Good lord with this girl.

I make a mental note to call her mom; she really needs to stop coming over like this to disrupt my quiet and peaceful life. Since when did her dog-walking responsibilities evolve into scheming and meddling in my personal life? She’s worse than my brother—I should introduce them.

“I think a date to the pumpkin patch would be fun.” Chandler rises from the stool at the counter, leaving her wine glass half full. “On that note, I should really be going.”

“Mr. Wallace will walk you to your car,” Molly informs her, overstepping her bounds in a way only she can.

“Thanks, Molly,” I grind out. “I was going to walk her to her car anyway.” Jesus, does she think I have no manners? “Maybe you should get home—it’s a school night.”

“We have off tomorrow.”

I cannot murder-face this kid hard enough, and for once, the glare works.

“Okay, okay, I’m going, I’m going.” She tosses up her hands in surrender. “But I’ll be back for a full report—you’re not off the hook, Mr. Wallace.”

I follow Chandler out to her car, the cold night air throwing up steam with every breath we take.

She turns, keys dangling in her hands. “You know you don’t actually have to take me to the pumpkin patch, Mr. Wallace.”

I scoff. “And disappoint Chewy? Little guy has his heart set on it” is the only thing I can say that will save face. God forbid she knows I’m looking forward to going. “Besides, if we don’t go, Molly will find out.”

Chandler cocks her head in thought. “I was never like that at fifteen. That kid has a set of lady balls like I’ve never seen.” Pause. “She should enroll in karate or taekwondo or some type of martial art. She’d be great at it.”

“God, the world does not need another you running around, flipping unsuspecting dudes on their asses.”

Her laugh is quiet. “It’s always a good thing to empower our young women so they can take care of themselves.”

I gaze toward Molly’s house, then back down at Chandler, the steam from our breath rising then mingling in the cool, night air.

“What day works for you?” I open her car door and brace myself on the end of it, leaning my hip.

She shrugs. “You’re the one who’s busy. Can you steal away during the week? I know weekends you play.”

“I could do Saturday if I’m not busted to shit.” Which I could be, but probably not. The odds of me getting injured are high, but rare—which makes no sense, I know. What I mean is, there’s a high probability that I’ll get my ass handed to me at some point…but since it hasn’t happened yet, I’m not worried.

Chandler nods in agreement. “Yeah, I could do Saturday. Late morning?”

“Sure. We could…” My voice trails off and I’m embarrassed by my next suggestion. “Get PSL beforehand.”

PSL: Pumpkin Spice Latte

The most basic beverage in existence and I am the first person in line at the coffee shop the day they release it. Don’t fucking tell a soul.

Chandler blinks up at me, surprised. Smiles, biting down on her bottom lip. When she tips her chin up to look into my eyes, I’m not sure if she wants me to kiss her or not, but her mouth is right there and—

“Kiss her!” comes a voice from the next house over. “What’s taking you so long, sheesh!”

We turn, startled, and see Molly hanging halfway out a second-story window, the creep.

“That’s it.” An actual laugh escapes my mouth. “I’m calling my realtor in the morning and putting the house up for sale. I’ll give the damn thing away if I have to—that kid is a menace.” I stab a finger in Molly’s general direction.

“Do it!” said menace yells, loud enough to wake the entire neighborhood. Or maybe I’m just hypersensitive; I hate being told what to do, especially by minors. “Come on, Mr. Wallace, give her a kiss!”

Chandler sputters out a laugh. “Just ignore her, she’ll leave you alone.”

Not soon enough. “I wish she would go away.”

That makes Chandler laugh again, harder this time. “It’s cute. She’s appointed herself as your overseer.”

“More like evil overlord.” I take a deep breath in, about to enter uncharted territory. It’s been years since I’ve gotten closer to a woman with the intent of kissing them; being drunk in a bar doesn’t count and neither do all the times strange women have kissed me.

This feels weird.

It feels too romantic with the cold weather and the slight wine buzz and the good mood.

Foreign.

On one hand, I have the neighbor girl dictating my next move, telling me what to do from her bedroom window. On the other, I’d planned to kiss Chandler anyway. Why not, right? We’re both adults and she’s pretty and funny and kind.

The kind of girl my mother would love to see me end up with—not that I’ve ever given that much thought. Or maybe I’m just lying to myself. Family is the most important thing to me and why the hell am I thinking about this shit right now!?