This Just In...

Petty crime—or non-petty crime—wasn’t something she needed to worry about in Wheaton. No one was going to snatch her purse off her shoulder or kick in her window to steal her valuables.

Someone had planted shrubs along the sides of the house and in front of the porch. Probably her mother. They were well-tended, with small white flowers starting to bud.

There wasn’t any outdoor furniture, but Sabrina figured she could borrow some from her parents. She’d already requisitioned a coffee table and the floor lamp with a pink shade and ’20s fringe from her mom’s sewing room. What were a couple of outdoor lounge chairs, a small table, maybe some oversized pots of brightly colored flowers added to her tally?

Sabrina had loved her tubs of blooms on her balcony in Yaletown. Well, loved them until the tenant below her complained that they were making a mess on his balcony. One measly bud had fluttered onto his ugly wicker chair, but he’d acted like she’d purposely defaced his property. Her boot heels clacked a little louder. Please, her flower had done more to improve his decor than a mountain of furniture. Which she’d told her landlord, but he’d merely pointed to the clause in the contract that stated she needed permission to put anything on her balcony and she hadn’t bothered to get it.

But there weren’t any balconies here and Sabrina doubted Mr. Mayor would get crabby about flowers. People in Wheaton were friendlier, more agreeable. He would understand that her decor improved his space, as well. Assuming he even noticed.

She tried to peek through his curtain-free French doors while she waited for her dad to finish fiddling with the car and join her, but the glare from the sun prevented her from seeing much. She squinted, but couldn’t make out anything more than a couple of blobby shapes.

There was always the possibility that they’d become friends and he’d actually invite her inside. So far, her old friends had made themselves scarce. She hadn’t even seen Marissa or Kyle. Not that she’d expected to.

Her dad finally finished whatever he was doing and unlocked the front door. The entry was plain but neat. An overhead chandelier, original to the house, sparkled under the afternoon sun. Wood floors were polished to a golden gleam. A well-used Turkish-style rug lay in the center of the room beneath a round oak table that had a bowl of potpourri on it.

Sabrina wrinkled her nose. “Potpourri, Dad? This isn’t the ’80s.” Which was exactly what she’d told her mother when she’d spotted it in the guest bathroom.

He shrugged. “Your mother said it would smell nice.”

Yes, if people wanted their homes to smell like an old lady’s underwear drawer. Sabrina made a mental note to take the bowl and all the dried flowers with her when they left.

Her father walked past the offending decor without a glance and stuck his key into the interior door on the left. Men. Sabrina lingered, noting the cheerful welcome mat in front of the mayor’s door. There was a small nail beneath the peephole. Probably to hang a wreath at Christmas.

“Sabrina?” her father called.

She sent one last look at the door, not that it told her anything, and headed to what would become her new home. She imagined plain white walls, simple wood floors polished to the same gloss as the entry and maybe some architectural features found in older homes that gave them such character. Crystal doorknobs, paneled doors and thick crown molding.

What she found would have caused her mouth to fall open in a gasp of horror had she not trained herself out of the habit years ago when one of her university friends told her it made her look like a rube.

“What do you think?” Her dad was practically rubbing his hands together.

Sabrina wondered if they were seeing the same thing because what she saw was that the bowl of potpourri wasn’t the only thing left from the ’80s. The walls of the duplex were pastel stripes. Yes. Pastel. Stripes. In four colors. Lilac and mint and blush and sunshine shown off in all their glory because there wasn’t any furniture to distract from it.

She prayed it wasn’t wallpaper. Oh, God. She did not relish stripping thirty-year-old paper from the walls. She’d done that in an apartment once. The paper had practically fused to the drywall and it had taken her days of hard labor, one of those scoring tools, fabric softener and finally the rental of a steamer to get it off.

There was one lonely rug that the previous tenant had left behind. A fringed circle of lemon yellow—and not the cute and sexy fringe like her lamp. No, this was the thick yarn type. She didn’t bother to disguise her shudder.

But the wood floors appeared to be in good shape and the fireplace was nice. A simple, traditional wood frame that just needed a fresh coat of white paint to bring it back to life. The kitchen was all right, too, if she avoided looking at the walls, which had been sponge painted.

The appliances were standard white, but clean and carried no leftover odors. She’d once moved into a place where the previous tenant hadn’t bothered cleaning out anything ever. After scrubbing the fridge and scrubbing and scrubbing and scrubbing some more, Sabrina had insisted her landlord replace it. He’d been irritated and pissy. Apparently, he’d hoped she’d just grow used to the stench. The counters were a neutral beige. Nothing to get excited about but most definitely livable. The pink ruffled curtains, not so much. They would be coming down first thing.

“It needs some upgrades,” she said.

“Now, Sabrina. Don’t go getting any ideas about granite and marble and stainless-steel appliances. I’m already covering the costs of shipping your furniture from Vancouver. Why did you ever put it in storage? Waste of money when we can store it for you in our basement.”

“Because I’m going back.” She’d already explained this, but her father chose not to hear it.

He waved off her statement as he’d done the previous two times she’d told him. “Or you could stay.”

“Now you sound like Mom.” Sabrina sloughed off the idea without another thought because she wasn’t staying any longer than necessary. But until that day arrived, getting the apartment into the new millennium would be a good project for her. Something to fill the long evening hours when Wheaton shut down for the night. Her current obsession of checking email, text and social networking sites was not working for her. At all.

“Don’t you want to come back home?” her dad asked. For the hundredth time, she considered telling him the truth. That she wasn’t back to write a book about her experiences interviewing celebrities, filling the pages with all the tidbits that hadn’t fit into her articles. That she’d been fired and that it wasn’t looking like she’d ever get her job back.

Once again, she swallowed the words and smiled. “It doesn’t feel like home anymore, Dad. It’s been a long time since I lived here and I love the city.” With its late-night burger joints, extensive shoe stores and Opera Guy, a local gentleman who strolled around the neighborhood singing opera at the top of his lungs, Vancouver was the place she longed for. “But I promise to come and visit more, okay?”

When she saw the downturn of her father’s lips, guilt snuck into her cheerful attitude. It had just been easier for her parents to come to her. First because she worked at the paper through the holidays. Low person in the chain of command. Then it had just become habit.

“Oh, come on.” Sabrina elbowed him lightly. “Cheer up. I’m here now. You’ve got me doing slave labor at the coffee shop.” Even with what she hoped would be an increased workload at the local paper, she’d continue to work most mornings at the coffee shop. “And I’m going to fix up this place for free.”

“Does this mean it’s not going to cost me anything?” The edges of his eyes crinkled.

“My labor is free,” she clarified. “Which we all know is the majority of cost. I’m giving you a deal.”

She could see the finished project in her mind. A pale pink on the walls, like the inside of a rose, to play up the reds and pinks in the large throw rug she had. Maybe she could search out an old wrought iron chandelier to hang over the coffee table. Antiques shops would just be opening for the summer season and would not yet be picked over. Her parents had a grandfather clock in their entryway that was too large for the space, but it would be perfect against the wall in here. Pillows on her oatmeal-colored couch, throws on her ivory chairs, flowers in crystal vases on the end table. She had a small series of sculptures that would look fabulous on the fireplace mantel.

Sabrina was still thinking about it as they exited the suite. Until she saw the monstrosity of a potpourri bowl and hurried over to dispose of it. An act of compassion, really, putting the hideous thing out of its misery.

She was sweeping some of the dried blooms that had fallen onto the table back into the bowl when the front door opened. Her senses went on high alert. If she was at the table and she could still hear her father locking up the apartment, then the front door could only be opened by one person.

“Mr. Mayor.” Sabrina put down the bowl. And felt her insides wobble when she turned and got a look at him.

Gone was the nerdy golf shirt and dress pants combo, exchanged for a pair of jeans and a plain white T-shirt that did wonderful things for the muscles in his arms. In his more casual attire and without that polished veneer, Noah didn’t look like the same man. She felt something warm unfurl in her. Her fingers itched, wanting to touch.

“Hello.” Noah glanced from her to her father, a line of confusion between his eyes. “Just checking up on the place?”

“Hi, Noah.” Her father turned from the door and handed the keys to Sabrina. “You won’t have this old place to yourself much longer. Sabrina is moving in.”

“Moving in?” Noah’s eyes darted back to her.

“Pretty soon you’ll be inundated with loud music and singing. Hope you have earplugs.”

“Dad.” Sabrina rolled her eyes as she stuffed the keys into her pocket and focused on Noah. “I’m not that loud,” she told him.

“You can be,” her dad said. “I’ll be outside.” He pulled the door closed with a click and silence filled the space.

Sabrina smiled. “Hello, neighbor.”

Noah rubbed the back of his neck as his eyes flicked over her. Were her eyes deceiving her or was he checking her out? She twirled a lock of hair around her finger before letting it slip and trail down her cleavage. Yes, she was a shameless hussy. She saw his gaze drop down, following that lock of hair, before shooting back up to her face and giving her a guilty glance. Yes, that’s right, her eyes were up there.

He cleared his throat. “Neighbors. Welcome then.” He put on his fake politician smile. Sabrina was well-versed in that smile. Every celebrity, pseudo or otherwise, had their own version of it. Some were bright, others mysterious, but they all indicated the same thing: an unwillingness to share a person’s real self. She hated that smile.

“Thanks, and for the record, I sing in key. No earplugs required.”

Noah’s smile warmed, edging toward reality. “I’ll hold you to that.”

She felt a flicker of heat waft through her. “Please do.” Or just hold her. Wait, what? Now she was having dirty fantasies about the mayor? Shameless, shameless hussy. No upstanding citizen would do such a thing. Luckily she was neither a citizen of Wheaton or particularly upstanding. “Well, I should be going. My dad’s waiting.” She picked up the bowl of dried flowers.

“Sabrina.” She looked into his eyes, so soft and blue like the blanket she used to carry around as a toddler and that her mother still had stored in a box somewhere. Good ol’ wubbie. “When are you moving in?”

“Tomorrow.” Just as soon as her furniture arrived. She’d considered sleeping on the floor of the apartment just to avoid accidentally overhearing her parents’ bedsprings again, but common sense won out. She had an iPod. And earbuds. “Why? You want to help?

She didn’t expect him to say yes. No doubt he had better things to do than help her move. Particularly as he didn’t even seem to like her enough to give her that interview. Yet.

“Sure.”

Sabrina blinked. “Seriously?” She couldn’t even get him on the phone and now he was willing to spend hours with her?

His smile widened. “Seriously.”

She wasn’t one to question her good fortune a second time. “Then I’d love to have your help.”

And love to watch him work. All sweaty and hot. Bare arms. Carrying her bed. Her throat felt dry. She clutched the bowl in her hands more tightly and wished for a glass of water. Really any liquid would do. A drop of sweat running down Noah’s chest. Perhaps there was a way she could convince him to go shirtless and then snap a few pictures. For the paper, of course, not personal use.

Really, she’d be doing it for the readers.

CHAPTER FOUR

NOAH WASN’T SURE what had made him agree to help Sabrina move. Neighborly assistance? Manners? Something else? Her pretty green eyes?

Maybe because it’s what was expected of him, what he expected of himself. When people in Wheaton needed help, he stepped in. Even when he shouldn’t.

He sighed. Wasn’t that always the way, though? He had deadlines to meet, budget concerns to deal with, council meetings to attend, new staff to train, but he still made time for whatever someone else needed. Some days it meant leaving the house before seven and not returning until ten. Other days it meant skipping meals and breaks. Driving all over town to attend to whatever had cropped up this time.

Usually, he enjoyed doing it. Giving something back to the town and the people. They hadn’t had to accept him, but they had. Opened their arms and their hearts and allowed him to come of age in a place that was safe and loving. Noah had only left them once in his life and even then only long enough to get his business degree.

There had never been any question in his mind about leaving permanently. And upon his return, he’d thrown himself into town life. Eight years later, he still didn’t regret it. Well, maybe he wouldn’t mind a weekend or two to himself. An afternoon to sit by the lake with his fishing pole and no one else. An evening where he turned off his cell phone and wasn’t interrupted. But that wasn’t his life.

Noah poured a cup of coffee and seated himself in front of his computer to do some work before the movers showed up. Sabrina had left him a message that she’d be by around ten to prepare for the movers and until then Noah had plenty of things to keep him busy and not think about what it might mean to have the attractive reporter living across the hall from him.

He started by examining the sales numbers for his two car dealerships, sent an email to the talent booked for this year’s Northern Lights festival and then reviewed the council minutes that were to be posted online on Monday.

He’d just emailed his assistant to approve the minutes when he heard the crunch of wheels turning into the driveway. A moment later, a knock sounded at the door and he rose to answer.

Noah didn’t expect his pulse to hammer when he opened the door. Although he’d seen her multiple times now—five, if he included this one—his attraction to Sabrina still caught him off guard. He wasn’t used to having feelings that snuck up on him or hit him over the head or did anything but stay in the neat little box he’d designed for them.

Bad enough that he wasn’t sure if he could trust Sabrina to interview him. But when he added this spark of attraction, things became tricky. She’d dated his younger brother and though that had been over for years and Kyle was long since happily married, it still created an awkwardness. She’d been with his brother. She had a broken friendship with his sister-in-law. Two of the people closest in the world to him.

“Hi.” She pushed a cup of coffee into his hands.

“Good morning.” Probably best that he just stick to being her neighbor. Help her move her furniture and boxes in and then excuse himself and get back to his own life.

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.” Sabrina’s eyes were bright and her hair, tugged back into a high ponytail, swirled around her shoulders as she spoke. Summer had arrived suddenly, going from jeans to cut-offs weather practically overnight, and the thin tank top she wore beneath a pink hoodie and a tiny pair of shorts left little to his imagination. His fingers bit into the sides of the coffee. “It all happened sort of fast. Anyway, I’m grateful.”

“No problem.” Noah took a sip from the steaming takeaway cup. Espresso. Double shot. His favorite. The fact that she remembered and had gone to the trouble to pick it up this morning when she was likely juggling a number of other things touched him. Some residents didn’t even remember that he liked coffee, offering tea or another beverage when he was at their homes cleaning gutters, shoveling snow or mowing the lawn.

She turned and headed across the entry to unlock the door to her place. Noah found himself watching the wiggle of her hips as she went. It wasn’t as though he planned to, but the shorts were vibrant red and demanded attention. Who was he to deny them their right? He sipped his coffee and enjoyed the moment.

Soon enough he’d be back to himself, mayor, employer, helper, but for a moment he was simply a guy enjoying a woman walking in front of him.

Sabrina pushed the door open and glanced back at him. “Come on in. Enjoy the dated decor.”

Noah pushed himself away from the door frame, closing the door behind him and followed her inside. She wasn’t lying about the apartment’s styling, but he’d already known that. The former tenants, an elderly couple, had often requested his help for small jobs: changing light bulbs, unclogging drains, dusting the corners of the ceiling. So he was well-versed in the pastel shades that they’d seemed to enjoy.

Sabrina stood with her hands on her hips. “Hideous, isn’t it. I’ll have to do something about it and quick. This stuff will give me nightmares.” She picked at the edge of a piece of wallpaper that had come loose. “How long do you think it will take me to get this off?”

“I have no idea.”

“Hours, probably.” She sighed. “Guess you wouldn’t want to help with this, too, would you?”

Noah pressed his lips together just in case his tongue got the idea to agree against his better judgment.

When she looked over her shoulder at him, she laughed. “I was only kidding. You’re already doing more than enough.”

The breath caught in his chest loosened. Sabrina hadn’t gotten upset or given him a look that said he’d disappointed her. His shoulders relaxed. Soon they were chatting about furniture placement and which items would go in which rooms. He was practically enjoying himself. “When is the truck arriving?”

She pulled her phone out of her pocket and glanced at the front door. “Any minute. Actually, I’ve got some boxes I brought over from my parents’ place in the car. Maybe we should grab those now. Get them out of the way.”

Noah followed her outside to the SUV parked beside the detached garage. She popped the back, exposing a stack of labeled and taped boxes. When she reached forward, her shorts pulled tight. He allowed himself to enjoy the view.

The rumble of a large engine drew his attention from the pretty sight. A box truck pulled into the driveway, followed by a gray sedan that he knew to be her parents’ because he’d sold it to them.

“Fantastic.” She shut the door, leaving the boxes inside and grinned up at him. “Sure you don’t want to back out? You’ve still got time.”

But suddenly, the idea of spending the day working alongside Sabrina sounded much more appealing than hanging out at the lake alone. Even with his fishing pole. “I’m happy to be here.” And he was.

Even four hours later, once she’d directed him to put the couch in four different places and the sweat was running down his back, Noah was still enjoying himself.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “You said it was perfect by the window.”

“I was wrong.” She shrugged. “Plus, I like seeing your muscles in action.” She winked.

A low heat swirled through him. Noah was pretty sure she was flirting with him. Had been for a while now. Ever since the movers had finished up and she’d sent her parents on their way about an hour ago. He moved the couch to her chosen location. “Good?”

Sabrina came around from behind the kitchen counter where she’d been unpacking utensils and cocked her head. “Yes. I think that’s the spot.”

“You realize that was the first spot.”

“I didn’t know that was the right spot until I saw the couch in other places.” She smiled up at him. “So thank you for hauling it around.” She went back to the kitchen, which opened onto the main room. “So tell me, Mr. Mayor. If you weren’t allowing me to appreciate the fine labor of your muscles, what would you be doing today?”

Noah lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe his brow. The day had warmed up, the sun now beating through her open windows. He could hear the hum of a nearby mower, the scent of freshly cut grass tickling his nose. What would he be doing? Working on the computer, babysitting his niece or nephews, heading into the office, answering requests from residents. “I’m not sure.”

“Really?” She unwrapped a large plastic spoon and added it to the canister that seemed to be full of them already. “No hot date?”

“No.” He rarely dated. Didn’t have time for it. Which was a sad statement on his life. “Why? Are you asking me out?”

She blinked and her mouth opened slightly. Then she laughed. “Mr. Mayor, look at you flirting with me.”

Noah’s cheeks burned. He didn’t flirt. It wasn’t appropriate for a man in his position. He knew that. And yet, his guard had slipped around her. He needed to watch out for that. “Sorry.”

“Why would you apologize?” Sabrina plunked another spoon in the canister. “You’re a handsome guy. You must have lots of women wanting to go out with you.”

He studied her, unsure if this was more of her casual banter or if she was fishing for information to put in her article. If he answered wrong, she could use his words against him, twist them to make him look like some sort of sex pervert, which he might become if she wore those red shorts very often. So he didn’t answer at all, simply picked up a box labeled Bathroom and carried it in there.

When Noah came back out, he felt more in control. “How long will you be living here?”

“Not forever. Just until I write my book. Then it’s back to the city.” She sounded a bit sad, like she wasn’t sure that was where she wanted to be.

Noah could relate, but he didn’t ask for details. That would be inviting personal questions about his own life. “So I’ve just moved your couch four times for fun?”

“No, that was all part of my plan to see you flex your muscles.” The sad tilt to her eyes lifted. “Actually, I just need my own space while I’m here. My parents let me have the apartment because they want me to move back permanently.”

“Seems like a lot of work to move in all your things if you’re just turning around and leaving.” He didn’t understand why anyone would bother. Was there something more that she wasn’t sharing?

“Okay, that’s not the only reason.” Sabrina put down yet another plastic spoon. “I also moved in because I found out you lived across the hall.”

Noah’s chest suddenly felt heavy like someone had laid a wet blanket over it. He sucked in a breath. “Oh.”

“No, don’t get like that.” She stepped around the counter and over to him. “I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do. I just hoped that if we were neighbors and you got to know me better, you might see that I’m not so bad.”

“And give you the interview.”

“Well, yeah.” She stopped in front of him. She’d pulled the hoodie off some time ago and the skinny tank top showed off her curves. “I know you’re worried because of what happened with Kyle, but this isn’t the same type of interview.” She reached a hand out and laid it on his arm.