Read Just Beginning: A Prequel to Just Destiny (Destiny #1) Page 20

Steve Grant parked his silver Mustang convertible in the middle of the garage. Getting out of the car, he twisted right then left, stretching muscles made tight by sitting at his desk for most of the last ten hours. He strolled out of the garage and looked out over the placid, barren lake.

  Bright yellow daffodils and pastel tulips Mom planted around the house were in full bloom as decades-old maple and oak trees leafed out. A pair of quacking ducks flew low overhead, gliding into Lake St. Claire. Wouldn’t be long before sailboats and water-skiers were out in force.

  Steve drew in a deep breath and put his hands on his waist. Maybe he’d go for a run before having a bowl of tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich for dinner while watching a little TV. He turned and walked down the driveway toward the mailbox, humming an Elton John classic, “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road,” and looking over his yard. Grass needed cutting and edging. Better get on it tomorrow before it got too long. Steve riffled through the junk mail, separating the bills from the letters, relegating the Sports Illustrated and The American Lawyer, to the back of the pile. He slapped the mailbox closed, then lifted his hand in greeting as his neighbor sailed up their driveway.

  Through the budding privet hedge that divided their driveways, he watched the lady remove flat after flat of colorful impatiens, pansies, and snapdragons from her Jeep. Never having actually spoken to them, Steve only knew his neighbors by sight.

  They’d bought the cottage house late last summer and immediately began ripping it apart. From the size of the dumpsters and the number of workmen constantly crawling all over the house, they must have gutted the place. Luckily for them, it’d been a late winter, and they’d been able to complete a large addition before the snow arrived.

  He’d like to check out the inside, just to satisfy his curiosity about the renovation, he told himself. It had nothing to do with his curiosity about the couple living in it. At first he’d thought they were father and daughter. The guy wore suits and from a distance looked to be in his forties—but could have been older. She was usually dressed in jeans, with her long hair tied back in a perky ponytail or left loose trailing down her back, and could have been his college-aged daughter.

  From afar, that’s what it looked like, but up close he could see he was wrong. If any daughter gave her father that passionate, lingering kiss, or smiled at him like he was her whole life and fantasy wrapped into one, then someone should’ve called Social Services on them long ago. Nope, had to be husband and wife.

  Steve stopped in front of a couple of dead bushes between their driveways. Grabbing one, he gave it a quick tug and fell back a step when the whole bush, roots and all, dangled in his grasp. Dirt fell in a fine shower, covering his loafers.

  “I’d say that one’s a goner.” Chuckling, she approached, still holding a flat of flowers.

  He smiled wryly. “Afraid so.”

  Putting down the flowers and brushing her hands on her faded jeans, she stretched a hand through the hole where the dead bush had been. “Jenny Harrison.”

  He threw the bush aside and shook her hand. “Steve Grant.”

  “Deader than you thought, eh?” she smiled, nodding at the bare bush. Dirt barely clung to the scraggly roots. She giggled. “You looked surprised when it came out so easily.”

  “I was. I thought I’d have to dig it up.”

  “Do you live there?” She looked beyond him at his house.

  He nodded. “The past few years.”

  “You’re certainly a quiet neighbor. I was beginning to wonder if it was abandoned.”

  “I haven’t been home much. My dad had Alzheimer’s. Mom refused to put him in assisted living—so I moved in to help her until he passed.”

  She frowned. “Sorry for your loss.”

  “Thanks.” He nodded toward her house. “Looks like you’re done. How do you like it?”

  “We love it.” She pointed at the flowers. “Just the finishing touches left.”

  Over her head, he admired the house. “Did a lot of work. It looks great.”

  She turned and looked at it. “We had to update most of it and nearly doubled it in size with the additions, but we’re happy with the way it turned out.” She looked down the driveway to the street where a car pulled in their drive. “Oh, good. Gabe’s home.”

  Her husband approached in a red station wagon. A hot red station wagon; what an oxymoron. Her husband came over, and after a quick kiss, Jenny introduced them.

  Hands in trouser pockets, Gabe looked toward Steve’s house. “Have you lived here long?”

  “Couple of years, right after I got out of school.”

  Gabe pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows. “Starting pay for new grads has gone up quite a bit since I was in college.”

  “Law school.”

  Gabe frowned. “Your name sounds familiar...” He looked to Jenny for help.

  She shrugged.

  He got that a lot. “I used to play ball for the Tigers.”

  Gabe’s face lightened the way everyone’s did when they recognized him. “Pitcher, right?”

  “’Til my arm gave out.”

  “Rotator cuff?”

  “Yeah. What do you do for a living?”

  “Doctor. General surgeon.” Gabe turned and wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulder. “And Jenny’s a journalist.”

  “Is that so?” Steve inclined his head politely. A writer? Great. Just his luck to get a professional spy for a neighbor. The bane of his existence.

  “Books?” he asked hopefully.

  “No, I freelance. Human interest stuff mostly.”

  “Great.” His stomach growled loudly. “Well, welcome to the neighborhood, and if you need anything, feel free to...” he waved a hand at the hole. “Come on over.”

  “Thanks.” She picked up the flowers, which Gabe took from her as they walked toward the house. Her ponytail whipped her face as she turned around, calling, “You too,” as an afterthought.

  He forced a smile and flapped his hand in a semblance of a wave.