Page 3 of The Deadbeat Next Door

“That’s great,” the man said. “But what I just want to know if you’ll be leaving soon. Your drinks are finished and the restaurant’s got an hour wait for a table, I was hoping to get a seat at the bar.”

Dilly’s eyes widened even more. “Oh, no. Your curse is rubbing off on me.”

I laughed at her fearful expression and jumped off my stool, pulling her with me. “We’re leaving,” I said. “Sorry about my friend.”

The man shrugged and thanked us for the seats.

I dragged Dilly out of the restaurant and to her car. We got into our seats and she started the engine and backed out. “What I was trying to say,” she said. “Is that love is a real-life kind of magic, you know. If you want it too much or you try too hard to grab it, it will slip right through your fingers.”

“So you don’t think I should sign up for dating sites?”

She chewed on her lower lip, thinking it over. “I don’t know. Maybe just give it a couple of weeks. Don’t date or even think about dating, give the bad juju a chance to clear out.”

“You secretly believe in Tinkerbell, don’t you?”

“Of course not,” she said. “Fairies aren’t real.” Then she gasped and shook her head. “I don’t mean it.” At the stoplight, she clapped her hands three times and swore she did believe. “Just in case,” she said to me. “I don’t want any deaths on my hands.”

“Of course.”

“So maybe I’m a bit of a superstitious, magic-believing nut,” she said. “But it doesn’t mean I’m wrong. You need a break. Spend some time decorating your house the way you want it, focus on your job, and forget men.”

She parked on the street in front of my house. “You’re right,” I said. “I could definitely use a break from bad dates.”

Dilly wasn’t listening to me. She was staring though the windshield at my neighbor, Cody, who was strolling down his driveway to his truck, dressed up like he had somewhere fun to go. My traitorous heart picked up its pace like it wanted him. Which was ridiculous. I didn’t want him. He was too tall and too muscley and too…Just too rugged. He was the kind of guy who opened beer bottles with his teeth and had just barely graduated seventh grade. Definitely not the kind of guy to build a life with. “Who is that?” Dilly asked. “And why weren’t you out with him instead of Jonas?” Dilly was a true friend. She was as single as I was, but she didn’t even consider calling dibs on Cody. She looked out for me and had since she’d punched Milly Freedman for stealing my cupcake in kindergarten.

“Because he’s a raging asshole,” I said. “He has no respect for neighbors and he accused me of having no manners.”

Dilly mock gasped. “The monster.”

I gave her a light shove on the shoulder and she pretended to be hurt. “Thanks for the ride home,” I said.

“Of course, baby. You’ll always be my girl.” She leaned in and we exchanged air kisses. I hopped out and waved as she pulled away from the curb.

“Let me guess,” Cody’s rumbly, gruff voice washed over me and made all my joints go a bit loose and melty. He gave great voice. “You’re just coming back from a DAR meeting.” And then he had to ruin it.

I spun and faced him. He smirked. I glared. He grinned.

“No? Librarian’s convention? Cotillion committee? Knitting group?”

Oh, if only he knew how much I’d love to join a knitting group, but there weren’t any in Catalpa Creek, not that I’d found. Dilly said I should start one, but I was more of a follower than a leader. Starting a group meant caring if no one showed up and bringing the refreshments, way too much hassle. “Are you making fun of my outfit?”

He crossed his stupid muscled arms over his stupid carved chest. “I didn’t say anything about your outfit. I’m just making conversation.”

“I was on a date,” I said, straightening my shoulders and holding my head high. Cody was an ill-mannered, low-class jerk who clearly spent too much time in the gym instead of bettering his life and his situation with a job.

His brown eyes crinkled around the edges when his smile widened. “You date women?”

I stared at him for a moment, before I understood. “That was my friend, Dilly. She was just giving me a ride home. The date was wonderful.” I didn’t feel bad about lying. I owed this man nothing. Our previous interactions had amounted to me a hill of beans, annoying, rude, tasteless beans. The first time we’d interacted, I’d introduced myself and he’d given me his name in exchange, before his phone rang and he turned away from me without a word. The second time I saw him, it was because Norma Jane had called me to tell me that he was mowing his lawn, topless. She has a heart condition and found his shirt-less state too exciting. I suggested she move away from the window, but watching the comings and the goings of the neighbors out that window was one of her great pleasures. So, I asked him to put a shirt on and he must have thought I was hitting on him, because he got really close and said I ought to use the manners my mama taught me and say please. I explained that the request was from Norma Jane, but he insisted on me using the magic word. I did and he put a shirt on. When he was outside power washing his back deck at five in the morning, I asked him to wait until a decent hour and may have been a bit testy. I’m an early riser, but five is ridiculous. He again accused me of having no manners. Which brought us to the most recent incident when he was outside washing his truck with the music blaring. I asked him to turn it down, in an admittedly rude way, and my nephew, who was visiting me at the time, had words with him when he turned the music up, instead of down. Most damning of all, in my opinion, was that he had guests at all hours of the day and night, many of them noisy and drunk. And it was never the same people. He was a revolving door of strangers, mostly women, and I didn’t want to become one more random woman he tried to ‘party’ with. That just wasn’t me. I glared at him and spun to go inside, but he grabbed my elbow and spun me back around.

Acting entirely on instinct and the self-defense class I’d taken last summer, I balled the fist of my free hand and punched him as hard as I could in the gut. He dropped my elbow, huffed out a surprised gasp, and clutched his stomach.

“I’m sorry,” I said, appalled by my violent reaction. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, but you grabbed me and I…I just reacted.”

He winced and rubbed his flat belly. “I shouldn’t have grabbed you. I’m sorry.”

He looked sincere. He looked genuinely contrite and I…I was a big marshmallow of a soft-hearted softy. “It’s okay. Just don’t grab me again.”

“I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot,” he said. “I’m Cody Reynolds, and I’m really not the dickhead I seem.”

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