I Love You, My Neighbour: Chapter 4
We got off on the wrong foot
Logan
Less than ten minutes after my friends have gone home to their girlfriends or televisions, I watch Cricket sprint over the hill, racing towards me. As usual, I can't see my neighbour beside her dog, but I can hear her shouting.
"Cricket, wait for me!"
When is she going to do something about her dog? She clearly needs help, and as much as I enjoy the sight of her getting flustered every time Cricket runs up to me, I don't want to be the reason the dog gets hurt. Not that it would be my fault, per se, but I don't want to witness an accident that could easily be prevented if my neighbour swallowed her pride and asked for the help I offered her on the first day we met.
Bending over to pat Cricket and talk to him, I look up to see my neighbour trailing over the hill after him. As usual, irritation zings through me at the sight of her. Ever since our very first conversation, annoyance has been the predominant feeling whenever she's around. And it's only grown stronger since the day she barged into my house, the day I informed her we were going to be neighbours. Since then, she's either ignored me or grunted a hello while glaring at both me and her dog.
But things might be different today. Maybe. She did apologize earlier, going out of her way to make amends. Now I'm trying to figure out how I should respond. It's clear that the fact we're going to be neighbours and will constantly run into each other has weighed on her enough to bring me a peace offering. I respect her for that, especially since I had no intention of trying to fix things. But since she's making an effort, maybe I should try too. Regardless of what I think of her, I can admit that I haven't exactly been the best neighbour. That changes today.
Still hesitant, she walks over to me, clutching her side as if she has a stitch. She told me she adopted Cricket to motivate herself to walk, but her breathlessness suggests she's out of shape, though not overweight—just very curvy.
Not that I'm interested in her curves. They're just... there. I can't help but notice them, especially when her T-shirt clings to her, highlighting her impressive chest, and her sweatpants, though loose, fail to hide the curves of her hips.
"Hi," she says between gasps for breath.
I stop scratching Cricket and stand up, so I can look down at her face and not up at her body. "The muffins were a bad idea."
She jerks as if I've hit her. "Sorry?"
Mentally kicking myself for my lack of tact, I try again. "I meant that the guys really enjoyed them. Now they're demanding to be paid in muffins for helping me with the renovations instead of beer."
I had initially scoffed at their request until I tried the muffins myself. I couldn't believe how good they tasted. They—yes, I had two—literally melted in my mouth. As good as they may be, I have no burning desire to spend my weekends tracking down muffins just because of her.
"Oh." A soft smile spreads across her face, lightening her blue eyes. "I'm pleased."
"Where did you get them from?"
"The bakery on Main Street. I work there."
"You stole the muffins?"
Her neck flushes pink, and her already red face turns blotchy. "No, I didn't steal them. If they weren't mine, I would have bought them. I would never steal. Jesus."
I don't know why I assumed she stole them rather than bought them. Of course, she bought them, and I'm an asshole for suggesting otherwise. There's just something about her that rubs me the wrong way. After our frequent run-ins over the past couple of weeks, I don't have an overly high opinion of her, but that doesn't mean I can't be polite. We don't have to be friends, but it would be good if we could have a conversation that doesn't devolve into an argument or resemble the Cold War.
"Look, I'm sorry," I start, running a hand through my already messy hair. "Clearly, we got off on the wrong foot. Maybe we should try starting over, what do you think?"
After studying me for a moment, she nods. "Okay, that might be smart."
"Good." I stick out my hand. "Hello, I'm Logan Jacobs. I'm your new neighbour."
She reaches out and takes my hand. "Hello, I'm Kristy Hill. Congratulations on your new place. It's going to look fantastic when you're finished."
Her comment catches me off guard, and a chuckle escapes me. It's been a long time since I found anything even remotely amusing. And this is the second time in a week that I'm laughing over an interaction with her. I'm not sure how I feel about that. I don't want to feel happiness, especially with Izzy gone, and I almost resent my neighbour for prying the chuckle from me.
"Well," Kristy says, a small smile sliding across her face, "I'll keep my fingers crossed for you."
"Thanks. I guess I'll have to swing by the bakery to pick up some more muffins for the guys next weekend, or they'll go on strike."
Her smile widens. "Seems like I've caused you more of a problem than I meant to."
"It was a nice thought. You should really blame the person who made the muffins, though. They were to die for."
Her gaze falls to the ground before sweeping back up to my face again. "That would be me, actually."
That's right. I remember her mentioning something about baking when she stormed into my house a few days ago. She complained that no one likes to buy burnt muffins.
"Since the muffins you gave us weren't burnt, can I assume you're not falling asleep while they're in the oven?"
"Oh, I still fall asleep, but I set the alarm on my phone. If I doze off with my head on the kitchen bench, it goes off right next to my head. It takes me a few minutes to wake up sometimes, but the muffins aren't as bad as they were."
Good. Because I don't intend to apologize for the noise I make. It's unfortunate that she usually sleeps when I need to work on my new place, but that's life. Sometimes it sucks.
"Well, they didn't taste burnt to me at all," I say. "They're the best muffins I've ever had."
"Thanks."
Silence falls between us, but this time it isn't as uncomfortable or tense as it has been before.
"Well, I should leave you to it," she says finally. "You're probably tired, and I should get back. Come on, Cricket."
Cricket, of course, does his own thing and lies down on the grass instead of going with her when she tugs on his leash.
She glances at me, wariness in her eyes. In light of the semi-decent conversation we've just had, I should keep my mouth shut and pretend I'm not concerned by what I'm seeing. But as I watch her continue to tug on his leash while talking his ear off about all the things they're going to do when they get home, I can't hold my tongue.
"Forget about being his friend. You have to use the same command every time, and you have to say it as though you mean it."
"I do mean it," she bites out, glaring at me once more.
Well, it didn't take long to ruin the brief truce we had. Still, I am trying to help her. And Cricket, of course.
"Listen, I know you don't like it when I tell you what to do with the dog."
"You think I'm an idiot when it comes to him," she says, tugging even harder on his leash, clearly desperate to put an end to the conversation.
I reach out and take the leash out of her hands before she accidentally strangles the dog. "Kristy, I'm not saying this to piss you off. I want to help."
She crosses her arms. "Help?"
"I'm not an expert, and I still think you need a qualified trainer, but I have a little bit of experience with dogs. I can tell you where you're going wrong if you want me to."
Her blue eyes are full of fire as they meet mine. "I don't need you to tell me where I'm going wrong. I'm pretty sure everything I'm doing is wrong."
"Well, yeah," I agree before I can stop myself. "So what's it going to hurt to listen to a few things I have to say? What have you got to lose?"
Her sigh borders on exasperation. "Fine." She throws her hands up in the air. "Help me, then."
"First," I start before she changes her mind. "Stick to using one-word commands. Never vary them because the dog will get confused. Use the same intonation every time you give the command. If you want him to come with you, try saying his name and then the word 'come' or 'here.'"
"I've tried that."
"The trick is consistency. And you have to convince the dog that coming to you is worth his while. Do you have dog treats for him?"
"Inside," she mutters.
"Go get them. We'll wait."
She looks set to argue, but after a moment of looking between Cricket and me, she leaves.
As soon as she walks out of her house with the dog treats, Cricket stands up, ready to walk to her. I tighten my hold on his leash and tell her, "Call him now."
Her eyes are full of uncertainty as she stands there.
"Remember, say the command like you mean it. Don't yell it, just make it firm and upbeat."
"Okay." She takes a deep breath and looks at her dog. "Cricket, come."
I let go of the leash, and Cricket walks straight over to Kristy. "Great. Now reward him."
He jumps up on her, nearly knocking her off balance, as he licks her hands and chest while she gets the treat out for him. I want to tell him to sit, but I don't want to undermine her leadership. She needs to establish herself as the leader, not me.
I wait until she's handed him a treat before asking, "How was that?"
"He was on his way over anyway as soon as he saw the treats."
"Yeah, but it was still a positive interaction. You should practice in your backyard, getting him to come by using that command and then rewarding him."
"Do you think it will make a difference when we're walking on the street and he sees a distraction?"
"Not right away. But if you keep working on it, you'll have more luck than you've had so far. You should carry the treats with you whenever you go out with him."
She looks down at what she's wearing, and I'm sure she's thinking there's no place to hide dog treats in her tracksuit pants and T-shirt. Still, if she wants to walk him and keep him with her, she should try to find a spot for them.
"He'll maul me if I carry them on me," she murmurs, looking up at me. "He jumps like crazy when there's something he wants."
It's on the tip of my tongue to tell her that dog obedience training would help with that, but I bite the comment back. I don't want to risk her getting annoyed and ignoring my advice.
"It'll be difficult," I agree, "but I think you should still try."
"Well, thanks for trying to help."
"Anytime, Kristy," I offer, genuinely meaning it.
Nodding, she waves and turns around, but then looks back at me over her shoulder. "I, um. I'm going to take him to dog obedience lessons. I decided that today."
It's all I can do not to pump my fist in the air in triumph. She looks less than thrilled that she just admitted that to me, but I'm thrilled.
Not wanting to upset her or make her regret telling me, I just nod. "Cool. And hey, thanks again for the muffins."
"You're welcome," she says. "I'm glad you enjoyed them."
I watch her walk toward her house, thinking maybe, just maybe, Kristy and I won't end up on a show called "Neighbours from Hell" after all.