Kelly

"KNOCK, KNOCK." THE SUDDEN VOICE CUTS THROUGH the quiet, pulling me from the space I'd gone to inside my head.

I look up from my seat on the rocking chair to see a beautiful woman perched on the porch stairs of my new house. White-blonde locks frame her face, the loose strands blowing around, trying to conceal the beauty. I have an urge to brush them behind her ears just so I can have a clear view of the smile painting her lips. It's a sight I haven't seen in a few days, and it takes me a minute to realize I've fallen into a trance trying to get my fill of it.

"Since it's apparently our thing now to show up uninvited, I thought I'd repay the favor," Sutton says, pulling me back into the present. "With gifts." She holds up a six pack of beer and a bag of homemade cookies. I eye the bag of treats suspiciously.

"Snickerdoodle, huh? Are you sucking up? Should I be concerned?"

"What? A girl can't bake a guy his favorite cookies just because?"

She climbs the stairs and instantly becomes distracted, her eyes snagging on the opposite corner of the porch. "A swing!" she squeals, setting the items in her hand down before rushing toward the wooden porch swing I hung a few days ago.

Sinking into the bench seat, she instantly sets it in motion, rocking back and forth. I try not to focus on how good she looks there, how right the scene feels, and instead concentrate on the notepad in my lap. I'd been in the process of making a list before the ultimate distraction herself showed up unexpectedly.

"Kelly!" she sings, drawing out my name into multiple syllables. "Join me." She slows her swinging and pats the spot next to her. "Take a break and sit with me for a bit."

Grumbling, I stalk across the porch, dipping onto the seat next to her. "Happy?" I ask her, but one look at the lightness in her features answers the question for me. I smile despite myself, relieved to see the sadness missing from her face.

Without thought, I brush away the flyaways from her face, but it's pointless since the wind snatches them back up and twirls them around again. Instead, I trace my thumb over the curve of her bottom lip. "It's safe to assume your brother/sister time was productive?"

I feel her smile under my thumb and I'm stuck staring at her mouth. Finally, I pull away, clearing my throat, quickly returning my attention to the notepad in my lap. I hastily jot down notes, taking up where I left off moments ago before the beautiful distraction swept through.

I can feel her eyes on me, and when I can't take it any longer, I risk a glance in her direction. She's staring at my hands, an odd expression on her face. "What's going on in that brain of yours right now, baby girl?" I can't resist asking.

She glances up, a pink flush tinging her cheeks. "I always forget you're left-handed."

"Oh yeah?" I ask, trying to decipher why that would make her blush. "So you're continually relearning this fact about me?"

"Mmm hmm," she hums, averting her eyes. "I've always thought lefties were sexy."

I chuckle, the statement catching me by surprise. "Sexy?" I raise a questioning brow at her. "There are a lot of things to find sexy, baby girl, but writing with your left hand does it for you?"

She shrugs. "I guess so. It's the posture while they're writing, I think. Look, show me. Write something."

I eye her a moment before giving in and return my attention to the notepad, quickly scribbling words onto the paper. She leans closer to me, pointing out how I'm hunched over while I write, running her fingers over my shoulders and down my arms. The sensation stirs a slight shiver from me, and I will myself not to move in case any movement spooks her and is the direct cause of her removing her hands off me.

When she notices I'm actually writing something, though, instead of scratching nonsense, she places her hand on my shoulder. "Hey," she says, her mouth close to my ear causing more shivers through my body. "You're actually writing something. What are you writing?"

When I try to cover it up, she invades my space. I hold the notepad above my head when she reaches for it, and she falls forward into my chest. Not to be deterred, she climbs onto my lap and grabs the notepad with little restraint from me since I'm suddenly paralyzed with the closeness of our bodies. She's draped over me, her butt firmly in my lap with her legs dangling over one side. My hands instinctually fall to her hips, keeping her in place while she blocks me with her body as she reads aloud from my paper.

"Things that are sexy," she begins, her voice dripping with amusement. "Laughing loud, blushing cheeks, a hint of skin." She turns in my lap to look at me. "That's your list? Not big tits and a round ass?"

I fight my baser instincts to look at said body parts that are so very close to me, denying my hands to follow their desire to cup her round ass. Instead, I force my gaze to remain locked on her bright blue eyes. "You interrupted me, those were next on the list."

She swats my arm and—devastatingly—stands from my lap. "I'm an ass girl myself. I think I'd rank that one higher than being a lefty." Directing a flirty look my way, she retakes her seat next to me on the porch swing, sending us swinging with one kick off the ground.

"Where do brains fall?" I ask, looping my arm behind her on the back of the swing. "Or don't you care if he's a dummy?" I take over the swinging momentum since her legs are just shy of being long enough to reach the ground comfortably.

She pretends to think over my question. "Hmmm, if he has a real nice ass, he can be a little dumb. But he must, must, must be funny. Laughter is important."

"Agreed," I say, twirling a strand of her hair around my finger. "That's why laughter is first on my list."

She refers to the list again. "Actually, you said laughing loud, so one can assume you want to make her laugh."

I shrug. "Preferably she finds me funny, but just laughing loud in general, uninhibited in the obnoxiousness of it."

"What if she laughs loud and often but has no boobs or butt? Is it an all or nothing, or will you settle for a few checkboxes?"

I shrug again. "TBD. What about you? You waiting for the perfect someone?"

"Maybe that's why I'm on Tinder." She says this with a sly smile, almost as if she's baiting me. Who am I kidding? She's definitely baiting me. And I let her, falling right into her trap.

"No, Sutton," I say in a gruff tone. "Give me your phone. We're deleting that app." I hold my hand out to her, but when she doesn't hand over her phone, I wiggle my fingers at her, directing a stern expression her way.

"No, Kelly. I'm not giving you my phone."

"Sutton."

"Kelly."

I groan, using the empty outstretched hand to scrape along the stubble on my jaw. "I really don't like you using that app, baby girl. I know how you're always telling me you're big and grownup now, but there are so many creeps out there. Why risk it?"

"Worried about me?" I don't enjoy the sassy quality to her voice, and I glare at her to prove it.

"Yes," I grit out through clenched teeth. "Isn't that what I just said?"

"No, you said despite my claims of being grownup, I'm dumb to risk my life." She crosses her arms over her chest, the defiant mood pissing me off.

"I never called you dumb, Sutton. You know I don't think you're dumb. I just don't want you to get hurt, that's all."

"I'll take it under consideration."

"You'll take it under consideration?" I take in the way she's sitting, her body pretending to be on the defense, but it's her face that betrays her—dancing blue eyes and a devilish smirk. "Jesus, Sutton. You're such a brat." I tug a strand of her hair and groan when she laughs.

"So you keep telling me."

I steal the notepad back from her, returning my attention back to my notes. When she asks what I'm doing, I show her the list of things that need attention in the house.

"That's a lot," she says on a breathy exhale, her cheeks puffing out. "At least the porch is coming along."

Her eyes scan the area before settling back on me. "I love front porches. They remind me of home."

Tossing the notepad aside, I use my feet to get the swing moving again. "I spent many days of my childhood on your front porch. I think it was kind of the inspiration for this one."

"I can see that. You're just missing the yellow door."

I laugh, shaking my head. "Not sure I want that bold of a color for my front door." I realize my mistake the minute the words leave my mouth, referring to this as my house, but she doesn't seem to pick up on it.

"I was just thinking about the yellow door earlier today, actually." She tucks her feet under her, turning her body to face me.

"Yeah?" I ask, draping my arm behind her on the back of the swing again, my fingers tangling in her hair. "Tell me about it."

She shrugs, biting her bottom lip as she gathers her thoughts. "How it kind of represents this cheery façade of how I always thought of my mom, and how you can't always trust the pretty package because once you peel back the layers, there's more than just the surface color. More underneath the pretty picture you present to the world."

"Why do you think your mom chose yellow then? Do you think it was more than just liking the color?"

"Before I would have said it was just the color she liked, but now I don't know. I don't necessarily think it was a fake representation of her life. Maybe more like a manifestation of how she wanted it to be. Like choosing positivity even when you're swimming in negativity."

I comb my hand through the soft lengths of her hair, watching it glide between my fingers. "And what color would you choose for your front door? What would you want to be manifesting?"

She closes her eyes, her head slightly ducked as I continue to play with her hair. When the tips of my fingers scrape lightly against her scalp, she hums; and once I discover that particular fact about this delectable girl, I continue to do it over and over.

"Sutton," I whisper, noticing the sudden huskiness in my voice. She blinks her eyes open, directing them my way. "What is it you want to manifest with your front door color choice?"

"Harmony."

"Harmony?" The answer surprises me, my movements stalling. My hand rests at the base of her neck, and I circle it around to prop her face up with my thumb under her chin. With her electric eyes locked with mine, I dust my thumb across the softness of her skin.

She tries to nod her head, my hand preventing any big movements. "With all the unrest in the world, and whatever current shit is upsetting my own small space on this planet, a sense of harmony greeting me at the end of every day sounds about right."

"And what is the color of harmony?"

"Green. But not like the neon green of early spring grass. More subtle and earthy. Actually, pretty close to the color you chose for your kitchen cabinets."

I file all of that away, consuming everything this girl gives me with a voracious appetite.

"Speaking of," I say, rising to my feet and holding out my hands to her. I pull her to her feet, keeping one of her small hands tucked tight into mine as I lead her toward the front door—a very basic white. "Would you like to see the colors for yourself?"

She squeezes my hand, a single pump, as she allows me to lead her inside.