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You’re pretty sure the boxes in Jake’s house are still packed since he’s been in Lemoore for all of three weeks, and yet the neighborhood already adores him. You want to find it in you to be irritated that they’ve taken to a single man living alone much faster than they did with you.

You bet Jake never gets any questions about why he’s bought a house before getting married.

Cue eye roll.

To further your annoyance, you’re just as taken with your next-door neighbor as everyone else. You just hope you’re better at hiding it than they are.

(You’re not. But in your defense, you're the only one that comes home to see him vying for neighbor of the year by raking the leaves in your front yard, still in his flight suit.)

As if the dads need to be any more on edge, as if the moms need to trip over their words more frequently around him, Jake brings a pie to the neighborhood block party.

An actual fucking peach pie, that he made from scratch and it’s his mother’s recipe isn’t that so darling?

You briefly wonder if there was any merit to your sixth grade teacher telling you your eyes might get stuck given the amount of time that you spend rolling them.

Jake, the ham that he is, takes it all in stride. Lets the moms, grandmas, and teenage girls fawn over him, lets them pull him all over the party. Spurs it on, really, leaning in so they can get the full effect of his charming smile.

It’d be nauseating if he wasn’t so damn charismatic.

It’s maybe a little embarrassing that you’re so observant of Jake that you can tell when he gets a little uncomfortable, when Mrs. Wilkins runs her hands a little too firmly up his arm, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt where it strains around his bicep.

You’d like to think that his grin is extra warm in your direction when you appear at his elbow, making excuses about how he’s wanted over by the grill.

You try not to laugh as you hand him a beer. “You looked like you needed a save.”

He nods, looking grateful. “Thanks, darlin’.”

“Nice of you to agree to this.” You gesture to the tables of food and endless games of cornhole set up along your street. “They were pretty excited to have a welcome to the neighborhood get-together for you.”

“Walter just wanted an excuse to use his Big Green Egg, I’m sure.”

You snort. “Yeah, probably.”

Jake looks over your shoulder, panic curling in his tone. “Quick, kiss me!”

It’s a testament to what good friends you already are that you don’t even question it, instead leaning into the hand he gently places on your cheek and allowing yourself to be pulled into his hard chest.

His lips are surprisingly soft and you bite back a moan as his hand tangles in your hair. You're a little breathless as you pull back, trying not to let your mind spiral at the gossip storm you're certain you've just started.

“Where is she?”

“Where’s who?” He asks, widening those green eyes in feigned innocence.

“Whoever was coming over here? Was it Mrs. Wilkins again? She isn’t very subtle.”

He grins, eyes sparkling with trouble. “Nowhere, darlin’, just wanted you to kiss me.”

Your lips part in surprise, slapping him on the chest to reprimand him for that sneaky little trick.