The Grumpy Next Door

POV: Suzy

I love my niece.

Let’s start there, because it explains everything that follows—including why I gave up two weeks of vacation on my couch, with wine and reruns, to spend my days in a gymnasium that smells like feet and ambition.

“I swear to God, Anya, this bench is trying to assassinate my tailbone,” I muttered, pressing my phone tighter to my ear as squeals and whistles echoed around me.

“Metal bench?” Anya asked, mid-crunch. “Sounds like a war zone.”

“Oh, it is,” I whispered, glancing around. “Tiny girls with abs I didn’t know were possible, moms wearing matching team jackets and death stares, and judges who look like they eat hope for breakfast.”

She laughed, which made me grin. My best friend always knew how to let me vent. I adjusted my shirt—the one with TEAM LILY printed in sparkly letters—and sat up straighter, peering toward the warm-up area.

“I’m doing this for Barbara and Daniel,” I said, more to remind myself than her. “They’ve earned their Portugal honeymoon. Even if it’s, you know, eleven years and one kid late.”

“And you love Lily.”

“I do love Lily. Desperately. Irrationally. I love her more than wine. More than the last slice of pizza. Which is why I’m sitting here surrounded by sugar-rushed gymnasts and enough glitter to start a black market.”

I spotted her—Lilian Marshall, my beautiful, beaming ten-year-old niece—bouncing near the mats with her team, her light brown ponytail flipping like a weaponized ribbon. Her blue eyes lit up when she saw me, and she waved with pure joy.

My chest clenched. Totally worth it.

And then the air changed.

“Oh—hold on,” I said suddenly. “Anya. A man just walked in. I think my uterus just curtsied.”

“What?”

“He’s… oh my God.” I ducked a little lower in my seat, tracking him like he might disappear if I blinked.

Tall. Broad shoulders. Dark brown hair, swept back with a touch of gray at the temples—like the universe had personally styled him for my fantasies. A jawline sharp enough to qualify as a weapon. A tailored black coat over a crisp shirt, and an expression that screamed I have no time for nonsense.

And I wanted to be his nonsense.

My heart jumped just for looking at him.

“He looks like—like a stock photo of a CEO who ruins you emotionally and sexually,” I whispered. “You know the meme? Sugar daddy I would date for free? It’s him. But hotter. Like… illegal hot.”

Anya howled. “I need a photo. Suzy. Evidence.”

“I can’t! He’s looking—oh God, he just looked at me.”

I froze, wide-eyed. His gaze swept across the bleachers and landed on me.

Maybe one second. Maybe three.

Oh my God. He’s into me. Oh my God.

Then he turned, heading toward the VIP section, totally unbothered while I tried to remember how to breathe.

I slowly lifted my phone back to my ear. “Anya. That man’s eyes are illegal.”

“Suzy Connor,” she said. “I want a picture. With scale. For science.”

Fifteen minutes later, I had rejoined the other parents near the main seating area. The energy was electric—tight ponytails, sparkly leotards, and the buzz of medals waiting to be earned.

Lily ran up and hugged my legs, and I handed her a granola bar. She smiled and started eating happily.

“Aunt Suzy, this is Izzy,” she said, tugging me toward a serious-looking girl with a perfect braid and green eyes far too grown-up for her age. “She’s my best friend. She’s amazing on bars.”

“Hi, Izzy,” I said, crouching beside them with a soft smile. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you. Want a granola bar?”

Izzy shook her head. “Thanks, but I already ate my pre-competition meal,” she said, lifting one shoulder in a tiny shrug.

Before I could respond, a shadow fell over us.

“Isabelle.”

I looked up—and stopped breathing.

It was him.

Literally all my air left my lungs.

CEO meme man. Salt-and-pepper hotness. Eyes so green they could burn holes in glaciers.

He stood beside Izzy like a stone pillar, looking down at me with an unreadable expression. Not unkind, not rude. Just… assessing. Like I was a multiple-choice question he didn’t trust the answer to.

“Oh,” I said brilliantly. “It’s you.”

What’s wrong with me?

His brows ticked up. “Excuse me?”

“I mean—” I pointed toward the bleachers. “I saw you earlier. When you walked in.”

God. Kill me.

“I did,” he said flatly.

“This is my aunt,” Lily said, bless her soul. “Aunt Suzy.”

He looked me over again. This time slower. “You’re not a gymnastics mom?”

“Oh God, no,” I said too fast. “Just an aunt on duty. Temporary guardian. Honorary team groupie. Suzanne, but everyone calls me Suzy.”

His mouth twitched. Slightly. Maybe.

“Logan,” he said, giving a nod. “Isabelle’s father.”

Of course, he was.

The Greek God I saw earlier, who summoned all my hormones, is the father of my niece’s best friend.

Great…

We followed the crowd toward the parent section, settling side by side while the girls prepped for their events. It was quiet. Too quiet.

I gave small talk another shot.

“Big weekend, huh? I didn’t realize gymnastics could be so… intense. This place looks like someone glitter-bombed a military drill.”

He glanced sideways. “Regionals matter.”

Oof. No small talk. Got it.

“Right. Well. The setup’s amazing. Those sponsor banners are everywhere.”

He gave a noncommittal nod.

I was debating texting Anya under the bench when the intercom crackled to life.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’d like to take a moment to recognize our primary sponsor—Kaiser Ortho Group—and thank Dr. Kaiser for his ongoing support of youth athletics and sports injury recovery programs.”

Applause erupted. My brain short-circuited.

I tried to talk to him again.

“This clinic must be huge,” I murmured. “Most of the banners are from them. Hope Lily never needs it, though.”

“Hm,” he said, and I swear his mouth almost twitched again.

God. He was difficult.

Lily’s name was called first—“Lilian Marshall”—and she nailed her routine. I clapped and screamed and cheered like a woman possessed while Mister Cold beside me didn’t even blink.

And then—

“Isabelle Kaiser.”

I choked on my own saliva.

My head whipped toward him.

He stared ahead, jaw locked, expression cool but proud.

“You’re… Dr. Kaiser?” I whispered.

He finally turned. “Yes.”

“You’re the Kaiser? The Kaiser Ortho Group, Dr Kaiser?”

“I’ve been called worse. I’m an orthopedic surgeon,”

My mouth opened. Nothing came out.

Then—miracle of miracles—he chuckled.

Low. Rough. Like thunder wrapped in velvet.

I blinked. “Was that a laugh?”

He just shook his head, green eyes glittering.

I clutched my chest. “My God. That was my first win of the day.”

He didn’t reply, but the corner of his mouth definitely moved.

Score one for the auntie.

I leaned back slightly, catching my breath, then muttered under it,

“Of course. Because why not? Of course you’re not just all distant and no small talk—you’re also Izzy’s father and the sponsor of this entire competition.”

I peeked at him again.

He didn’t look back.

But I could feel it.

He knew I was rattled.

And he didn’t hate it.

Turns out, when two ten-year-old girls conspire to share everything—secrets, leotards, glittery pens—they also make sure their hotel rooms are side by side.

Of course they do.

“I can’t believe it,” I muttered as we walked down the hallway, our group of four slowly breaking into two pairs—excitable kids skipping ahead, and the adults trailing behind in enforced silence.

Not only was I embarrassingly attracted to the father of my niece’s best friend, but he was also the sponsor of the entire competition, a world-class orthopedic surgeon… and apparently, my next-door neighbor.

Hot as hell. Broody as sin. And close enough to hear me snore. Fantastic.

Lily turned, grinning. “We always stay next to each other! At every competition!”

“Yeah,” Izzy added. “We even planned it when we saw the flyer. I told my dad to book early.”

Logan gave me a sidelong glance. “You didn’t know?”

“Nope. “ I smiled sweetly and held up my key card. “Room 214.”

“213,” Logan replied, with the dry edge of a man who was very much not amused.

The tension was palpable.

God, help me.

The girls disappeared into Lily’s room with a burst of laughter, leaving us standing in the hallway like reluctant co-stars in a rom-com neither of us had auditioned for.

“I was going to get pizza,” I offered casually, trying not to make eye contact too long with those green eyes that looked like they could unzip skin. “Figured the kid deserves a slice after all that flipping and cartwheeling. Want to join?”

Izzy poked her head out of the room, clearly eavesdropping. “Pizza?”

Logan crossed his arms. “You have a competition tomorrow.”

“I know,” she said, deflating. “It’s just… one slice?”

“You know the protocol, Isabelle.”

Lily appeared beside her, already puppy-eyed. “Come on, Aunt Suzy says pizza gives you energy!”

I grinned. “It’s full of carbs. I’m a licensed adult, thank you very much.”

Logan gave me a long, pointed look. “It also gives you grease, sodium, and questionable ingredients.”

“Delicious ones,” I shot back. “She’s ten. She should enjoy being ten.”

He hesitated—long enough to feel like a small, delicious victory.

And then: “Fine. But one slice. And a water.”

Izzy lit up. Lily cheered. I threw my hands up in triumph.

Thirty minutes later, the four of us sat on the carpet in my hotel room, cross-legged around a pizza box like it was a sacred family heirloom.

The girls were giggling, watching gymnastics TikToks on Lily’s phone, arms bumping as they mimicked choreography.

And Logan—grumpy, polished, probably-born-in-a-suit Logan—sat on the floor with his sleeves rolled up and a napkin on his lap like some kind of fallen angel who knew how to f an ankle and wreck a woman’s composure in one look.

I wasn’t comfortable around him yet. Not because he was mean—he wasn’t. It was the opposite. He was composed. Controlled. Magnetic in a way that made me feel too aware of every inch of myself.

“Surprised you caved,” I said, handing him a slice.

“I’m not as heartless as I look.”

“Sure.”

He gave me a warning glance. I grinned and bit into my slice.

A few minutes later, the girls got up, retreating next door with their phones. The door stayed open, their laughter trailing behind like music. Izzy’s laughter, especially—soft and hesitant at first, like she was practicing how to be a kid again. That made my chest squeeze.

“She’s a good kid,” I said. “Smart. Focused.”

“She has to be,” Logan said, voice lower now, flatter. “It’s just the two of us.”

I tilted my head. “No mom in the picture?”

He chewed quietly for a moment. “We’re divorced. It wasn’t… amicable.”

Part of me felt bad asking. The other part couldn’t ignore the spark that flared through my body when I realized he was single.

“Oh.”

He looked at the empty pizza box. “Izzy can’t count on her mother. She knows that. I try not to speak badly, but… it’s the truth.”

I didn’t push. Just nodded and offered him another napkin. He took it with a small, grateful nod.

“And you?” he asked, catching me off guard.

“Me?”

“You don’t strike me as the mom type either.”

“I’m not… yet. Lily’s mine in heart. I love her so much it hurts sometimes. And yeah, I kind of hope to have a little human of my own someday.”

His eyes softened—just a flicker, but enough for me to feel it. “Are you married?” he asked, trying to sound casual. But I saw the way his throat worked, how his pulse kicked in his jaw.

“Nope.” I leaned back on my hands, matching his casual.

“Boyfriend?”