CAM
Istood at my kitchen sink, eating cereal straight from the box, staring out the window at absolutely nothing.
The silence of the house pressed against my ears as I chewed another handful of Cheerios. No cartoon TV voices from the living room, no sound of little feet thundering down the stairs, no arguments about whose turn it was to put the breakfast bowls in the dishwasher.
Just me, standing in my kitchen like some lonely loser, eating breakfast from a cardboard box. Mornings when my girls were at their moms were the pits.
“Fuck.”
Annoyed at myself, I shoved the Cheerios back in the pantry and started making coffee to go.
“Fuuuck!” Where the fuck was my travel mug?
I checked the dishwasher, then the counter, then the top of the fridge where things migrated when I cleaned on autopilot.
Nothing.
Huffing out a breath, I grabbed my keys and headed outside, keeping my eyes fixed on my truck as I crossed the porch. The morning air was crisp with that fresh spring smell, all new grass and blooming things. Somehow, it just made my mood worse.
The travel mug wasn’t in the cab. Not in the bed either. I crouched down to check under the driver’s seat, and that’s when it hit me.
Laughter. Bright and genuine, floating across from the house next door.
I should have stayed focused on finding my mug. Should have kept my head down and minded my own damn business.
But I guess I was a fucking masochist, because I looked up instead.
My neighbor, Emily, was crouched beside her hatchback, phone propped on a rock, clearly on speaker. She wore black leggings and an oversized cream sweater with dirt streaked across the front. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail that was giving up the fight, strands falling loose around her face. Even disheveled and clearly frustrated, she looked...
I cut that thought off and forced my attention back to my truck.
“Hannah, I swear this thing is welded on.” Her voice carried across the yard, frustration bleeding through the humor. “I’ve been at this for ten minutes.”
“Want me to drive over with the pneumatic wrench?” Another woman’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Those lug nuts can be a real pain if they’ve been over-torqued. Was it Dex that did your last service?”
“Jesus fucking Christ, what is your problem with that guy?”
She had a friend on the phone. A mechanic friend, apparently. She’d figure it out. Then she shifted her weight wrong. The tire iron slipped free, and she stumbled backward, arms flailing as she tried to catch her balance. She failed, landing on her ass with a wince.
My feet were moving before my brain caught up. Three long strides across the grass, across that invisible property line I’d been so careful not to cross since moving in.
“What do you mean, what’s my problem? You’re not the one who has to see him every day...”
I cleared my throat.
Emily’s head snapped up, her eyes locking with mine, sucking the breath from my lungs. Nope, not doing that.
I gestured at the tire, keeping my voice even. “You got trouble?”
“Who’s that?” Hannah’s voice cut through the speaker. “Did I just hear a male voice?”
“Uh, yeah. It’s my neighbor.”
“Is that so? Is it Mr. Kirkland from number 32, or are we talking about the incredibly hot dad from 36?”
The flush on Emily’s face went from pink to crimson in the space of a heartbeat. She lunged for the phone and stabbed at the screen, ending the call with enough force that she could have dented it.
Silence dropped between us like a stone.
