who?" I feign ignorance, and he pins me with a clearly unamused look.

Lori Connors is the author name of my older sister Schapelle, who writes heartwarming romcoms with '90s throwback vibes but that feel very current. Courtland is her number one fan, and it's cool to see a guy who loves reading romance. I'd heard rumors they existed, but I'd never met one in real life.

"You'll be seeing her at Christmas, right? Maybe you can put in a good word. I assume she'll be doing a tour for her fall release."

I adore Schapelle. Despite being five years older than me—she turned twenty-nine last month—we're super close. Being book nerds helps, but unlike me, she's also stylish, confident, and beautiful, with a kind and humble personality to boot. She's basically my idol.

We have a silent agreement that I won't bug her about her author life, but Courtland's a sweet guy, and I know how much it would mean for him to have a big-name author like her visit our humble little bookshop.

I pop a cherry tomato into my mouth. "I'll see what I can do."

"Your droll tone fills me with so much confidence." He goes to leave, then stops. "Oh, and you've still got five minutes left on your break, so you can jump on your phone the second I leave."

"I am not going to do that. And lower those eyebrows, mister, you're going to pull a forehead muscle."

He smiles then leaves, and the second he's gone, I'm reaching for my phone. With less than five minutes until I have to be back on the floor, I can't revisit all of our messages, so I return to what's possibly my favorite convo.

It's one of our earliest.

Milo: You're going to think I'm an idiot…well, more of an idiot, but after our little chat at the fence line, I went online to verify Willow Wilkins is, in fact, a real realtor.

Beth: And?

Milo: I can confirm that she is! Also, I may have stumbled down her Instagram wormhole.

Beth: She has a lot of bikini pics.

Milo: Who posts that many bikini pics?

Milo: Damn, you type fast, lol

Beth: When you're good, you're good.

Milo: Not that I'm shaming her. She can share whatever she likes, it's just a lot.

Beth: She can. And she looks great, so why not flaunt it, right?

Milo: I guess.

Beth: What do you mean, you guess?

Milo: She's attractive, sure, but not really my type.

Beth: What is your type?

Even re-reading this thread all this time later, I'll never forget the heart palpitations I had after sending that text.

I was on pins and needles, waiting for him to reply, watching those three bouncy dots appear then disappear about eight thousand times before his reply finally came through.

Milo: My type is snarky bookworms who enjoy teasing me, make adorable little noises they might not even be aware they're making, and look great in black-and-white joggers, not unlike the ones you were wearing the day I inspected the house.

I'll also never forget how I felt seeing that message, a heady combination of happy and excited and nervous and confused.

Even though it was only a text message, I could feel the sincerity of what he was saying.

It wasn't a line.

It wasn't something he doled out to countless girls in countless cities to get them to sleep with him.

He meant it.

Although I was slightly confused about the little noises reference. I never got around to asking him about it, but I don't make little noises…do I?

My eyes drift back to the screen.

Milo: Just don't tell anyone I'm not into beautiful airheads. I have a reputation to maintain

I scroll past a ton of photos of his children, more of my digs about his man bun, him sharing a link to an article about the history of the term cul de sac, me sending him a few strongly worded memes back.

Okay, so maybe they're not your average, hey, would you mind if I borrowed your ladder? neighborly texts.

They're veering into flirty territory. Yes, I see that. Despite being staunchly anti-love, I'm not completely oblivious.

But as it turns out, Milo might not be the big grump the world—and until recently, me—thinks he is. He's earned that reputation because he's quiet and reserved until he gets to know someone, along with his killer instinct on the hockey field. Rink? Arena? Whatever it's called.

Does he have an overinflated ego? He's a pro-athlete so the answer is, of course he does. He needs to. You don't rise to the top of any field by being humble and demure. You have to believe in yourself more than anything because the world is cutthroat, and if you don't have your own back, you won't get far.

But underneath that exterior, lies a gentle giant.

A gentle giant I enjoy exchanging occasional flirty texts with. That I can handle.

It's fun and friendly, but it's also safe because there's some distance there.

Just like there's literal physical distance between us now since Milo is currently in Tampa Bay to play against the…whatever the Tampa Bay hockey team is called tonight.

And as long as there's distance between us, I'll be fine.