Gwen bit back a cry of despair and closed her eyes against
the hideous sight before her. Maybe she’d imagined it.
Nope. When she opened her eyes, the abomination gleamed in
the soft, white light above her bathroom mirror. Still,
Gwen reached up with tentative fingers, hoping the hideous
thing would vanish.
It was long and crooked and had a stiff and unyielding
texture. Her first gray hair; a blight among the blonde.
“Happy birthday,” she muttered to her reflection.
The desolation in her voice made Gwen roll her eyes. The
gray hair wasn’t a herald of doom. Turning thirty-five
wasn’t the end of the world. She’d been through worse
things, and other people endured far more terrible fates
every day. Besides, she had two days off for the first time
in months and had a relaxing day planned before a night out
with her friends. All in all, a much better birthday than
previous years. Like the first time her second ex-husband
forgot her birthday and she’d sat at home, dressed to the
nines, suffering in silence as he’d spent the afternoon in
his office and then went out for a late meeting without
even a kiss goodbye. It wasn’t long after that Gwen had
learned he was having an affair. He never did remember her
birthday after.
Gwen shook her head and stormed out of the bathroom before
she started looking for wrinkles. More gloomy thoughts. She
resolved to shrug them off as she tied the belt of her
fuzzy bathrobe and went to the kitchen to make tea.
Once she was settled in her favorite chair with Alfredo,
one of her four cats, on her lap, Gwen brought her favorite
mug to her lips and sighed with bliss at the relaxing
purring and the sweet taste of Earl Grey. Maybe staying
single and being a crazy cat lady wouldn’t be so bad. After
all, there were benefits to life without a man. She didn’t
have to clean up after him. The TV wasn’t constantly
blaring; she didn’t have to waste long hours wondering who
he was with and when he’d come home. There was no one to
criticize her body, or guilt trip her into catering to his
whims, no one to squander her savings.
But there was also no one to talk to. No one to hold at
night.
The screech of a semi-truck outside made Alfredo jump off
her lap, stabbing her legs with his little claws.
Tortellini and Ravioli scampered to the window while
Linguine fled from Alfredo. Gwen tightened her grip on her
mug as her tea sloshed in the cup and rose from her chair
to investigate this disruption of her peace. Big trucks
rarely came through her nice neighborhood in Lilac Grove, a
secluded suburb outside of Denver.
When Gwen stepped out onto her porch, it seemed her
neighbor, Mrs. Kersh, had the same idea. Gwen saw her
striding across the street before Gwen looked over and saw
the moving truck next door.
“Our new neighbor has finally arrived,” Mrs. Kersh said in
a somewhat scolding tone, as if the new homeowner was tardy
in taking up residence. “I do wish I’d been home to see
more of the prospective buyers touring the property.”
Gwen nodded. As an ER nurse, she worked twelve-hour shifts
alternating between three and four days a week and almost
always on the weekends, when most people perused houses for
sale. She’d been working during the open house, and also
missed the people who came after to look at the home. “I
hope whoever bought the place is a nice person.”
Mrs. Kersh huffed. “I hope they’re quiet and don’t have a
dog. The last people were atrocious, leaving that mutt in
the yard to yap all the time.”
The last people were also major jerks, Gwen thought as she
watched the movers pile out of the truck and begin
unloading furniture. Their barking dog and loud children
had cost her precious hours of sleep. Still, she couldn’t
help but give Mrs. Kersh a sideways smile and glance down
at Molly, the little terrier that was ever at Mrs. Kersh’s
side.
Mrs. Kersh’s eyes widened with blatant terror. “Oh no.”
An older silver Honda CR-V pulled behind the moving truck
and a man got out with a happy smile and a proprietary
gleam in his eyes as he met the moving truck with a fob of
jingling keys.
Holy hotness. Gwen almost breathed the words aloud as her
belly tilted at the sight of the man striding up the
walkway of the house next door. Shoulder-length chocolate-
brown hair framed a face that was worthy of a magazine
cover. Gray eyes danced with a touch of mischief. His lips
were arched and full, making it impossible not to think of
kissing.
Which was something Gwen could never do, because aside from
that not being neighborly, he was clearly too young for
her. If he was older than twenty-five, Gwen would eat her
scrubs.
“Oh no.” Gwen echoed Mrs. Kersh, though for a different
reason. Was Gwen turning into a cougar?
As her eyes traced the tight curve of her new neighbor’s
ass while he unlocked the front door, Mrs. Kersh
harrumphed. “I hope he’s not a bachelor. Young men like
that are always noisy. Throwing parties, having visitors at
odd hours. He probably smokes marijuana.”
“It’s been legal here since twenty-twelve,” Gwen said in
his defense. However, she agreed with her neighbor’s
concern about loud parties. She’d lived next to bachelors
before. But she’d never been tempted to pull their shirts
over one of their heads and run her tongue down the length
of their bodies. With shaking knees, she sat on the little
bench swing and patted the cushion beside her in invitation
for Mrs. Kersh to join her.
“Maybe he has family moving in as well.” Gwen struggled to
maintain common sense. Surely a man that luscious wouldn’t
be single.
“Maybe.” Mrs. Kersh latched onto Gwen’s words and pointed
as a second car pulled up behind the man’s. “That could be
them.”
Gwen’s gut instinct was almost certain that Mr. Hotness was
the sole owner. Still, she watched the newcomers exit the
vehicle with rapt curiosity.
Oh wow. Another good-looking man strode across the lawn
toward the house. And this one was more what Gwen should be
going for, even if he wasn’t as gorgeous as the first guy.
The second man was super tall and thin, with long blond
hair streaked with a few strands of silver. His blue-green
eyes radiated a kindness that made up for the subdued
handsomeness. Just as Gwen began to consider going over to
introduce herself, a petite woman in her early twenties
came up behind the tall man and threaded her arm around his
waist, peering up at him with adoration. An engagement ring
large enough to be seen from Gwen’s porch glittered on the
adoring fiancée’s finger.
Of course. Gwen swallowed the bitter reminder that the
dating market was shrinking for her every day due to so
many men going for women half their ages. Who says she even
needed a man anyway? They’d brought her nothing but
frustration and heartache.
Another couple got out of the back of the newly arrived car
and headed over to the moving truck. Gwen blinked at the
third man’s calendar-worthy beauty and mane of dark curls.
What was up with all these longhaired stud-muffins?
She got her answer as the men and women unloaded a drum kit
from the back of the first man’s van. They were musicians.
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Kersh’s voice warbled as she clutched the
handle of her teacup. “Drums?”
Gwen hid a sardonic smile with a sip from her own mug. It
was doubtful that the older woman would hear them from
across the street, but Gwen certainly would. “It could be
worse.”
“I think it just got worse,” Mrs. Kersh whispered
dramatically. “Look.”
After the movers wheeled the couches, chairs, and bed into
the house, they began to unload enormous speaker cabinets.
The tall man approached the movers, and from his stern
expression and firm gestures, he was clearly demanding
caution and care.
Gwen’s eyes widened. “Do you think all five of them are
moving into the place?”
“Lord, I hope not.” Mrs. Kersh’s lips thinned like a junior
high schoolteacher’s. Suddenly she gasped. “The first one
is coming this way.”
Sure enough, Mr. Hotness was striding up Gwen’s lawn with a
smile that made her breath hitch. “Cheers, new neighbors.
I’m Roderick Powell. I thought I’d introduce myself to you
lovely ladies and get the rundown of the neighborhood.”
He had a British accent. Gwen nearly melted in her seat. It
wasn’t fair. Her belly fluttered like an infatuated
teenager’s as she rose on shaking legs and shook his hand.
“I’m Gwenda Mason.” Oh God, his grip was so warm and
strong, and some delicious scent radiated from him. She
fought to keep her head straight and not stammer. “I’m your
next-door neighbor.” She cringed as his brow lifted with
amusement at her stating the obvious. “I mean, ah…” She
pointed at her other neighbor to clarify. “This is Mrs.
Kersh. She lives across the street from me.”
Mrs. Kersh stiffened on the bench swing and gave him a
stiff nod instead of a handshake. “Where are you from, Mr.
Powell?”
“Los Angeles.” At her suspicious frown he added, “But I was
born in Lancashire, England.”
“And what do you do?” she demanded, casting a baleful glare
at one of his speaker cabinets being hauled up his walkway.
“I’m a drummer.” He confirmed their suspicions. “But don’t
worry, I’m installing sound-proofing panels in my music
room, which will be in the basement.” Roderick tossed the
question back. “And what do you do, Mrs. Kersh?”
“I’m retired.” Mrs. Kersh said primly. “Are those others
going to be living here as well?” She pointed at the other
gorgeous men and the beautiful women beside them.
Roderick shook his head. “No, they’re only helping me
move.” At Mrs. Kersh’s loud sigh of relief, he chuckled and
turned to Gwen. “And what do you do, Gwenda?”
Her skin flushed under his gaze. “I’m a nurse.”
His grin broadened, revealing gleaming white teeth.
“Hellooo, nurse!”
A startled laugh escaped her lips. “Did you just make an
Animaniacs reference at me?” She’d grown up with that
cartoon. For a moment she wondered how he knew about that
old show, but then realized that it was probably streaming
online somewhere.
He nodded, still grinning. “Sorry, luv. That was cheeky.
Couldn’t help it.”
Mrs. Kersh sniffed in disapproval while heat flooded to
Gwen’s face at the casual endearment. She should disapprove
as well. Her young neighbor shouldn’t address her with
flirtatious terms. That would get them off to a bad start.
Yet she didn’t have the heart to reprimand him. Besides, it
could be a Brit thing. It probably didn’t mean anything
more than other English terms she’d heard like “ducky.”
Gwen changed the subject. “So you’re going to be living in
that big house all alone?” At first it seemed like an odd
thing, but then she remembered that she’d done the same.
Yes, she’d been awarded the house in the divorce, but she
could have sold the place and had a much smaller mortgage.
For her, keeping the house was a matter of pride, comfort,
storage, and the unspoken hope to maybe have room for
someone else.
“I’ve had bigger,” he answered with a wink, though for a
moment there was a flicker of pain in his gray eyes. “But
yes, it will be only me, though my mates will probably come
visit often since Kat and Klement,” he inclined his head
toward the tall man and his fiancée, “are getting married
when we’re done writing and recording our next album. Think
it would be best to give the married couple a bit more
privacy.”
Ah, so Klement’s place had probably been the party house
for the band before he decided to settle down, and now the
party would move to Roderick’s place. Right next door to
Gwen. Dread weighted down her shoulders at the prospect of
the noise and people vomiting in the lawn. Yet there was
something else, a strange curiosity mingled with regret.
The first time she’d married, she’d been only nineteen; the
second time, she’d been twenty-seven. Between those failed
ventures and the years it took to get her nursing degree,
Gwen had never had the time to enjoy her twenties. They’d
gone to waste.
Before the melancholy could recapture her, the rest of what
Roderick said sank in. “You’re recording an album? I take
it your band is successful.” She cursed herself for the
idiotic words. For a career musician to be able to afford a
four-bedroom house with a two-car garage in this
neighborhood he would have to be successful.
Roderick shrugged. “We’re still composing the last few
songs before we go into the studio, but yeah, we do all
right for a metal band. We’ve had two gold albums and the
last one went platinum.”
Gwen’s jaw dropped. She’d have a rock star living next
door? “What’s your band’s name?” Maybe she’d heard of them.
“Bleeding Vengeance.” He looked amused as he answered.
“Have you heard of us?”