1
REED WOODMAN
My head was going to explode.
That or my heart was going to burst out of my chest.
My body just hadn’t decided which direction it was going to take first.
If my siblings saw me, I would never hear the end of it. Dramatic much? Eden, my baby sister, would more than likely ask and Eli would happily agree with. My knee bounces as I stare at the clock on the wall.
My jaw clenches and my hands fist at my side.
Like clockwork, the moment the hand strikes ten, music fills the air. Loud. Or at least that’s how it feels as I sit there and stew. I get up from my recliner and stare out the window that facesherplace.
She has the blasted window open.
Again.
The woman has no common sense whatsoever!
That damn window makes her music drift off and dance in the wind as it makes its way over to my place, making me feel like it’s echoing against the walls of my place. It irritates me like no other. That damn window should be shut. Not because of hernoise but because there’s still snow on the ground. She should know better. But being from Southern California’s deserts and new to Moonlit Pines, she has no idea.
The woman is infuriatingly stubborn.
Familiar worry bounces and skips up my spine, settling over my heart at the thought of my neighbor having that window open and all the bad things that could happen.
She could get pneumonia.
Or frostbite.
Or worse! What if an animal crawled in and attacked her? Or a man? Now, I have no choice but to sit here at my window and stare out towards her own place. No choice at all.
She’s made sure of that.
Because if I don’t I have to sit here and listen to make sure some nutcase doesn’t decide to burglarize her place because I doubt the woman would notice. Hell, knowing my neighbor, she would offer them cookies to go!
Taylor Swift sings about the Fate of Ophelia, and again, like clockwork, my annoyingly, irritatingly beautiful neighbor with a face of an angel starts to sing. But her voice does not match her face. jesus, she sounds like she’s torturing someone. My lips twitch, and I catch my reflection in the frosty mirror.
I’m not the kind of man who smiles.
I’m also not the kind of man who pines after a woman. That half-smile dies right off my face and is replaced with my usual scowl. I step back from my own open window and cross my arms over my broad chest.
“What the fuck am I doing?” I ask myself in the empty space of my living room but like usual, no one responds. Who am I kidding? I swallow hard and try to bat away the loneliness that suddenly starts filling my veins. All while my pretty little neighbor keeps belting out like a cat that’s being tortured.
This is another thing I don’t do! I don’t get lonely. I thrive in having my own space.
The moment I didn’t re-enlist into the Army after serving twelve years, I moved back to my hometown of Moonlit Pines. and purchased a place on the outskirts of town. A place that became my sanctuary. My safe haven. The place has enough space, that I have a workshop in the back where I build custom dining tables and furniture. Pieces that sell for a ridiculous amount and are shipped all over the world. From New York to Dubai and everywhere in between. I can’t deny, I’ve done pretty well for myself, better than I could have ever imagined.
But I like things a certain way.
Quiet. Organized. Disciplined. I keep to myself.
I’m not neighborly or friendly. I’m not a huge person in the small mountain town of Moonlit Pines. Not even when I had grown up here. I donate to causes here and there when I see a need. But I’ve always kept to myself. A grouchy recluse is how my brothers like to call me. They live around here, too.
I’ve been fine. Perfectly okay with the way my life was.
But a month ago, everything changed. A U-Haul truck pulled up at the abandoned cabin across from mine and I knew from that moment, I should have bought the place for myself. I had been outside bringing in the supplies I’d picked up from town like I do every three weeks, when I saw her.
