Page 34 of Neighbor from Hell
I tug the rollers free hastily and wince as a few strands snag. I run my fingers through the loose waves, letting them fall past my shoulders. Not bad, I think, shaking my head to give them life. I’m not chasing anything tonight—no romance, no spark—just a chance to make contact with other humans, but mostly to shed the weight of Hugh’s kiss that still haunts me like a dodgy fever.
I dig into my makeup bag, planning to keep it simple. A swipe of deep red lipstick, bold but not desperate, stains my lips. A quick flick of mascara, just enough to open up my eyes, and a light affair with the blusher brush to keep me from looking washed out. I step back, tilting my head. The mirror’s unkind, the light casting unflattering shadows. Even so I look… okay. Decent. Like someone who’s got her shit together, even if it’s a lie.
My outfit’s a gamble—a short black skirt, not too daring, paired with thick tights against the spring chill. A striped crop top under my favorite leather jacket. I tug at the hem, suddenly worried I’m trying too hard. I don’t want to look like I’m screaming for attention. This is Hawk’s End, not Chicago, but the clock is ticking—6:53.
No time to second-guess.
I grab my keys, sling my bag over my shoulder, and head out, not even bothering to lock the door behind me. The evening’s dim, the sky bruising purple. Kinda pretty. The rental car’s waiting. It’s bleeding me dry—gas, insurance, repairs. I know I need a cheaper way to get around. I should buy a small car. Even if it’s a beat-up old thing. I’ll start looking around on Monday morning.
The drive to The Fox and Hare is quick; the village’s narrow lanes are quiet under the fading light. But as I pull up to the pub, my stomach twists. The place is alive. Voices and laughter spill through the open door, and the yellow lights are warm and inviting against the stone facade. It’s exactly what I thought Iwanted, some other voices to drown out my lustful thoughts, but sitting in the car park of the pub, I suddenly start craving my little cottage, my home, its creaky safety. I pause, gripping the wheel. When did I start calling it home? The realization tugs a smile from me, soft and unexpected, like finding a forgotten treasure.
My phone buzzes, snapping me back. Annabel’s name flashes. “Hey,” I answer.
“Where are you?” she asks, her tone bright, music thumping in the background. “We’re about to order drinks!”
“Right outside,” I say, glancing at the pub’s glowing sign.
“Come on in!” she urges. “It’s buzzing tonight.”
“Be there in a sec.”
I hang up, take a deep breath, and step out. The pub’s heat and smells hit me as I push through the door. A mix of beer, wood smoke, and chatter wraps around me like a warm cocoon. Annabel spots me instantly, her face lighting up like we’re old friends, not just two women who bonded over village gossip and groceries.
She waves me over, pulling me into a hug that feels like it was made years ago.
“You made it!” she shouts over the noise, her blonde curls bouncing.
Her ease loosens the knot in my chest, and I smile, a genuine grin of relief and happiness.
She leads me to a corner table where two guys are sprawled out comfortably, pints in hand.
“Lauren, this is Tom and Jamie,” she says, gesturing to each one.
Tom’s lanky, with sandy hair and a shy grin, his flannel shirt is rolled to the elbows. He looks like how I always imagined a farmer would. Jamie’s broader, dark-eyed, with a stubbled jaw and a deep, strong laugh. They’re nice enough, but my heartsinks, a quiet disappointment I hate admitting. I came here to forget Hugh, to prove he’s not special, but these two… they’re not him. If anything, they make him stand out even more. What a crying shame.
Hugh’s shadow looms in my head—his hard, manly jaw, those piercing eyes—and I’m furious with myself. Why is he still here, ruining my life?
I shove his smirking face away, swearing I won’t think of him tonight. Not once. I force a smile and slide into the seat next to Annabel.
“Hello, I’m Lauren,” I say, and they nod, welcoming, curious.
“Where you from?” Tom asks, leaning forward.
“Chicago,” I say, settling in. “Needed a change, so… here I am.”
“Big move,” Jamie says, raising his pint. “What’s the States like?”
I shrug, keeping it light. “Busy. Loud. Dangerous, you know?” I turn it back on them. “What about here? Village life treating you okay?”
Tom laughs. “It’s spring, so it’s not miserable. Sun’s out, fields are green—can’t complain.”
“Yet,” Jamie adds, grinning. “Wait till winter. I’ve been here all my life, and I will forever hate winter.”
The small talk flows easily—weather, local quirks, the pub’s best ale. I skip booze since I’m driving down unfamiliar country roads, and sip cranberry juice instead. Their uncomplicated banter washes over me. It’s fine, pleasant, but eventually my eyelids grow heavy, the day’s weight creeping in. I’ve been hauling paint cans, scraping walls, rebuilding my life piece by piece, and it’s caught up with me. Mid-sentence, while Tom’s talking about a local festival, I catch myself dozing, my head dipping. Mortified, I snap upright, heat flooding my cheeks.
“God, I’m so sorry,” I mutter, standing quickly. “I’ve been renovating all day, and I’m wiped. I should head back.”
The men look surprised, but I can see understanding in their eyes.
