His lips curved into a half smile that had my toes curling. “Still trying to blackmail your elderly neighbors into spilling secrets about me?”

I reached behind my screen door with a smirk and produced a tiny white box. Flipped it open to reveal four lemon squares, nestled in powdered sugar. “I swear it was a coincidence.”

His eyes flicked down, and his chest rumbled with soft laughter.

“Want one?”

“I’m good, thanks,” he said. “My mothers will take all four off your hands.”

He tapped the shovel up and down, striking the sidewalk with a gentle rap-rap-rap. His internal struggle was obvious, but I didn’t push. Finally, he said, “Would you like a secret?”

I bit my lip. “Sure. But I’m happy to offer up one myself if it’ll feel more even.”

He tapped the shovel a few more times. “I’ve taken knockouts that feel better than asking for help or accepting it when it’s offered. I hate doing it. But if you’re offering—and could help me with this—I could use it. I could use a…friend.”

His sincere tone, coupled with his earnest expression, propelled me toward promises without hesitation.

“Absolutely,” I said. Gushed was more like it. “It’s practically in Aunt Linda’s backyard, and I can’t let you take on such a huge project by yourself. Besides, I’m not only an incredible neighbor. I’m a hard worker, skilled at team building, I love working with my hands. I’m sure they’re not as skilled as yours, which are quite skilled. Right? I swear I haven’t been thinking about your hands, it only sounds like I have.”

I trailed off at the very end and knew my face was a unique shade of red my sister Alexis swore made me look like a tomato.

Dean looked equally amused. “Tabitha.”

“I feel like if I apologize again for talking about your hands, I’m only going to make it sound creepier.”

He was clearly fighting a smile. “You’re not wrong. But thank you for helping me.”

I swayed on my feet, the motion a warning. I had more than enough on my plate and needed to keep my movements here light and relaxed, untangled and loose. I had a rare break from the grind of video producing and should have been using this time like the gift it was. It was a time to assess and re-prioritize my career, to hustle up contracts and meaningful stories. Offering to help Dean, to help this street was already giving me that heart-stuck-in-my-throat feeling, that craving for home I had successfully resisted for years now.

But I’d always been able to control my emotions—and entanglements—in the past, so I decided not to worry.