Those dark-and-stormy eyes locked with mine, and a “Yes, of course,” tumbled from my lips before I could even think to protect myself. Not once, since moving in next door, had I been able to resist this man.

He raised a brow. “Are you sure?”

I looked down at the pajamas I was wearing. “Abundantly sure, but I should probably change, right? You look so handsome.”

“I know it’s not the calendar-model look you usually go for.”

I laughed as he followed me into Linda’s front room. “I like what I like, Dean,” I called over my shoulder, running up the stairs. “And I happen to like you shirtless.”

I opened the hallway closet and quickly pulled through the few sundresses I owned. One was magically unwrinkled so I tossed it on before I got nervous. Grabbing a pair of earrings and slashing on lip gloss, I ran back down the stairs and twirled for approval.

“Now I look like a calendar model,” I said with a cheer.

Dean yanked me against his chest and gave me a firm, commanding kiss. He pinched my chin, kissed me again. “You look too beautiful for words. Like always.”

“Th-thanks,” I said, stumbling a little. “Should I bring anything?”

“Both of my mothers would never forgive me if I let you do that,” he said, starting to tug me outside.

“Oh, wait,” I said, running back to the dining room table. I opened the photo album and snatched the one of his parents in their bell-bottoms. “I’ve been meaning to give this to them all week. Is this an appropriate gift for a Knox-Morelli Sunday-night dinner?”

Warm affection flashed in his eyes. “I’ve never seen this before.” He held it closer. “Is that Eddie?”

“And Alice too.”

“Shit, someone has to show Rowan.” He handed it back to me, and I followed him outside, our hands still entwined.

“Apparently Linda’s house has always been the party house,” I said. “Most of her photo albums are from theme parties through the decades. That probably makes her, ultimately, a superior neighbor over me.”

He dropped his head to kiss the top of my hair. “That’s not possible,” he murmured.

The vibrations sent a shiver up my spine. The moonlight lit up his rugged profile, highlighting those scars. My fingers ached for my camera, all the dazzling threads of this story, of Dean’s story, coming together in my mind in a way that was as exciting as it was terrifying. Telling Dean what I saw every day—this block loves you—was about as dangerously close to real vulnerability as I’d allowed.