At First Sight

By Cameron Hart

He never saw her coming...

 

Tucker: I'm fine. I don't need any help. I only have these bandages on my eyes for a week. I've never needed anyone, and I don't plan on changing that now.

 

But then my neighbor knocked on my door. I've never met her before, but I want to now. Her soft, sweet voice hits me right in the chest. I feel an ache deep inside, a profound emptiness I didn't know I had.

 

I'm broken, bitter, and a bastard to boot. Try as I might to shake off my intrusive yet intoxicating neighbor, she keeps showing up and taking care of me. I might have to see if I can make her stay forever.

 

Mila: I like to keep to myself. People tend to judge me by my weight, my scars, and my general lack of people skills. When I have to leave my apartment for food and supplies, I stick to the shadows, trying to navigate life unnoticed. But that doesn't mean I don't notice other people, especially my tall, dark, and stupidly handsome neighbor.

 

I wouldn't say I've been stalking him. I mean, I know his schedule, when he checks his mail, and where he keeps his spare key hidden. Under the doormat. Seriously?

 

One day I hear through our shared wall what sounds like him taking a spill, and I have to go over and see if he's okay. I somehow find myself over at his place day after day, falling more and more for the grumpy butt who has a surprising sweet streak. Will he still want to be with me when his bandages come off, or will he run away like everyone else in my life?

 

What to expect from a Cameron Hart book: Lots of heat, plenty of sweet, and just enough drama to keep things interesting. No cheating, safe, guaranteed HEA!

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cameron Hart
• Release date: Jun 27, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224114153

Cameron Hart

Hello. I'm Cameron Hart, and I write sweet steamy romances. I’m a USA Today Bestselling author with over forty books available. I write romance with lots of heat, plenty of sweet, and just enough drama to keep things interesting. I graduated from the Iowa Writer’s Workshop in 2012 with a degree in creative writing. When I’m not working on my next book, I can be found reading, crocheting, doing yoga, and chasing around my grumpy cats. **What to expect from a Cameron Hart book: Lots of heat, plenty of sweet, and just enough drama to keep things interesting. No cheating, safe, guaranteed HEA!**

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One look at the stunning waitress carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, and I’m a goner. I wasn’t looking for a sweet little thing with auburn hair and more baggage than I can fit on the back of my bike, but there’s no going back now. She’s mine. I’ll prove to her I’m more than capable of handling her past and making her feel safe again.

Chapter 1

Tucker

Are you sure you’re okay here alone?

For the last fucking time, I’m fine, I grunt in annoyance at my best friend, Sam.

He sighs heavily and I assume he’s shaking his head like he always does when he thinks I’m being stubborn. I can’t see him, not with these damn bandages over my eyes, but I know my best friend.

Stop worrying about me. Go home to your wife, I’m sure Angie has dinner ready for you.

She does. She even has an extra place setting for you if you want to stay with—

No. We’ve been over this. I’m fine here. I want to be somewhere familiar. The nurse got my phone all set up to work with voice commands, and you set up the string system or whatever.

Yeah, after arguing with you about it for nearly an hour, Sam mutters. I swear I can hear him rolling his eyes, though I know that’s not possible. They say losing your sight makes your other senses sharper, but they can’t be that sharp.

So then you know I’m serious when I say I want you to leave me the hell alone, I snap at him. He’s my best friend, yes, but right now he’s annoying the shit out of me.

Alright, man. I get it. But I’m going to be checking in on you. I can’t believe you aren’t going to get any in-home care. You’re blind!

Yeah, I know. But it’s only for a week. I can manage for a week.

I think you’re wrong, but it’s your life. Let it be known, I’m not a fan of this plan.

Noted.

Stubborn ass, Sam says under his breath.

I hear his footsteps fade away as he makes his way towards the front door of my apartment. Sam, I call out when I hear the doorknob turn.

Yeah?

Thank you.

He pauses for a moment before speaking. I'm here for you, Tucker. You scared the shit out of me in that accident. I... he sighs again and presumably shakes his head. Sam is nothing if not predictable. I don't want to lose your grumpy ass. You're my best friend.

I grunt in acknowledgment of his words. He chuckles and says a final goodbye before shutting my door and locking it for me with the spare key I keep under the doormat.

Sam has always been comfortable sharing his feelings, unlike me. Sam is the classic boy next door, with charm, wit, and a perfect smile. We’re opposites in almost every way. Our friendship doesn’t really make sense, but we’ve been best friends since fourth grade when I beat up a kid who was bullying Sam. From that point on, he was the brains and I was the brute that followed him around like a lost dog. I suppose I kind of was.

I didn’t have a great home life growing up. I spent more time with Sam and his family than my own. I moved out when I was seventeen just to get away from the chaos and never looked back. My family hasn’t contacted me in over fourteen years, and that’s just fine by me.

However, getting hit on the head while on the jobsite and having my brain swell to the point of needing surgery on my optic nerve has shown how few people I have in my life. No family to call, no other friends besides Sam and his wife, Angie. Sure, I hang out every once in a while with the other guys who work construction with me, but as the foreman, there’s always that distance. I’m never really one of the guys since I oversee them.

I like my life though. I’m not lonely, I’m just alone. It’s better this way. Women are nothing but trouble and family is nothing but a complication. Yeah, sometimes I miss having a woman to warm my bed, waking up next to her and rolling her onto her back so I can sink deep inside of her in the early hours of the morning before we have to get up for the day. But after my last relationship ended three years ago, I decided I was done with all of that drama. No more. No women, no relationships, not even one-night stands.

Sam thinks I’m crazy to call it quits on ever having a relationship. He reminds me all the time that I’m only thirty-one, though I feel much older. Sam can think whatever he wants, it’s not his life, it’s mine. Something that I remind him of whenever he pushes me to start dating again.

Fuck, I mutter to myself. Not being able to see has me getting lost in my own bitter thoughts, and that’s the last thing I need. It’ll be a long fucking week if the only thing I spend time doing is getting stuck in my head.

I decide to get up and try out this new string system. I have a cane but I refuse to use it. I already feel feeble and weak enough; no need to add insult to injury. I’ll be fine. I have a small apartment. What could go wrong?

I shuffle my way from the couch to the wall and reach out for the string. Approximately fifteen steps to the kitchen from the living room. I shuffle along, taking small, unsteady steps. When I reach fifteen, I expect to feel the carpet turn into linoleum. Instead, I just feel more carpet, even when I stretch out my foot. I shuffle a few more steps and finally feel the kitchen floor.

Without thinking about it, I let go of the string and slowly make my way towards the cupboards, where I have some beef jerky and trail mix. I only make it two steps before stubbing my toe on the damn kitchen island I somehow forgot about.

Goddamnit! I shout to the empty apartment. My arms flail for a few seconds, trying to find something to hold onto. Instead, I end up knocking over a cup of water I must have left there before everything happened. My feet slip from under me and I go down, hitting the kitchen floor with a roar and a string of curses.

I ball up my fist and slam it against the floor in frustration. There’s no way I’m admitting defeat. I can feed my own damn self. I can. I will. I don’t need help. I’ll just sit here for a second. The world around me is tilting. I didn’t hit my head, thank God, but I can’t quite figure out which way is up.

Taking a few deep breaths, I push myself up off the floor and promptly smash my knee into the wall beside me. Why is that there? I thought I was in the middle of my kitchen, not next to the wall. Fuck.

I grunt and try getting up again, this time pressing my back against the wall for leverage. I manage to stand up and grab the stupid string, but I lean back against the wall trying to get oriented again.

Just as I’m closing my eyes to try and calm down, there’s a knock at my door. Who the fuck could that be? Sam just left, and besides, he’d just use the spare key and barge in here. I don’t move, not wanting to give away that I’m inside. I even hold my breath. Yeah, I’m that opposed to having visitors right now. I hate that Sam saw me this vulnerable; there’s no way I want a stranger to see me this way.

The knocking starts again, a little louder this time.

Um, hello?

The soft, sweet voice hits me right in the chest. I feel an ache deep inside, a profound emptiness I didn’t know I had. Her voice opened up a void that can only be filled by hearing her sweetness again.

I-I’m your neighbor, she says tentatively. 

Fuck, her voice rolls over me, quieting my rage and frustration and grounding me. Being blind is disorienting in many ways. I feel like I’m floating, like I’m not really here. But somehow, she makes me feel real again.

I heard some loud noises like maybe you fell. Are you okay? Do you need help?

No, I bark out. Even I flinch at my harsh tone, but the thought of this sweet angel seeing me like this, lowering herself to my level, and God forbid, pitying me...well, I can’t have that. I won’t.

So you’re okay? That sounded like quite the fall.

I’m fine. You can go now. I almost choke on the words as they come out of my mouth. I don’t want her to leave. What the hell is wrong with me? There’s silence on the other side of the door and I worry I scared her off. Why am I worried about that? Why is my heart stuttering in my chest? Why do my hands twitch to open the door and...not be able to see her? Fuck.

I growl in frustration, all sense of calm draining away. 

Are you sure? I can help if you—

I said leave!

I hear her gasp at the force behind my words. Usually, I don't care, and in fact, I like scaring people away. If no one gets close, there's no chance they can screw me over. But being mean to the angel on the other side of the door makes me feel like an asshole. I mean, I am an asshole, but for the first time, I feel bad about it.

"Okay...well, I’m right next door. I don’t leave very often, or, well, hardly ever. I mean, the real world is overrated. It’s for the birds, I tell you. So, right. Um, anyway, I don’t know why I said all of that. I don’t talk to people