It’s not. It’s a standard practice.

  “Sure. So can I apply here? I tried doing it online, but the website was down.”

  “Was it?” The odd smile returns. “Hillbillies, as I said.”

  This lady meets me for the first time and feels comfortable using rather narrow-minded words not many would use. All her forwardness is getting lost on me.

  “Anyway. I can help you with the permits.” She bites her bottom lip and flutters her eyelashes at me. “Over dinner.”

  Fucking great—I’m backed into a corner. Quickly rising to my feet and retreating behind the chair so there’s at least one barrier between us, I smile nervously. “Awesome. But I just moved here and need some time to adjust. Some other time.” I head toward the door, trying to escape the thick atmosphere I’ve been caught in. “Thanks.”

  “Sure.” Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “Just make sure nothing gets started before you get those permits. Or I’ll have to punish you.”

  “Sure,” I say as I close the door behind me and rush toward the exit.

  So much for getting off on the right foot. There’s no way in hell I’m having dinner with that lady, so I’ll have to find another way to get my permits. I doubt she’s the only one in town—I just need more time to get acquainted with the locals.

  Still mortified by my morning meeting, I pull into the grocery store off Main Street and head to the parking lot when an old Toyota Tacoma truck takes the spot in front of me before I can even blink. That car is not small, and it’s not so easy to maneuver it into a fairly small space. But this person does it in one go without slowing down.

  Tapping my fingers on the steering wheel, I contemplate if I should go and ‘introduce’ myself. That’s what I would usually do—a way to show dominance and lack of fear. Old habits die hard. But I’m in my new hometown now, so starting my second day with a fight is probably not a good idea. I have zero doubts about who’d win it, but common sense prevails. For a moment.

  But then the driver door opens, and a white boot dangles in the air, followed by a woman’s body with a flaming mane. When the witch jumps out, she flips her loose hair back and gives me a wink. Refusing to be impressed with her driving skills, I press my lips tighter and head forward to find another parking spot.

  With zero luck. Looks like every single person of Big Love decided to get groceries at this exact moment.

  After rounds upon rounds of driving around the parking lot, I finally find a spot and head to the store. By the time I grab a cart, I’m fuming. Getting groceries shouldn’t be so complicated, and it sure shouldn’t take so much time.

  While I’m peacefully grabbing things off the shelves, every single pair of eyes is trained on me. It’s to be expected in a small town like this where a new face is bound to stir some interest. Especially if it’s a guy. So I prepared myself for that.

  What I didn’t prepare myself for is the witch who dives right under my arm and takes the last strawberry milk from the shelf.

  “Excuse me,” she says politely like she didn’t just push all my weight away to grab the box.

  “What do you mean ‘excuse me’? I was getting that.” I nod at the box in her hands.

  Her eyes follow my gaze. “Oh, this one?” She lifts the box in question in the air. “I have it now though.”

  “Yes, you do.” My teeth clack together. “Because you grabbed it right from under my hand.”

  She shrugs with a big smile and heads down the aisle. Desire to follow her and rip that carton from her hands is strong, but I take a deep breath and go to find someone who works here because I need that milk.

  A kindly looking lady maybe in her sixties is stacking some cans in one of the aisles.

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” I start as I walk up to her. “Could you please help me?”

  She pauses with her hand halfway to the shelf when she turns to me.

  “Oh, my,” she purrs in an unnatural voice. “You are that man.”

  The way she says that makes my skin crawl. Like she’s talking about something I don’t know but everyone else does. Suddenly feeling uncomfortable in front of this lady who’s barely five feet tall and many years old, I start backing away. But I’m a second too slow because the lady’s hand shoots up toward me and grabs my arm. My bicep, to be precise.

  “Oh, my,” she keeps talking. “You are indeed a stud. Everyone’s been telling the truth.”

  Everyone’s calling me a ‘stud’? What type of twilight zone is this?

  “And look how strong that muscle is. Do you work out?” She giggles. “You must. With a bicep like that.”

  Her small hand with a surprisingly strong grip roams around my arm, making it hard to focus because I’m desperately looking for an escape. I don’t recall being in a more uncomfortable situation, and I’ve seen plenty in my thirty-four years.

  “You are almost as big as my third husband. But he wasn’t big enough,” another giggle, “so I found the fourth one.”

  Trying to discreetly shake her hand off doesn’t work because she’s holding for dear life. To say I’m confused would be an understatement. The small town I grew up in was a prude one, and we didn’t have cute old ladies groping people in grocery stores.

  “Ms. Lenny,” comes a soft female voice, barely containing laughter. She doesn’t use that voice with me. “How are you this fine day?”

  “Oh, Nora, dear! I didn’t see you over there.” ‘Ms. Lenny’ loosens her grip on me but doesn’t totally release it.

  When my head whips around searching for the voice I didn’t think I’d welcome, I must look really desperate because Nora cackles and walks up to us.

  “I wanted to ask you for some help if you don’t mind,” she says, glancing at me with a wide smile.

  “Sure, honey. Do you need help lifting some of that heavy stuff,” the old lady gestures at Nora’s cart, “to your car? ’Cause I’ve just got a solution for you.” She starts flashing her lashes in my direction. “Our new resident feels,” she gives my bicep a squeeze, “like he’d be very capable in that department.”

  Nora’s snort is loud enough to be heard back on our street. “This is exactly what I was looking for actually.”

  “Good, good!” The old lady drops her hand, and I feel instant relief. But not for long. Because she grabs Nora’s hand and places it right back where hers was a moment ago. On my bicep. And it starts burning right through the flannel. “It’s time for you to think about your eggs.”

  If I wasn’t staring at my neighbor’s face, I wouldn’t have noticed her quick eye roll—a moment of annoyance before placing her friendly smile back on. “Thank you, Ms. Lenny, for always thinking about my eggs.”

  What are they talking about? I look at Nora’s cart, and yes, she indeed has two boxes of eggs. But why would she have to think about them?

  With Nora’s hand still on my bicep, Ms. Lenny ushers us away. Without either of our carts. I must admit though, my neighbor’s grip doesn’t feel so disturbing. It feels… okay.

  Shaking my head, trying to get rid of the odd thought, I step to the side of her, making Nora drop her hand.

  “Thanks,” I say gruffly.

  “Yep.” She waves at me and goes back to retrieve her cart.

  “Wait!” I cry out in horror, looking around like I’m a teenager caught doing something inappropriate. “She’ll get you again.”

  She pauses with her hand on her cart. “I’ve been dealing with her my whole life. We all have. She’s harmless, just bored. Like the majority of us. She has probably already forgotten about you.” With a shrug, she disappears around the corner.

  I wait a few moments before following her. There are no signs of my neighbor or Ms. Lenny. Still on high alert, I grab my cart and rush around the store getting the rest of the groceries. By now, I’ve all but forgotten about the strawberry milk, and my only thought is to escape without meeting Ms. Lenny again. Or Nora, if I’m honest. The place where her hand touched me still feels warmer than it should be.

  I round the corner toward the cashier when an already familiar figure jumps out in front of me and cuts me off in line like she’s in an F1 race. I clear my throat. Loudly. She doesn’t turn around, only grips the handle of her cart tighter. I do the same again. She flips her long hair from one shoulder to the other. I stare at the back of her head with an intensity I know is palpable. She doesn’t turn around. I keep staring. Her grip tightens. I stare harder. Her hand comes up to the back of her head, and she scratches it with her middle finger.

  Understanding that it’s useless to talk to this immature person, I decide to grind my jaw until she finishes ringing up all her purchases, so I don’t say something nasty. But she’s awoken something immature in me too, so I move forward, just a tiny bit, and accidentally push her with my cart. Her head jerks toward me with narrowed eyes and a promise of retribution. I just smile back sweetly.

  With her groceries finally moved all the way to the front, I put the divider between our stuff and start unloading mine. Because she’s still at the register, I have to go in front of my cart. Since I’ve moved forward, the person behind me has come close nearly to my heels. I can’t really complain because I just did the same but for a different reason.

  “Nora, honey, can you get that box for me?” The cashier passes a scanner to her, and the witch is trying to scan the box on the lower shelf of her cart but can’t find the code.

  “Let me help,” I say, making a movement to bend and look down when she does the same. We meet halfway with a loud thud.

  “Shit!” She jumps up, pressing her hand to her forehead. “Why did you do that?”

  “I didn’t do anything!” The spot where we connected starts throbbing, but I’m used to it. My head has seen a lot; there’s a reason hard hats are required on construction sites. Hers probably feels like crap, and for a moment I feel sorry for her. “Are you okay?”

  Shooting an angry glare at me, she scans the damn code and returns the scanner to the cashier, who’s watching us with wide eyes.

  When Nora pays, she sends me another stare and heads outside the store.

  Not knowing what just happened and who this new petty person is—me—when she’s around, I pay for my groceries and head to my truck. Before driving off, I pull out my phone and shoot a very important message to Jonah.

  Why didn’t you tell me I have a psychotic neighbor?

  Jonah’s reply is instant. Funny how he knows exactly whom I mean.

  What? Nora is a sweetheart.

  Nora is a witch.

  NOO! She’s really sweet. Give her a chance.

  I will not.

  I’ve been set up. My realtor thinks the oddball from next door, who haunts me even in a grocery store, is sweet. I have to set some strict boundaries, and after running some errands, I’ll have to figure out how she got through the fence. Because yesterday evening, this morning on my porch, and now the store interaction have shown me everything—I’ll never be friends with my new neighbor.

  A few minutes on the way home from the grocery store I get a call from my brother.

  “How’s it going, brother? What happened to you last night?”

  Groaning, I tell him the story of my evening tomfoolery. By the time I’m done talking about the standoff with the witch, defending her grandmother’s honor, and then the grocery store after, he’s hysterical.

  “You know what? I think this town might be good for you.”

  I growl in response, making my brother laugh even harder. When he’s done enjoying my misery, he asks, “Are you sure you’re okay for the weekend? You just moved in, you probably have a shit ton to do. Plus, I don’t know if I’ll be back by Saturday evening, but I’ll try.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s a good thing—I moved my ass faster knowing I gotta have a clean house. We’ll be fine.”

  And we will be, but he’ll always be worrying. He’s at the place in his life where everything is uncertain, and this is why I offered to help.

  “Okay.” I hear someone calling his name through the phone. “All right, I gotta go. I’ll call you later.”

  “Yeah. Bye.”

  I unload the bags and go to check the fence. In the process of not finding how the intruder got into the yard, my alarm goes off. It’s time to go to the bus station and pick up my first houseguest.

  7

  Nora

  I never know what to do with my days off, which is why I prefer to stay at work. But Granny’s gentle nudge convinced me to take a day off. It ended up being more like half a day as I stopped by the diner before going to the store and served a couple of tables before being kicked out, but it still counts.

  After restocking our pantry and fridge and snatching the strawberry milk I absolutely didn’t need, I cleaned the house with an odd burst of energy coming out of nowhere. My new neighbor’s face popping up in my mind had nothing to do with it. Unless some tingling of curiosity can count as fuel.

  With all possible day tasks complete, I make a round with some burning sage and then head outside on the porch to my favorite chair, where I bury myself under a big blanket and pretend to be a statue so the damn bird will show me his hiding spot. I know he’s around, just waiting for me to drop my guard so he can begin his scream fest.

  At this point, I’m not above chopping him into tiny pieces for a nice stew. This animal has been the bane of my existence for the past few months. I have permanent dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep. The thing doesn’t follow the normal pattern of waking up after the sunrise, no. He’s ready to go when even the sun is still sleeping. I’m convinced he’s a psychopath.

  I don’t even know where he came from, but one day, he just appeared in front of my house around dawn with his awful singing and never left.

  He’s as off-key as naturally possible but with the lungs of a lion, making his cock-a-doodling numerous times worse. It’s tiring. He also shows up like the Phantom of the Opera out of thin air to do his dirty deed, so today I’ve made it my mission to catch the bastard.

  I’ve been here for almost an hour without moving a muscle when a car pulls up to my neighbor’s house. I got a good look at it at the grocery store when I made my second mission to antagonize him. A giant ass truck, an F-150.

  Typical, I snort mentally. A man like him would take something as atrocious as that tank. Probably compensating for his other tiny features. My eyes guiltily dart toward my Tacoma which is a truck too, but somehow my baby seems smaller and more refined compared to his monster.

  I asked around today about the house in hopes that he was only renting it for the summer. Turns out he bought it. And I didn’t even know while working at the gossipiest place in town.

  My theory is that the new realtor from Little Hope is behind it. He is the sweetest—and most stylish—person possible, who failed to tell me during his visit a few days ago that the house was sold. That stylish traitor, I’ll never compliment his outfits again. This is how we sort of bonded, over clothes. He doesn’t seem to fit into the mold of a small-town citizen, and neither do I.

  The neighbor gets out of his truck and walks around it. Then he opens the front door, and a skinny, legging-clad leg exits, followed by the body of a girl with a giant crown of wild, black curls about twelve or thirteen. He helps her down in a swishing movement, making her giggle.

  I drop to my knees, hiding behind the railing. It might have been too loud because the man whips around, covering the girl with his body. The teenage girl. She can’t be his daughter because everyone and their dog in town knows that the man is single with no kids. In small towns, people make it their business to learn everything about newcomers, and once I was aware of him moving next to me, I made sure to learn as much as I possibly could in one morning without asking for Cheryl’s help.

  Staying vigilant and very quiet, I crawl toward the railing so I can peek between the bars. The man stands with his back to the girl, with one hand behind him, as if not letting her move.

  I feel a bubble of rage rising up in my chest seeing him look around, keeping a paranoid posture. When he finds no one—because I’m very sneaky—he places his ginormous paw on the girl’s shoulder and leads her toward the house. She seems so small compared to his large body with the top of her head barely reaching his chest.

  I rack my brain, trying to remember if I missed anyone mentioning anything about kids and come up blank—the man has no wife or kids.

  When they’re next to his front door, he looks around one more time, squinting his eyes in the direction of my house, and ushers her inside.

  Not wasting any more time, I run inside the house and call Cheryl.

  “What’s up?”

  “What’s up is that my new neighbor just dragged a teenage girl into his house!” I hiss into the phone, rushing to the window so I can keep an eye out on his house.

  “Wait. What?”

  “Yes!” I hide under the window, peeking one eye out. “You have to come. Right now!”

  “Are you sure it’s not his daughter? And what do you mean ‘dragged’?” A note of doubt in her voice lets me know I have her attention.

  Well, maybe not ‘dragged’ exactly, but he sure was acting shady, and Cheryl doesn’t need to know specifics—my intuition amplified by the moonlight and my newly open chakras should be enough to ring a warning bell for her. “Very sure. He doesn’t have any kids per the rumor mill which never fails. Hurry up! I’ll go there right now!”

  Cheryl’s voice turns panicked. “No! If he’s really what you think he is, don’t go there. You could make it worse. Let the professionals deal with it.”

  I’m contemplating if I should listen to her when she hears my hesitation.

  “Nora, don’t go over there. We’re on the way.”

  “Fine. Hurry up though.”

  Without wasting any more precious minutes, I hang up, letting her focus on getting here. I won’t go inside the house as I’ve promised, but I sure can sneak around in case she needs my help. Good thing Grams is having her weekly bingo night at her friend’s house and is not here to witness this atrocious crime. She seems to be taken by this brute, but I can’t be fooled.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38