An Imperfect Match / Next Comes Love. Kimberly Van Meter

do you live?” Dean asked, pulling out of the driveway and onto the highway.

      “Uh, just on the outskirts of town, in those duplexes off Morning Glory Road.”

      He appeared troubled but didn’t comment. The first time she’d seen the duplex she’d nearly cried. But she’d lived in worse and with a little elbow grease, she’d rationalized that it could be very cozy.

      As they pulled up to the duplex, Annabelle grimaced. Well, it was safe to say the duplex—despite her efforts—had never quite reached her aspirations.

      She opened the passenger door and dropped to the ground from the dizzying height of the truck, then went to her front door to unlock it while Dean unbuckled Honey from her car seat. She accepted Honey from his arms while he unlatched the car seat from the truck. She tried taking the car seat, too, but he wouldn’t let her and simply followed her into the house.

      She tried not to cringe when she caught him openly assessing her unit with a critical eye.

      “Who’s your landlord?” he asked, his hands going to his hips as he stared at a crack in the ceiling. “Is this structurally sound?”

      She laughed nervously, but she’d wondered that herself. “It’s fine. You’re paranoid. Thanks for the lift. I’m sure Dana can take us tomorrow.”

      “No need. I’ll come get you. I have to come by this way anyway.”

      “No, you don’t. You’re being ridiculous. I don’t need you to be my taxi. Dana can get us or maybe Sammy.”

      There was a loud bang and Annabelle jumped. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t have reacted like that, but having Dean in her space put her on edge. She felt him judging her and her humble home. This place was a palace compared to where she’d grown up. If he thought so poorly of her duplex what would he think of her background if he knew? She tried not to let it bother her, for who really cared what others thought? But knowing that Dean might harbor the slightest amount of pity toward her was enough to make her defensive.

      “What was that?” he growled, moving past her to peer out the small kitchen window. “Are your neighbors rowdy? Have they given you any trouble?”

      Annabelle sighed. It was sweet, really, that he was worried. But her neighbors were nothing compared to the riff-raff she was used to putting up with. Hell, she could handle those yahoos next door with her eyes closed. “Dean, everything’s fine. Thank you. I appreciate your concern but it’s unnecessary.”

      He paused and for a wild moment Annabelle wondered if he was going to grab Honey and her, toss them both back into the truck and burn rubber out of there. No doubt that’s what he wanted to do. Dana had all but said the same thing when she’d first seen the place, but Annabelle was determined to make things better on her own.

      He must’ve read that in her eyes for he backed down—grudgingly. With one caveat. “I’m picking you up. Be ready at 8:00 a.m.”

      And then he closed the door behind him with instructions to use the dead bolt when he was gone.

      She slid the dead bolt into place and shut the thin drapes across the kitchen window to create some semblance of privacy before making Honey and herself a quick bite to eat.

      After a shower, she put Honey to bed, doublechecking the window latches before she turned off the light, and then she took a seat by the window to stare into the night.

      The duplex was squalid—not even three passes with a rented steam cleaner could get the carpets completely clean—but the view was beautiful. From the ridge above Emmett’s Mill, the lights of downtown twinkled like stars and the moon illuminated the dark sky with a soft glow.

      A sigh escaped her as her thoughts returned to Dean. He wasn’t a man of many words, but that was okay. Sammy seemed to do most of the talking for everyone. But Annabelle appreciated a man who spent less time talking and more time working. Her mom had been a sucker for sweet talkers. Poor Mom. Always looking for a knight in shining armor to rescue her from the way her life had turned out.

      Stop it. Shaking off her melancholy, Annabelle reached for her mail and started to sift through it. She was still receiving the previous tenant’s mail but the landlord hadn’t much cared. They had left in the middle of the night, skipping out on the last month’s rent. So Annabelle had had to pay two months in advance. Tossing the misdirected mail in a growing pile to return to the post office, she got to the last envelope in her small stack and slid it open, barely registering the label from the district attorney’s office in Hinkley.

      Unfolding the letter, she scanned the contents and her heart began to thunder uncomfortably in her chest as three simple words scared the living hell out of her.

       Out on parole.

      The phone rang, jangling her nerves. She rose on unsteady feet to answer it.

      “Hello?”

      Nothing. But Annabelle could hear someone breathing. Damn kids. She gripped the phone tighter and said, “This is juvenile. Do your parents know—”

      “Bitch!” And then the line went dead.

      Annabelle drew back in startled silence. Swallowing, she glanced out the front window before hanging up the receiver. Kids, she thought shakily. With a mean streak.

      Suppressing a shiver, she double-checked the flimsy lock on the front door but still felt exposed. Forcing a short laugh, she told herself she was overreacting, but her gaze strayed to the letter on the coffee table and her heart beat painfully against everything she was trying to convince herself of.

      A prank call. No big deal. She could handle it.

      DEAN ARRIVED at Annabelle’s place a little early, but he hadn’t slept well the night before and found himself up earlier than usual. Downing a quick cup of coffee and burning his taste buds in the process, he made the short drive to Annabelle’s and then wondered if he should wait outside or knock on the door.

      After a minute of arguing with himself on the merits of waiting or knocking, in the end, he went to the front door and tapped on it hesitantly.

      A few moments later, Annabelle peered around the door frame clutching a towel, and he cursed his impatience. He should’ve waited in the truck.

      “Are you early?” Annabelle asked, biting her lip. “Or am I late?”

      “I’m sorry, Annabelle. I’m early. I’ll just wait in the truck until you’re ready.” He turned to leave, positive he felt the tips of his ears reddening when she called after him.

      “It’s okay. I was running a bit behind anyway. I overslept. Why don’t you come in and keep an eye on Honey for me while I take a quick shower? It’ll be much faster if I don’t have to take her with me. She likes to play with the shampoo when I’m not looking.”

      “Uh…okay,” he said, though his Adam’s apple bobbed uncomfortably in his throat as he dutifully tried to avoid the imagery jumping to his overactive imagination. Annabelle with her lush curves and creamy skin—naked. The blood rushed from his ears to his groin and he almost did an about-face. But then he saw Annabelle grab Honey from her crib as the toddler rubbed at her eyes, smiling sleepily when she spotted him, and his heart warmed in a pleasant way. The kid was too darn cute. A person would have to be made of stone not to like Honey Nichols.

      “Look who’s here,” Annabelle said, pressing a kiss to Honey’s wild hair. “Mama’s going to take a quick shower. Can you sit with Dean for a minute? I won’t be long. I promise.”

      Honey didn’t even hesitate but went straight into Dean’s arms. Annabelle’s expression faltered, surprise at Honey’s reaction evident in her eyes. She met Dean’s gaze with a puzzled smile. “She must really like you. I’ve never seen her so open with anyone. Not even her da—” Annabelle stopped, plainly disturbed by how much information she was sharing. “I’ll just be a minute.”

      “Take your time,” Dean said, holding Honey against