She had known him for months as Mr. Harlan—her older, devastatingly handsome neighbor who always seemed to be watching out for her. He fixed her leaky faucet without being asked, carried her groceries up three flights of stairs when her arms were full, and left little notes on her door when he noticed her car had a flat tire. He was kind, and impossibly attractive in that quiet, mature way that made her stomach flutter every time their eyes met.
But tonight was different.
She stood in his living room, heart hammering against her ribs, wearing the simple sundress he’d complimented weeks ago—“That color looks beautiful on you, sweetheart.” The memory of his low voice saying it had kept her up more nights than she cared to admit.
He’d invited her over for dinner after she’d mentioned—offha
