For Better or Worse

Heather made a face. “You’re a pig.”

“I’m lashing out,” he said with a grin. “My ego’s stinging from the fact that you didn’t show any appreciation for how hard I work on all of this.”

He spread his arms to the side and glanced down at his body.

Heather rolled her eyes. Great body or not, this guy was disgusting. “What normally happens when a woman bangs on your door at two in the morning?” she asked irritably.

He wiggled his eyebrows.

“Never mind,” she muttered, embarrassed at having set herself up. “Can you please, please just shut up until after I leave at seven tomorrow?”

“To go . . . to the bakery?” he asked hopefully.

Yep. It was official. The new neighbor had to die.

Heather let out an audibly annoyed sigh. “To Park Avenue United Methodist Church to ensure the florist is there with the pew bows and to set up the guest book table, and to the bride room to make sure it doesn’t still smell like onions. And then to the Bleecker Hotel to make sure the gift table’s under way, that the florist is on time, that the caterers will be able to get into the kitchen, that they set up the good dance floor, not the crappy one that splits right down the middle, because if they do, so help me God—”

“And this is why modern men avoid the altar,” Josh interrupted. “You’re one scary-ass bride, 4C.”

“I’m not the bride,” she grumbled, rubbing her increasingly tired eyes. “I’m the assistant wedding planner.”

“Assistant wedding planner. What does that mean?”

It means I need to get some freaking sleep so I can become the real deal.

“I see,” Josh said, even though she hadn’t said anything. He leaned toward her. “You want to come in and talk about it?”

“Better idea. How about you go to bed like any normal person over the age of twenty-two,” she snapped.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he said, stepping aside and sweeping an arm inward as though to usher her inside.

Heather put a hand over her heart and made a dramatic gasping sound. “You mean . . . you mean a big handsome hunk like you would actually bed little old me?”

“Like I said, gotta verify that the sweet buns are, in fact, sweet,” he said, flashing her another one of those easy grins.

Heather’s fake smile dropped, and she stepped forward, getting in his face and ignoring—mostly—the heat radiating off him. “I’m going back into my apartment, and I’m going to sleep, and if I hear one more peep from your side of the wall, I’m going to get my hands on a loaf of Mrs. Calvin’s glorious banana bread and shove it up your—”

Josh’s head dropped to hers, and he stamped a kiss on her mouth. Hard.

Heather lifted her hands to shove him back, and they made it as far as his shoulders before she ­registered that it was a good kiss. A really good kiss. His mouth was warm and firm, and he tasted a bit like chocolate and a really good time.

For a second, Heather was tempted. It had been a while since she’d done something fun, just for her. Something that didn’t have to do with the Wedding Belles, or moving to Manhattan, or making sure her mom remembered to pay her bills, or . . .

Reality crept back in just as her new neighbor’s skilled lips nudged hers open.

She pulled back before he could deepen the kiss and make things really interesting. “What the hell was that?” she spat at him, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Josh’s shoulders lifted. “The quickest way to shut you up, apparently. Should have tried it five minutes ago before you started rambling about bows and pews.”

“Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “Let’s make a deal. I’ll shut up about bows if you stop the music. Deal?”

“You need to lighten up, Assistant Wedding Planner.”

“Yeah, we’re not calling me that,” she said, already turning toward her apartment.

“Hey, 4C,” he called, just as she was about to step back into her place.

In spite of her better judgment, Heather glanced over. “What?”

He winked. “See you around.”

His door shut with a firm click, leaving Heather staring like an idiot with her mouth gaping open. She clenched her fists, walked back into her new apartment, locked the door, and got back into bed. But while it was finally quiet, her mind was racing a million miles a minute.