Chapter 1

RUDE AWAKENING

The sound hit Sophie Martinez like a freight train at 2:17 AM.

CRASH. BANG. THUMP-THUMP-THUMP.

She bolted upright in bed, heart hammering against her ribs. Was someone breaking in? Had a tree fallen on the house? She grabbed her phone, finger hovering over 911, when the noise shifted into something far worse than a home invasion.

Music.

Not just any music. The kind of aggressive, wall-shaking rock that made her grandmother's china rattle three rooms away. Sophie stumbled to her bedroom window, pushing aside the lace curtains she'd inherited along with the cottage.

The house next door—the one that had sat empty for six blissful months—was blazing with lights. And there, visible through the garage's open door, was the source of her misery.

A man. Shirtless, sweat-slicked, attacking a drum kit like it had personally wronged him.

His dark hair fell across his face as he lost himself in the rhythm, completely oblivious to the fact that normal human beings were trying to sleep.

Sophie's peaceful neighbourhood—her sanctuary of morning bird songs and evening cricket symphonies—had been invaded by a one-man rock concert.

She yanked on her robe and marched outside, her bunny slippers slapping against the dewy grass. The music was even louder out here, vibrating through her chest cavity. She pounded on the garage door frame.

"EXCUSE ME!"

The drumming continued. Either he couldn't hear her over his own racket, or he was ignoring her. Sophie spotted a garden hose coiled nearby and briefly considered her options.

Instead, she walked directly into his line of sight and waved her arms like she was directing air traffic.

The music stopped abruptly.

He looked up, drumsticks frozen mid-air, and Sophie got her first clear look at her new neighbour. Late twenties, maybe thirty. Lean muscle, a tribal tattoo wrapping around his left bicep, and the kind of jawline that belonged in magazines. Under different circumstances—say, when it wasn't the middle of the night—she might have found him attractive.

Right now, she wanted to throttle him.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" she demanded.

He glanced at his phone, then back at her with a lazy grin that made her want to scream. "2:20. Why, you got somewhere to be?"

"Yes, actually. Bed. Like every other sane person in a residential neighbourhood."

"Relax, librarian lady. It's Friday night."

"It's Saturday morning. And how did you—never mind." Sophie crossed her arms. "Some of us have jobs that require us to be functional human beings before noon."

"Lucky for you, I'm not functional before noon regardless." He twirled a drumstick between his fingers. "I'm Dean, by the way. Your new neighbour."

"Sophie. Your soon-to-be-former neighbour if you keep this up."

Dean's grin widened. "Threats already? We're going to get along great."

Before Sophie could respond, he launched back into his song, the drums exploding to life with renewed vengeance. She stood there for a moment, mouth agape, before storming back to her house.

This means war.

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