While you seemed like an unlikely pair, it had been all too easy for you and Art to become close.

He'd been the newest resident of your neighborhood, and whether or not you could've helped it, a man buying the gorgeous mediterranean house down the block as his bachelor pad had piqued your interest. You'd always told yourself that that was the place you'd move into when you married rich, but... oh well.

Consequently, you vowed to yourself that you would befriend this new neighbor, after all, how else were you ever going to see that tile work up close? And to your (minimal) surprise, Art was an easy friend to make and an even easier one to keep. Outgoing, helpful, sweet, and perhaps a bit lonely in this new locale, you were soon each other's favorites.

You showed him around the best cafes, where and when the farmer's market set up each weekend, and reminded him when to put his trashcans out until he had it memorized. He paid for your coffee, helped you build the new bookshelf you had so desperately needed, and got you a membership at his new club so that you could come play tennis with him. It was ideal, truly.

He'd once told you you'd been exactly what he needed. You hadn't been brave enough to return the sentiment in the moment.

After all, for all of the flowers he bought you, the movies he'd taken you out to, and guys he'd stared down just so he could have you to himself on the nights you hung out, he'd never actually made a move.

Hell, you were manic pixie dream girling to the best of your ability and he hadn't so much as tried to hold your hand.

But still, you found yourself on his terrace, sipping an espresso and looking out at his pool as you waited for him to get ready. He'd stopped you from his porch that morning, paper bag of groceries in your arm as you walked back to your own place, inviting you on a mystery excursion.

Finally, he joined you out on the terrace, his own coffee in hand, a please smile on his face. Jesus, your self control was wearing thin. Especially with those lips.