But he wasn’t there. She opened the door to the back deck and stepped outside. ‘Romeo!’ She leaned on the deck railing and scanned the garden. ‘Romeo!’ Where was the little rascal? She eyed the trees. Maybe he was up too high and didn’t want to come down or was stuck. ‘Come on, Romeo. Get your furry butt over here!’ ‘You’re saying it wrong.’ April flinched. She turned left to face the source of the male voice at the house next door. Holy moly. She almost toppled over the railing. The sight of him paralysed her voice box. ‘You’re supposed to say, “Wherefore art thou, Romeo?”’ he said, as a small smile lifted one corner of his lips. ‘Oh, I’m ah …’ She watched him standing there, in a tight-fitting white singlet of all things on this cool afternoon, watching her with his chocolatey eyes, a dark shadow of a beard across his jaw. He was definitely no old guy, couldn’t be more than thirty … thirty-five at the most. ‘Just looking for my cat,’ she explained.
