He squared off the last row and I rushed to the living room, holding my now cold mug of coffee. I’d pretended to be sipping it earlier, but I’d given up all pretenses at this point.

His mouth twitched every time he mowed facing my house. He knew I was watching him. And I knew he knew I was watching him, but we both pretended he’d decided to come over to mow out of the goodness of his heart and I was also terrible at efficiently drinking a beverage.

With his shirt off and a towel thrown over his right shoulder, I wasn’t the only one enjoying the spring afternoon view.

“Bay?”

I screamed, drenching my shirt in cold coffee.

“What is going on?”

Mom peered out the blinds and turned to me with a knowing look.

“I came down to grab a cup.” I walked into the kitchen after her and set my now empty mug in the sink.

“Sure. And your distraction has nothing to do with the neighbor of ours out there mowing?” She poured her own cup of coffee, smirking.

“It might a little.”

“He certainly seems to be showing up here a lot more.”

“He’s helpful.”

“I only hope you’re being safe.”

“Mom.” An exasperated shout.

“I’m working nights. You think I don’t know what can go on while I’m away?”

“No one other than Piper has been in this house when you’re at work.”

“Does that mean you go to his house then?”

“I’ve never been to his house. Mom, stop it.” I clapped my hands over my ears.

“Your dad and I raised you, but I know you’re not a kid anymore. College is a few months away. You forget who I see at the hospital every day.”

“I haven’t—We haven’t—We’re not even—I’m still...” I dragged my hands down my face. “Dare and I are friends. That’s all.”

“Something tells me he’d like that to change.”

“What makes you think that?”

“He’s looked up at least twenty times since I’ve come down here.” She walked past and squeezed my arm. “Be safe.”

“You gave me The Talk in sixth grade.”

“I meant with your heart.” She pressed her hand against the center of my chest. There was a flicker of sadness in her eyes before she left the room. Her footsteps trod overhead.

Staring out the window, I couldn’t help the stuttering heartbeat that overcame me every time he looked up and smiled at me. I grabbed ingredients from the cabinets and whipped up a batter I knew without needing a recipe. A splash of vanilla and some chocolate chips took my buttermilk pancakes from not bad to damn good.

With three pans going, I doled out the batter and stacked them high on a plate.

The drone of the lawn mower cut off, bathing the house in an absolute silence.

He pulled the mower behind him toward the garage.

I set down the spatula and rushed out the front door. The freshly mowed grass wet between my toes. “There’s extra pancakes, if you wanted some.” I shrugged, failing miserably at playing it cool.