| |
“How ridiculous.”
I watched as my new neighbor glanced around, checking for witnesses, before he stuffed two large garbage bags into my garbage can. He leaned on the lid with all of his weight, shoving it closed before jogging back across the street to his house. It was as if he hadn’t just used up valuable space in my tiny garbage can.
A garbage can that size was built to accommodate one person—possibly half a person—not a neighbor who brings his jumbo-sized garbage bags from across the street.
I continued glaring at his house, willing it to burst into flames.
Two weeks ago, I saw the moving truck across the street. The home had been recently finished and had only been for sale for a week before someone took down the “For Sale” sign. Wanting to welcome the new neighbors, I baked cookies to take to them. I made chocolate chip cookies from scratch, and they were delicious.
As I knocked on their door, I’d expected a middle-aged couple or maybe a young family with kids—the regular residents you’d expect to find in the suburbs with a picky HOA president. I was the only person under thirty who lived in this neighborhood. An oddity, for sure.
I couldn’t have been more surprised when a young, handsome man opened the door. He was the type of handsome that makes you forget your name. In fact, I didn’t remember why I was standing on his doorstep.
Dark-blond hair, strong jaw, green eyes, and white teeth that weren’t perfectly straight, giving him a carefree air. He was tan, but it was the I-spend-a-lot-of-time-outdoors tan, not the I-spend-a-lot-of-time-with-my-tanning-lotion tan. He was nearly six feet tall and in fantastic shape. I checked his left hand but didn’t see a ring.
I had been adequately appreciative of the new scenery until he snapped in my face.
His first words were, and I quote, “I’m not looking for a girlfriend.” I informed him—politely, of course—that I wasn’t either and that he could go jump in a lake.
Since then, our interaction has been minimal. Oh, and I kept the cookies. They were extra delicious after that.
We haven’t said a word to each other since then. A glare here and there and a few angry honks when we pull out of our driveways at the same time have been the only other interactions we’ve had.
Until this morning, when I’d witnessed the little sneak stuffing his garbage bags into my trash can.
Come to think of it, last week my can had been fuller than usual. Today, most likely, wasn’t a first-time offense.
I couldn’t let this continue. I wouldn’t let this continue.
Not when he had so rudely thought I showed up on his doorstep to hit on him. Never mind that he was gorgeous. No amount of handsome could make up for that sense of entitlement.
I released the blinds that I was peeking through.
If I didn’t hurry, I would be late for work. I had more important things to do than spy on my annoying neighbor using my trash can.
Last year, I landed my job at a marketing firm as a lead marketer and have loved every minute of it. I’ve kept my team running smoothly, and I’ve built a good rapport with my boss. I didn’t want to do anything to mess that up. I was young compared to other lead marketers, but my boss had seen my youth as an advantage. She wanted someone who would make a lifelong career at SV Marketing, and I was only too happy to oblige her.
Even though I was relatively new to the job, I bought this house after my first six months in town. It was something I planned on doing ever since I’d graduated college. I’d always wanted a cute house in the suburbs where I could one day raise my family.
That’s not what every girl dreams about—believe me, I knew. My old roommate teased me about how basic I was and that I was “settling” because I wanted to get married and have a family. It didn’t matter that she was constantly telling me to pursue my dreams. She only wanted me to pursue dreams that she approved of. She continually told me I needed to find a better dream. Except, I knew exactly what I wanted in life, and her “advice” was simply annoying. I began the process of getting approved for a home loan after one of her tirades.
Mimi, my grandma on my dad’s side, helped me buy the house by loaning me a large amount for a down payment. She told me, “Every woman needs a place of her own and a little nest egg.” She’d also given me a pile of advice on not rushing marriage, which was funny coming from someone who had gotten married at sixteen. Well, she didn’t need to worry. I hadn’t rushed marriage. And thanks to her for loaning me the money to buy this house in Lampton. Her interest rates were nearly nonexistent. My search for home loans had shown me exactly how much interest I could have ended up paying. It wouldn’t have been pretty.
Now, I had a beautiful backyard, neighbors that waved at me and let me borrow tools, and I even had a washer and dryer inside my house. No more driving to the laundromat.
My three-bedroom, two-bathroom house wasn’t a mansion, by any stretch, but it was perfect for me. If my mom and dad decided to come to visit, I had the room. If my best friend ever came back from Cancun, she planned on living with me. If I met Mr. Right, we could raise our three kids here. If I decided to travel the world, I could easily sell it or rent it out.
It made sense to buy a place like this.
That is, until I had a sudden urge to spray my neighbor’s yard with Roundup. But because I was a nice person, I wouldn’t do that. No, I was classier than that. He obviously wasn’t, or he wouldn’t have been using my garbage can.
It bothered me that I still didn’t even know his name. I would have snooped through his mail by now, but he was one of those paranoid people who kept a locked mailbox. If that wasn’t a sign that someone was untrustworthy, then I didn’t know what was. He must have been hiding something if he was worried someone would read his mail.
With a frustrated groan, I kicked off my fuzzy slippers and pulled on my heeled booties. My white skinny jeans were miraculously stain-free when I pulled them from the wash last night. It was going to be a good day. I would choose to have a good day, in spite of my pesky neighbor. I had more important things to do than think about him.
I had a marketing team to run and a padlock to buy.