Page 6 of When The Noise Stops

She stood on unsteady legs, brushed imaginary dirt from her shorts, and backed toward her door like I might change my mind and demand something in return.

She smiled at me though.

"Nice to finally meet you properly, Knox. I had a bad impression of you and your friends, I’ll make that up to you."

What impression I thought then went to ask, but she was gone. The door closed softly. The deadbolt turned.

I sat there another minute, staring at the empty space she'd left. My arm tingled as blood returned. The cigarette I'd never lit was crushed in my fist. I flicked it into the grass and stood and walked two feet to my own backdoor. I needed a shower.

The water ran hot enough to hurt. It loosened my coiled muscles. Steam filled the small bathroom while I replayed the night like an after-action report. She'd been terrified. Really terrified. I'd seen the type of look in her eyes. It was more than just fear—it lived in your bones and came out when you least expect it.

I'd seen it in guys who made it home with all their limbs and none of their sleep. I'd sat with more than one of them in the dark. I never thought I'd be doing it for my cute little next-door neighbor.

I'd noticed her the day she moved in. Sunny as hell. Smiling at the movers. She was always laughing loudly, talking a mile a minute, hips swinging.

The duplex walls were thin. Four, five times a week I'd hear her—moans, a creak of her bedframe. She was loud. I never looked when the guys left in the early hours. Didn't need to. I didn't judge. A pretty woman, high libido, who cared. Women want pleasure too. None of my business.

Until last night, it became my business. She was so fucking sunny, like the world never hurt her. It was why I was so surprised to see her running down the alleyway like the devil was on her heels.

I shut the water off, toweled down, and dressed for work—black tee, jeans, boots already broken in. My auto shop opened at seven. My crew would roll up any minute. They were all retired military. They came by to help at the shop most days or to just sit around. Same routine for years.

I was lacing the second boot when there was a knock.

Three short raps. Not the heavy fist of one of the brothers.

I opened the door, and there she was, Sunshine.

Daylight loved her. She was plump in the places that mattered, had brown skin like molasses under the early sun, her hair still damp in little braids that were twisted on her head in a bun. She wore a little skirt that stopped mid-thigh and a soft top that clung to her breast. In her hands was an actual fucking picnic basket, the kind with a checkered cloth sticking out the top. It looked like she'd jumped out of a cartoon.

She shoved the basket into my chest before I could speak. I took the basket because the alternative was letting it drop. It was heavier than it looked. Warm and smelled like butter and blueberries and bacon.

I blinked.

She grinned.

"Morning again, Grizz," she said cheerfully. Like she hadn't passed out against my chest like a goddamn kitten last night after running down the alleyway and crouching behind a garbage can.

"What's this?" My voice came out rougher than I meant it to. She didn’t seem to notice.

"Breakfast. Bacon, grits, and eggs for you," she listed off. "Muffins. For your crew. I notice they pull up around this time and y'all ride off to wherever it is you go."

"I don't need to be repaid," I said flatly.

"I know." She shrugged, unconcerned. I wanted to anyway. It's what I do. I feed people. It's my love language." Her eyes dropped to my lips. She licked hers.

"At least it's one of them." She grinned wickedly.

Was she flirting with me, or was I imagining it?

She didn't wait for me to respond or a thank-you. Just turned on her heel and flounced back toward her own door. My eyes dropped without permission to her nice ass.

I stood in the doorway longer than I should have, basket in one hand, watching until she went inside her side of the duplex and closed the door.

I took the basket inside.

Set it on my kitchen counter.

Opened it.