I Love You, My Neighbour: Chapter 3
Do they have arsenic in them? (Muffins)
Kristy
"Tired, hon?"
The words startle me, jolting me out of my near-slumber faster than a cattle prod to the butt. I straighten up, coming face to face with my friend, Naomi Tate. She smiles at me over the display case I should have been cleaning instead of dozing off on. I hadn't even heard her enter the empty café.
Wiping the drool from my face, I get back to cleaning the case, grateful it wasn't Jaqueline, the owner of the place, who caught me napping. It's late afternoon, and we rarely have customers right before closing time, but Jaqueline would still have been displeased.
"You have no idea," I grumble. "I'm not getting my usual amount of sleep, and with all the exercise Cricket is giving me, I can barely keep my eyes open."
Naomi grins. "What's keeping you up? Please tell me it's a man."
"It's a man, alright. A really awful one. Unfortunately, he's also my neighbour. He bought the rundown property and is renovating it. Every day, right when I want to sleep, he's there with his buzzsaw, keeping me awake."
Naomi's pale brown eyes widen. "Oh."
"Yup. He has a day job, so he doesn't start on the place until late afternoon, interrupting my naptime."
The man I never want to see again not only works next door, but he'll also live there one day.
Cricket, at least, is thrilled. There's no way to keep the dog beside me when that man is around. He's like catnip to dogs. Perhaps that makes him dognip?
Naomi's brows furrow. "I'm sorry. That sucks. Have you tried talking to him?"
"Trust me, that did not go well."
Walking into his house and shouting at him wasn't my brightest idea, but I was so tired at the time. After hearing his saw interrupt my sleep for what felt like the millionth time, I was ready to stick that saw in a place the sun doesn't shine. Unfortunately, the whole situation made me lose my temper—I'm always quick to flare up when tired—and I insulted him royally. He won't be forgetting me calling him a lazy tradie anytime soon.
"Tell me what happened," Naomi says.
"That's going to take a few minutes."
Naomi glances at her watch. "I have time."
"Are you getting coffee?"
"Yup. The usual, please. Skinny cap—"
"With two. I remember."
"And…" she trails off, eyeing the glass display case with the remaining cakes and muffins. "I'll have one of your strawberry and white choc muffins, please. It's been too long since I've had one."
"They're not as good as usual. I keep falling asleep while they're in the oven."
"I'm sure they're fine," she assures me. "Everything you bake tastes superb."
"You'll see," I mutter, getting to work on the skinny cap. "Go find a seat, and I'll bring your order over. That way, you can eat while I fill you in."
She grins, flipping her long, straight red-blonde hair over her shoulder and walking toward the area of the café where the September sun pours through the arch windows.
Before my new neighbour started working on the rundown property, I'd be frantically mopping, sweeping, and cleaning at this time so I could get home and sleep. But afternoon naps are now a thing of the past. I've always been a light sleeper, and even with all the windows shut, I can't block out the noise of the renovations next door. So, spending an extra thirty minutes telling my friend about my run-ins with my neighbour won't make much difference.
I plate up her muffin and drink before taking both items over to her.
Pulling out the chair opposite Naomi, I remove my apron, sit down, and let out a sigh.
"Okay," I say. She leans forward, giving me her undivided attention. "While I've got you to myself, let me tell you all about this neighbour of mine."
Starting from the beginning, I recount Naomi the story of my neighbour’s first encounter with me and the day I walked into his house to confront him about the noise.
"I wish Jess was here to deal with this," I say. "She could have easily charmed or flirted her way into convincing him to keep the noise down."
"Maybe," Naomi replies. "From what you've said, he seems like a grump. There's no guarantee Jess would have had more luck than you."
"Are you crazy? Jess is a ten on a bad day. No one can resist her."
Naomi shoots me a glare, and I instinctively know what's coming. She's going to give me her usual lecture about comparing myself to Jess.
That's easier said than done. Every guy we meet together never gives me a second glance. Then, of course, there's the fact that the only two guys I've seriously dated both made passes at Jess. I've always compared myself to her, but since then, I can't help but see everything that's wrong with me when I look at her. Her awesomeness highlights my inadequacies.
Twisting the antique ring my grandmother gave me around my finger absentmindedly, I say, "I don't know how to handle this without her, Nay. Even if Jess couldn't charm or seduce him into behaving, she'd still have an idea about how to fix the situation. She's a born negotiator and mediator."
"Well, then, I think it's a good thing Jess isn't here. It gives you the chance to deal with this yourself."
I lightly bang my head against the table. "I don't want to deal with this myself."
"Tough."
"I know you think I hide behind Jess, but some people are just better at certain things than others. I'm the plant whisperer and baker, and she's the beautiful and smart diplomat."
Naomi raises an eyebrow. "Well, you don't know what you're capable of until you try. Maybe it's time to expand your skillset."
"I've tried smiling at him and being polite."
"And when that didn't work, you walked into his house and yelled at him."
I cross my arms. "I was tired."
"Surely you've heard the expression 'you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar'?"
"Of course I have. I just don't know what else to do now."
"I think you have to do something, or this situation will only get worse. You can't be falling asleep at work, Kristy. You'll get in trouble."
"I know."
"And surely you've seen that show, 'Neighbours from Hell'?"
I grimace. The thought of ending up on that show because of a feud with my neighbour is highly unappealing.
"I have an idea," Naomi says, tapping her perfectly manicured fingernail against the table. "What would you say your greatest strength is?"
"Well, it's not business management, that's for sure."
I finished my Bachelor of Business a couple of years ago, but only because my parents would have been upset if I hadn't.
"No," Naomi agrees, picking up her muffin and taking a bite. She moans in delight as she chews. "This," she says once she's finished, "this is your strength. Your baking is hands down the best I've ever had."
Despite her being one of my closest friends, her compliment still makes me blush. "Thank you."
"Kristy, you have to take him some of these." She reaches across and puts her hand on top of mine. "Take him some muffins, and I swear to you, you'll have him eating out of your hand."
The idea of taking him food never occurred to me. I want people to enjoy the food I bake, but bringing my neighbour pleasure has been the farthest thing from my mind. But now that Naomi has mentioned it, I can see the benefit in offering him a peace offering. He might be more likely to accept my apology if it comes with muffins on the side.
"I do feel bad about the lazy tradie comment," I admit. "Even if he did wish my dog luck dealing with me."
Naomi nods. "He does sound like a bit of a jerk, but you don't want to make an enemy out of your new neighbour. And I do think you'll have more luck getting him to listen to your noise concerns if you eat a little humble pie and apologize for what you said."
I blow out a breath, knowing she's right. "Fine, I'll take him some muffins."
"That's the spirit."
I stick my tongue out at her playfully.
"You know I'm just trying to help."
"And you have. Thank you. Without you or Jess, I'd be lost."
Naomi shakes her head. "It would have just taken you a little longer to figure it out on your own."
No, more likely, I would have ended up starting World War III in a tired rage, maybe even throwing dog poop over the fence. But Cricket makes it impossible for me to ignore the man. If I don't want to dread running into him every single day, I need to make a peace offering.
"And," Naomi continues, "maybe he can give you a hand with your dog. From what you've said, Cricket is a handful."
My relationship—or lack thereof—with my dog is reaching a breaking point. I need to do something, and I can't put it off any longer. The problem isn't going away or improving. Several times this week, I've come close to calling Jess's aunt and uncle and asking if they'd take Cricket back. But as frustrating as the whole situation is, I'm just not ready to give him up yet.
Or talk to my neighbour about it.
"He is a handful," I agree. "But I really don't want that grumpy man's help. I don't want him to think I don't know what I'm doing."
Naomi raises an eyebrow. "Well, you don't know what you're doing. You know what they say, 'pride comes before the fall.'"
Yes, pride does come before the fall, but pride isn't always a bad thing. Sometimes it can be useful. I hate giving up on anything. That's another reason I finished my Bachelor of Business.
Admitting I'm not cut out to be a dog owner would crush me. I mean, it shouldn't be that hard to make a dog like you. And if my parents were to find out I've given up the dog, they'd be quick to remind me they were right all along—that animals are too much trouble and that I should have known better.
Besides, the reasons I had for getting a dog in the first place haven't changed or gone away. Just over a month ago, I stepped on the bathroom scale and was horrified by the number of kilos I'd put on since I last weighed myself.
I scolded myself for letting my weight spiral out of control, excusing my lack of exercise by telling myself it hadn't stopped my ex-boyfriends' eyes from wandering to Jess. But now my weight is higher than ever, and I'm disgusted that I've sacrificed my health because I'm not interested in attracting a man. My weight has nothing to do with men and everything to do with my health.
Meaning, I need to keep exercising daily. Cricket not only provides excellent motivation, but he's also supposed to be my protection when we go for walks after dark. I could join a gym, of course, but the idea of working out in front of all those fit people puts me off. I much prefer the idea of getting fit in the privacy of my own home or neighbourhood.
Yes, Cricket has failed miserably as a guard dog so far—I don't even know if he's capable of being anything but friendly—but I still hope I can win him over. Then, maybe, he'll keep the bad guys away or at least stop running away from me to lick them.
So, I'm not ready to give up on Cricket, but I know I must do something. Dog obedience lessons might be my only option. I'd rather find the number for them myself, though, than ask my neighbour.
"You're full of sayings today, aren't you?" I say to Naomi.
She smiles. "Sorry, can't help myself. Anyway, I'll drop the subject for now."
I check my watch. "In that case, you'll have time to update me on everything that's new with you."
I listen as Naomi tells me stories about her clients at the public relations firm she works for. Once she's finished catching me up on the difficulties her rival has been causing her, I bid her farewell. Then I clear the dishes, serve the few last-minute customers who want an afternoon coffee, and pack the leftover muffins and cake from the display case.
Since I only get paid for the items customers purchase, the leftovers are mine to do with as I please. Jacqueline, the owner, insists on everything being fresh, which leads to a lot of waste.
Is it any wonder I've put on so much weight? I hate wasting food, so I end up donating most of it to the local homeless shelter and eating the rest.
After placing the muffins and cake in a large brown paper bag, I lock up the café and step outside. The scent of freshly cut grass hits me as I close the door behind me. It's a warm Sunday, and everyone seems to be out mowing their lawns. The combination of warm sun and fresh air is invigorating and relaxing at the same time. I smile as I walk past people taking strolls or tending to their gardens.
Carrington Bay, my neighbourhood, may be a little run-down, with a few unsavoury characters hanging around, but it's a pretty seaside town. Located thirty kilometres south of Melbourne, it's generally quiet and peaceful.
Well, it is when my neighbour isn't banging and hammering away at his house.
As soon as I turn into Elizabeth Road South, our street, I can hear the noise. He probably has more workers there today, just like yesterday. I assumed they were his friends since it was a Saturday, and they weren't wearing uniforms or driving work trucks. But then again, I made the wrong assumption about my neighbour being a tradie based on his appearance and tools.
I stop walking and open the brown paper bag, quickly counting the muffins inside. Seven. Hopefully, that's enough for my neighbour and his workers. They can divide them up and keep the leftovers for themselves. At least they'll save my waistline by taking them off my hands.
My heart starts pounding faster as I resume walking, adrenaline coursing through my body as I try to anticipate how my neighbour will react to my peace offering. I don't particularly enjoy apologizing, but someone has to be the bigger person. And I do feel bad about the lazy tradie remark.
About halfway down the street, I spot my neighbour standing on his roof, shouting something to the three men standing on the ground below.
Is it better to hand over my muffins now and bluff an apology while his friends are there to witness it, or should I leave it until later, after his friends have gone home? The part of me that wants to get our confrontation over with is louder than the part that wants to wait. Hopefully, having witnesses to our conversation will minimize the potential for disagreement or argument.
The men assisting my neighbour remain focused on what's happening on the roof as I approach. Once I'm behind them, I have to clear my throat to get their attention. I swallow hard as the three of them turn around together. All three men are topless, muscular, and very good-looking. There is so much testosterone in front of me that the sudden rush of suppressed hormones and female desire makes me feel light-headed. The last time I saw so much exposed male flesh was probably about two years ago, before Marc hit on Jess and we broke up.
Agonizingly, my face and body heat up, and my gaze ping-pongs between handsome faces, chiselled abs, and rock-hard pecs. I don't know where to look. Nowhere feels safe. I could have handled one man, but it's a real effort to string words together with all three of them watching me. I force myself to think of Marc and how he hurt me, but I still feel the urge to reach out and touch the sculpted men in front of me. Clearly, after avoiding the opposite sex for the past two years, this situation is too much for my poor brain to handle.
"Hello," I finally manage, forcing myself to focus on the guy with the kindest blue eyes I've ever seen. "Um, I want to talk to..."
I don't even know my neighbour’s name.
"Hey, what are you guys doing?" my neighbour yells down at us. "What am I paying you slackers for?"
The guy with close-cropped black hair and brown eyes looks up at my neighbour. "I don't believe you're paying us at all."
"I told you there'd be a slab in it for all of..."
My neighbour stops short when he walks to the edge of the roof and sees me standing there. Cool grey eyes meet mine, and my already racing heartbeat speeds up further with the extra shots of adrenaline his appearance sends through me.
"Well, we've got company, Mr. Boss, Sir," the guy with kind blue eyes says, winking at me and smiling.
I can't help but smile back at him since he seems so friendly. He looks somewhat familiar, like I've seen him somewhere before.
"So, I see," my neighbour replies, climbing down the ladder.
The other men part as my neighbour approaches. "Is there a problem?" he asks when he's finally in front of me.
Despite the irritation that flickers through me at his less-than-welcoming glare, I can't help but notice that his pecs and abs are just as impressive, if not more so, than the other men's. I blame the surge of repressed hormones still swimming in my head and body for making me focus on things I don't want to focus on.
"There's no problem," I force myself to meet his gaze, trying to sound a lot calmer than I feel. "I just wanted to bring you some muffins."
"Muffins?" he repeats as I hand him the brown paper bag. He opens it and briefly peers inside before closing it and searching my gaze. "Do they have arsenic in them?"
My lips quirk up at the thought of him believing I want to poison him. "No poison," I promise. "I just... I want to apologize for the other day. For what I said, specifically."
He crosses his arms. "Why?"
Clearly, he isn't about to let me off the hook that easily.
"Walking into your house and yelling at you wasn't my finest moment. I don't normally do things like that, and I'm not usually so rude to strangers. I regret what I said, and I hope we can put it behind us."
He continues to stand there, watching me, as though he's waiting for me to say more. I don't know what else I'm supposed to say, so I force a smile. "Well, thanks for listening. Hopefully, you guys have worked up an appetite and will enjoy my peace offering."
"Thanks, I guess," he says.
Seriously? I've just apologized, and the guy still can't muster a response resembling gratitude.
I look at his three assistants.
Their expressions are a mixture of curiosity and amusement. Chances are good they'll interrogate my neighbour about this conversation, but I won't be here when they do.
"Bye, then."
With more pep in my step than usual, I walk across his driveway and onto my property, quickly opening my front door and disappearing out of view. Leaning against the door, I sigh.
Cricket ambles off the couch and walks over to me, thumping his tail a few times. "You need to go out, boy?"
Taking Cricket out into the backyard for a toilet break, I listen to the muted talking and laughter coming from next door. Are they talking about me?
I'm glad I can't hear them. I have no idea whether my apology has made a difference. Nor do I know if he'll eat my muffins, but at least I can say I tried to fix things. No doubt, I'll run into him again when I walk Cricket tonight, and I'll gain some idea of whether my peace offering has helped. Either way, the ball is in his court. He can choose to forgive me, and we can move past what has happened, or he can hold a grudge, and our every meeting will continue to be awkward.
The choice is his.