Julie had one rule about men who baked pie: avoid them.
Sweetness was a trap. Thoughtfulness was a setup. And caring? Well, caring got her broken the last time.
But that didn't explain why she was currently outside, pretending to water her lawn, hoping to "accidentally" run into the very same handyman-next-door with kind eyes and an annoying amount of restraint.
She wore a cropped white tank and high-waisted shorts that hugged her hips like they owed her money. No bra. No apology.
If Elias looked… she'd know.
He didn't just look.
He stared.
From his porch, coffee in hand, he paused mid-sip as his eyes dragged across her slowly, cautiously, like he didn't want to be caught—but couldn't help himself.
Julie bent a little lower, aiming the hose without purpose.
Elias cleared his throat.
"Morning," he called.
She straightened, smiling. "Is it?"
He chuckled. "You water your lawn every day?"
Julie licked a drop of water off her thumb. "Only when I need an excuse to stretch."
His jaw twitched. His eyes dropped—just for a second—to the wet patch on her tank top.
He looked away. Gentleman.
Dangerous.
"Want breakfast?" he asked, raising his mug. "I made waffles."
Julie arched a brow. "Are you trying to bribe me with carbs?"
"I'm trying to be nice."
"That's worse."
Elias laughed softly, then nodded toward his door. "Come over. I'll prove I'm harmless."
Julie crossed the fence, slowly. "Spoiler alert: harmless men don't look at me like that."
Inside Elias' Kitchen
The house smelled like cinnamon and warmth. Simple furniture. Clean countertops. A guitar rested by the window, half-hidden behind a plant.
Of course he played guitar.
"Wow," Julie murmured, running a finger along the edge of the table. "Your house smells like commitment and stable feelings."
Elias flipped a waffle with practiced ease. "Weird. Yours smells like danger and perfume."
Julie smirked, leaning against the fridge. "That's my signature scent."
He handed her a plate. She accepted it, their fingers brushing.
The air between them shifted.
He didn't move away.
Neither did she.
Julie tilted her head, voice soft. "You ever gonna ask why I moved here?"
"Nope."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't need to know what broke you to want to be around what's left."
Julie blinked.
His words didn't flirt—they landed. Right in the center of her guarded little chest.
She stepped back, breaking the eye contact.
"Waffles are good," she said, stuffing a bite into her mouth. "You make these for all your neighbors?"
"Only the ones who flirt like it's a contact sport."
Julie laughed, genuinely. "You're different."
"Is that a compliment?"
"No," she said. "It's a warning."
They sat across from each other, sipping coffee in the quiet of the morning.
"So," Elias said casually, "What do you do when you're not killing gardens with your hose?"
"I cause emotional confusion," she replied with a wink. "And occasionally write social media copy for brands that pretend to care."
"So you're a full-time menace."
"Exactly. And you?"
"Handyman by day, musician by night."
She nodded slowly. "Ah. So the danger is real."
He shrugged. "Not dangerous. Just… observant."
"Of what?"
"You."
Julie raised her cup to hide her smile. "You're going to be a problem."
"Already am."
---
Later That Afternoon
Back at her house, Julie stood by the mirror in her room, staring at herself.
She was still wearing his T-shirt.
It was soft. Warm. Smelled like cedarwood and cinnamon and maybe a little too much hope.
She stripped it off quickly, tossed it into the laundry pile, and reached for her phone.
> Text to Elias
"You left a T-shirt in my soul. I mean… house. Might need to come collect it."
His reply was instant.
> "I'll collect interest too."
Julie stared at the screen, heart thumping once—hard.
Then she tossed her phone aside and muttered, "I am so in trouble."
Julie tossed her phone on the bed after texting Elias and immediately regretted it.
"You left a T-shirt in my soul. I mean… house. Might need to come collect it."
Stupid.
Too much.
Why did she say "soul"?
She reached for the phone to delete it, but—
Typing…
Then, ding.
> Elias: I'll collect interest too.
Julie's throat went dry.
She stared at the message, heart thudding—because she knew exactly what kind of interest she wanted him to collect.
---
10 Minutes Later
A soft knock at her door.
Julie smoothed her shorts, fluffed her curls, and tried not to look like she'd been pacing like a flustered teenager.
When she opened the door, Elias stood there with one hand in his pocket, the other resting against the frame. Same white T-shirt, same maddening calm in his eyes.
She hated how much that calm unraveled her.
"You showed up fast," she said, arms crossed playfully.
"I like my T-shirts," he replied, eyes dragging over her body like a slow stroke. "Especially the ones worn by dangerous women with excellent taste."
Julie stepped aside. "Come in before you start a neighborhood scandal."
"Pretty sure you already did that when you moved in."
---
Inside Julie's House
The tension felt thicker indoors—warmer. More… deliberate.
She handed him the folded shirt. "Here's your treasure."
He didn't take it. "You wore it."
"You gave it to me."
"Still," Elias said, stepping closer, "you wore it."
Julie narrowed her eyes. "You're acting like that means something."
"It does," he said softly. "At least to me."
Julie blinked.
No. No, no, no.
He wasn't supposed to be like this.
"Don't go getting sentimental," she said, voice light. "I'm not that kind of girl."
"You keep saying that," he murmured, stepping even closer. "But every time you do, it sounds more like a warning to yourself than to me."
Julie laughed, breathy and uneven. "You think you're deep, don't you?"
"No," he whispered. "I think you are."
Her smile wavered.
---
He was too close now—close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him. Her back brushed the edge of the dining table. He leaned in, his hands bracing either side of it.
Caged.
Cornered.
Wanted.
And then, like he couldn't take it anymore, Elias's lips found hers—slow, soft, deliberate. No rush. No bite. Just heat.
Julie froze.
Because it wasn't the kind of kiss she gave—it was the kind she remembered.
The kind that meant something.
He tilted her chin up, deepened it just slightly, his hand sliding into her curls.
She kissed back harder.
Just once.
Then she broke away—fast.
Breathing heavy.
Eyes wide.
Lip trembling just enough to betray her.
Elias stayed close. "That scared you."
"I'm not scared," she said, but her voice cracked on the last word.
"You're shaking."
"I'm cold."
"You're on fire," he whispered.
Julie grabbed his shirt and shoved it against his chest. "Take your T-shirt and go."
He stared at her for a beat, unreadable.
Then he nodded, stepped back, and walked to the door.
Just before leaving, he said quietly, "I don't care how many men you play, Julie. I'm not one of them. You can flirt, fool, and forget whoever you want... but you won't forget me."
The door shut behind him.
And Julie?
She stood there, still breathing like she'd just run a marathon barefoot.
She didn't cry.
She didn't smile.
She touched her lips and whispered, "Shit."
---
Later That Night
She sat by her window, wine in hand, staring at his porch.
No movement. No light.
Just her and that kiss, replaying over and over again.
Julie West had kissed a lot of men.
But this?
This one kissed back in ways that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with knowing her.
She hated that.
But God… she wanted more.