Sorry I need to put my other story on hold right now because I just got another idea for a story.

Desclaimer: I do not own kickin' it or Saving Grace by J.M. Hill

Enjoy

Kim's POV

I felt ridiculous, but this didn't keep me from watching the house across the street. Through the slant of the wooden blinds at our front window I peered, hoping to see someone. Usually I'm not the nosey type, but the excitement and anticipation of new neighbors had me so curious, I was spying through the blinds like Lucy or Ethel.

This morning a huge moving truck parked in the middle of our semi-private drive for over five hours, while a crew of six burly men in ugly gray jumpsuits unloaded furniture for the new residents. Residents I had yet to see. On the bright side however, I was able to take inventory of some rather statiated my newly-discovered voyeuristic tendencies, to some extent.

My cousin Grace, and I have lived here our entire lives, and we've shared the private drive wiht only one other house. The Jenkins' place. It stood empty for over ten years, until about four months ago. A construction crew appeared one day and began working non-stop, refurbishing the dilapidated house that was somewhat of an eyesore. The once sad, depressing, two-story, red-brick dwelling was transformed into a much more pleasant sight. A new porch with a black, wrought-iron railing that streched across the front, black shutters framed tall, paned windows, and a massive garage extended for the right side of the house big enough to contain several vehicles.

We're a little pessimistic about new neighbors and very curious.

The shrill of the phone made me jump, and I sprinted to the kitchen, knowing it would be Grace.

"Hey, Kimmy!" Grace's voice chirped on the other end of the line, barely stopping to take a breath. "I'm on my way home, are you ready to watch the game? Are you hungry? I've got Phil's!"

"The game's on, and I'm starving!"

"Anything new going on across the street, Ethel?"

"Nothing whatsoever, Lucy," I replied. "And why am I Ethel?"

She sniggered. "See you in a minute."

Shamelessly, I returned to the front window to peek through the blinds again. Still nothing. I'd been disgracefully lazy all day, so I went to the laundry room to start a load of dirty clothes, then to the kitchen to get plates and drinkss on the table. When Grace came through the front door, she had falafals in one hand and mail in the other. We sat down and I dished out the falafals while Grace opened her soda, eyeing me expextantly.

"So what did you do today?" she asked, knowing exactly what I'd done.

"Nothing really. Although, I did just put a load of laundry in the washer, so I guess that's something."

"Mm-hmm," she hummed. "And you did surveillance on the house across the street." She took a sip of her soda and I shrugged. Grace attempted 'casual', but she was just as eager to see who was moving into that house as I was, and I knew it. She tapped a steady rhythm against her plate with the fork, but I pretended to be oblivious. When dinner was finished, we retreated to the sofa to watch the Yankees game-already in the bottom of the fifth-and after a moment Grace heaved an exasperated sigh.

"So?"

"What?" I asked innocently, and she glared at me with irritation.

"So... you haven't told me what you observed today." Her head tilted in the direction the house that I'd been watching for most of the day. "Come on, I need details!" She was whining now. "What kind of furniture do they have?"

Deciding to end the torture, I began my surveillance briefing. "Typical bachelor furnishing. Lots of leather and dark wood. Pretty expensive stuff. Oh, and a drafting table, and a couple of desks. I figure they're setting up a home office."

"I heard they own their own design firm," Grace interjected. "But you haven't seen anyone?"

"Nope."

"Well, whoever they are, I hope they're friendly." She'd barely finished her sentence when we heard the low rumble of a car engine come up the drive. Grace's eyes widened with excitment, and I'm sure I mirrored her expression. In a flash, we were both off the couch, peeking through the blinds. Lucy and Ethel.

Three vehicles pulled single file into the over-sized driveway, and parked inside to garage, side by side. Grace and I know little about cars. We bought a new Jeep last year, and the only reason we chose that particular vehicle was because we seen one in a movie and thought it looked cool. Grace insisted that it be red, because according to her, we both looked great in red. Car aficionados we're not. However, these cars were easily identified. The first, a colossal silver Hummer. The second, a shiny, black Yukon Denali. The third, a deep blue Audi.

We watched with anticipation as two men exited the Hummer and the Audi, strolled to the middle of the driveway and scanned the area. It was obvious they were brothers. They were both quite good-looking. Grace and I looked at each other with shocked expressions and turned back to the window again.

The driver of the Hummer was huge. I mean, professional-wrestler-scary huge. At least six-foot-six, at least. His ginger hair was wavy and hung in short, loose curls (looks like Milton in the show). I noticed he laughed a lot-a loud, booming laugh that made his whole body shake. There were also embedded dimples on both sided of his mouth, so big they made me grin. The faded John Elway jersey he wore caught my eye-I had an identical jersey in my closet, waiting for football season.

"A Broncos fan," I said, voicing my approval.

Grace giggled. "Excellent."

The driver of the Audi was nearly as tall as the Broncos fan, but probably more like six-four, and dressed impeccably in a black pullover that displayed a nice physique. He resembled the big guy in an amazing way. Same dimples, but he had dark hair that was cropped short (looks like Jerry in the show).

"Twins?" I wondered aloud.

"Possibly," Grace responded thoughtfully. "He's adorable."

I laughed. "Which one?"

"I'm referring to black-pullover-guy."

"No agrument there," I said.

The third man emerged from the Yukon then, one hand shoved inside the pocket of his dark jeans as the other raked through his hair as he joined the other two at the center of their driveway.

A strange knot formed in the pit of my stomach.

Not as tall as the first two, he stood about six-two, his hair a rich shade of brown with no curl of wave at all. It was tousled and messy, with a small section that kept falling over his forehead just to be pushed back with another rake of his hand. He resembled a model from the glossy pages of GQ, exuding sexiness and something else I couldn't quite pinpoint (looks like Jack in the show).

The three continued their discussion, then in a synchronized motion turned to face our house. The big guy said something that made the other two laugh. After a moment they stopped laughing and focused intently on our window.

"Crap!" Grace threw herself against the side wall in an effort to hide. "Do they see us?"

I didn't care. I couldn't take my eyes off the third one, who shurgged out of a black leather jacket revealing a lean, muscular build. He was truly stunning.

"Get away from the window!" Grace whispered frantically as if they could hear. "I think they see us!"

I ignored her and watched them walk single-file into their house. Grace slid down the wall to the floor, grasping at her chest dramatically, as if having a heart attack. Once their front door closed, I stepped away from the window and stood over her holding out my hand.

"These guys must be models, or actors, or something," she said, taking my hand and pulling herself upright.

I only shrugged, still a little stunned. Grace hooked her arm with mine, and we walked to the couch, flopping down next to each other. We sat in silence for a short moment, then at the same time looked at each other and laughed giddily.

Once we caught our breath, I tried to be serious. "Well, we have to be realistic here. There's no way these guys aren't attached to someone. I mean, they're just too... pretty."

"You're probably right," Grace agreed with a sigh. "But if nothing else, they'll give us something nice to look at every day, right?"

I definitely couldn't argue that point.

*****Line Break*****

My alarm went off at seven o'clock as usual, and as usual, I cursed it to eternal damnation as I reached over to turn it off. I hated running on Sundays, but I made myself do it anyway. I rolled out of bed and went into my bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. I dressed in my running gear, smoothed my hair into a ponytail, grabbed my running shoes and iPod.

While I sat on the front porch and pulled on my shoes, I couldn't help but glance at the neighbor's house, curious about the new occupants. As I made my way to the gravel drive, I chose the playlist for my run and started a slow jog.

Though Grace and I are alike in many ways, running is where the similarities end. I've always loved running, while Grace thinks of the activity as a slow kind of torture. Of course, Grace doesn't need to run either, she burns enough calories just being Grace. Most of the time, she reminds me of a hummingbird trapped in a shoebox; always doing everything at a high-rate of speed, with endless amounts of energy.

"So What" blared in my ears and I sang and danced, louder and with much more enthusiasm than was necessary, while I ran. I could never help myself when I heard this song, it always made me smile and dance, even while running. Solitary runs seemed to bring out my inner-dancing-diva.

When I turned at my three mile marker, I spotted him. Navy running pants, gray 'NYU' sweatshirt, hair in a sexy state of frenzy, an amused grin on his face, less than twenty feet away, jogging toward me. I felt all the color drain from my face as I realized he'd been running behind me for the last three miles, witnessing my overly-energetic love for all things musical.

I stopped singing. I may never sing again.

He got closer, not changing his pace. The closer he got the wider his grin became, and the more nervous I became. With effort, I managed to put a large amount of space between us, nodding politely as we passed each other, and before I could help myself I glanced over my shoulder at his retreating figure. At thay moment, he did the same. I snapped my head around so quickly I think I gave myself whiplash.

Crap!

Now, on top of everything else I was just caught ogling, and my neck hurt.

When I walked into the house Grace was at the kitchen table sipping coffee, reading the newspaper in her fluffy pink robe, and fuzzy pink slippers that made her feet look much larger than they were. I poured my coffee, adding the necessary sweetner and cream, and sat across from her. She slid the sports page across the table for me, and I opened it up right away looking for MLB scores.

"Pettitte is pitching today, two o'clock," she informed me, preoccupied with some article she was reading. "We have time to get breakfast and do our grocery shopping."

I took a long sip of coffee. "You'll never guess what happened on my run today."

"Did you save Muffin again?" She asked, sounding bored.

Our elderly neighbor, Miss Whitt, lived two miles down the main road and owned approximately twenty cats, including Muffin. Of all those cats, Muffin was the only one who managed to constantly get stuck in trees, and I managed to be the one to constantly save him. I don't even like cats that much. I also think his name is stupid.

"One of these days you're going to fall out of a tree and break your neck," she continued without looking up from the paper.

"No, I didn't save Muffin again," I said. "But I did see one of the new neighbors. You know, the good-looking one?"

She snorted a laugh. "They're all good-looking."

"Okay, good point," I said. "But, I'm referring to the one with the brown hair."

"Did he talk to you?"

"No, I didn't really give him a chance." I felt my cheeks redden as I thought about what happened.

Intuition flashed in her eyes and she giggled. "Dancing again were you?"

I nodded.

"It was P!nk, right?" she asked.

This time she nodded with me.

"Yep, that song gets you every time," she said. "But, 'So what/ I'm still a rock star/ I've got my rock moves, and I don't need you'!" She bounced in her chair as she sang the stupid song that was the cause of all my trouble.

"Very funny," I said, irritated. "I just madea total idiot of myself in front of our new neighbor!"

"Relax. It's not a big deal," she said dismissively.

Grace and I had been together our entire lives, and I learned at an early age that very few things rattled her. When we were four years old, our mothers began teaching us piano. After they died, Uncle Rudy arranged to continue our lessons with a teacher form the University, and we excelled at a rapid pace. We loved playing. We played our first recital when we were eight, in the gymnasium at the local high school. Grace had already performed flawlessly, but I cried in the corner of the girls bathroom, terrified of all the people who were going to be watching. She found me and spent ten minutes trying to calm me down by quoting our favorite lines from "I Love Lucy", "Hello, Friends, I'm your Vitameatavegamin girl! Do you pop-out at parties? Are you unpopular?" Because of Grace, I was able to take the stage that night, though she sat on the piano bench beside me while I preformed.

"When do you think we should introduce ourselves?" Grace asked, unfazed by my humiliating event.

"I think we'd better wait a while," I replied. "I'm so embarassed."

"Oh, big deal." Grace said exasperated. "So he saw you shaking your booty. He probably would've seen it eventually anyway. You dance all the time when you run."

She was right, but it didn't make me feel better. At all.

*****Line Break*****

Less than seventy-two hours after our neighbors moved in, Grace made an announcement.

"I think we should go over and introduce ourselves. You know, a welcome to the neighborhood type thing?"

Frankly, I was suprised it had taken this long.

"Sure," I agreed. "Or maybe a welcome-to-the-neighborhood-you're-all-incredibly- gorgeous-and-we're-your-incredibly-single-totally- non-stalkerish-neighbors type thing. I wonder if we could fit all that on a cake?"

She laughed. "No, but we should introduce ourselves and take some kind of house-warming present. You could make some of your homemade bread."

Truthfully, I didn't need much convincing. I wanted to meet them, too, despite my recent humiliation. I went into the kitchen and pulled an apron over my head. I do make good bread.

Grace clapped happily, strode to the stereo to turn on music, and I got busy. While the dough was rising, we decided to mix together a batch of Grace's chocolate chip cookies. After discussing the size of the big guy, we figured bread by itself wouldn't be enough.

I brushed the warm, golden brown loaves with melted butter and set them in a basket lined with a white tew towel. We put Grace's cookies on a plate, covered them with a plastic wrap, and place them inside the basket. I also whipped up some cinnamon-butter-a necessary accompaniment for homemade bread-while Grace slid a gift card for our shop, between the cookies and bread. We went to my bathroom to check our hair and wipe any remnants of bread and cookies dough from our face. Grace grabbed the basket, we took a deep breath and walked across the drive to meet the new neighbors.

Hope you enjoyed it! Please review what you thought of it and if I should continued.

love ya semmerman