She mimics the gesture. The movement causes her cheekbones to nearly touch a pair of moody, hazel-colored eyes framed by the longest, thickest lashes I’ve ever seen. I’m not sure they’re even real. Actually, I’ve seen women put them on to do laundry, so they probably are false. But they’re so long and dark and—
“Hello?” She creeps sideways toward the knives hung on a magnetic strip near the stovetop. “I asked you a question.”
“I heard you.” I clear my throat and try not to smile. “Who are you?”
Her plump lips press together. “Yeah, no. I’ll be the one asking questions here, buddy.”
What?
I take a step back and try to get a better grasp of the situation. But even with the new vantage point, I still think that she seriously thinks that I am the intruder.
She turns her head to the side as if she’s looking over her shoulder and something about her profile snags my attention. It might be her little button nose or the way her hairline forms a distinct widow’s peak that I’ve seen before, but a conversation I had with my neighbor to the east, Libby Seltzer, comes barreling back to me.
“My cousin, Jaxi, will be staying at our house while Ted and I are in San Diego. Keep an eye out for her, will you?”
I lick my lips and grin. I’d love to, Libby.
The woman in front of me cocks her head to the side. “Are you going to answer me, or should I call the police?”
Libby painted her cousin as a sweet girl who was working hard to make it. She did not paint her as a complete and utter dime.
I sort through my brain and wish I’d had paid better attention to Libby’s stories, but from what I can recall, Libby thinks a lot of Jaxi and was worried about her being uncomfortable while she was gone.
I’m all too happy to welcome her to the neighborhood.
After I screw with her a little bit.
“You really want to call the police?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Positive, considering you’re in my cousin’s house, and I don’t know who you are.”
I lean against the wall. The casualness of my movement catches her off guard. She side-eyes me while moving toward the knives again.
“What do you think the police will do to someone who’s in the wrong house?” I ask as if we’re talking about something as easy as the weather. “I mean, it’s probably a felony. Don’t you think? Breaking and entering can’t just be a misdemeanor, especially if you enter through a window and not the front door. Like … with keys.”
She plucks a knife off the magnetic strip. With the knife in one hand and her phone in the other, she moves around the island to the farthest point from me.
“We’re about to find out,” she says.
I hold up a finger. “Cool, but make sure you tell them the address and that Boone Mason is the person you’re talking about. Be clear,” I insist. “That’s Boone with an e. And Mason. There’s really only one way to spell that. Well, I guess you could use a y like some people do, but that’s not usually in a last name.”
Her thumb hovers over the phone screen.
“Boone with an e. Mason with no y,” I tell her, shoving off the wall. “Got it?”
“Why would you just … give … me … your name.”
A flash of understanding zaps through her eyes as she says the words out loud.
She sets the knife down. It clatters as it rests against the granite.
I chuckle as the apples of her cheeks turn the color of her T-shirt—a pinkish-orange hue that suits her well. Slowly, I make my way into the kitchen and stand across the island from her.
“Did you say Boone Mason?” she asks.
“Yup. Three times.” I wrinkle my nose at her. “Are there bells ringing in your pretty little head right about now?”
Her bottom lip pulls between her teeth as she takes a small step backward. I have to fight myself not to reach across the island because that little lip thing is my kryptonite.
“So, you live here?” she asks, her voice teetering on panic. “As in, this is your house? My cousin Libby’s neighbor’s house? As in, I’m in …”
“The wrong house.”
I can’t help but smile as the information I’m relaying finally sinks in. Her shoulders slump, and a look of horror mixed with embarrassment sprinkles across her features.
She pretends to be mid-sob—which she’s really not, thank fuck—and squints her eyes closed. It’s ridiculously adorable.
I don’t know what to do with this girl or this situation. So, I don’t do anything and wait on her to say something instead.
Finally, she blows out a breath and resolves herself to dealing with our predicament.
“I really don’t know what to say except that I’m sorry,” she says. “And, under the circumstances, that seems a little inadequate. I’m aware of that.”
Her face is solemn, the levity from a moment ago now gone. I kind of hate it.
“Sarah from next door was highly impressed with your climbing skills,” I tease, hoping it’ll lighten the mood again. “She said you were basically a monkey.”
“Stop it,” she says, a smile touching her lips again.
“Very impressed. Sarah had you pegged for a lifelong criminal.”
“I don’t even have a speeding ticket, thank you very much.”
I nod sarcastically. “That’s what they all say.”
“What about you?” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Maybe I need to worry that I’m face-to-face with a delinquent.”
“I’m only delinquent when it comes to my security system bill, sweetheart.”
She bites her lip again. “Well, if you would’ve paid your bill, you could’ve saved us both a lot of trouble.”
“Oh, so this is my fault?”
“I don’t like to point fingers,” she teases, “but if the security system would’ve been on, I wouldn’t be standing here.”
Wouldn’t that be a shame.
We stand face-to-face, our smiles inching wider by the second.
“Maybe we can take dual-responsibility,” I offer. “I should’ve paid the bill,
