“Hey!” Cortland yelled, and I turned around, rolling my shoulders back, as if that would make me suddenly put together.
“Hey, yourself.” Another car pulled up next to his.
“Inspection,” he yelled back.
I waved my bills at him. “Good for you.” I turned around again, simultaneously hoping that they'd find massive termite damage to keep him from moving in and hoping the place's only sin was its tackiness. Cortland sprinted across the street and stopped by my side, so close he could see the lack of rouge on my cheeks.
“Hey, are you still making that pecan pie?”
“I don't know why Judith said that. She compliments me when she shouldn't. It's just an ordinary pie-nothing special.”
“They say it's not the food that counts, but the company you keep.”
I shrugged. “Suit yourself. I'm sure Rachel will want you to come over.”
Cortland put his hands on his hips. “I'm talking to her tomorrow.”
I slapped the mail against my thigh. “Please tell me you're not going to be the heartless asshole that breaks up with my sister on Thanksgiving Day.”
“She suggested we move in together until I told her I was moving across the street from you.”
“I told you she wouldn't like it.”
“You called it. But I couldn't stand being in my wife's house one more minute. It was time to start a new chapter of my life. A fresh start.”
“That's not easy to do.”
“I like a good challenge. Like getting you to give me a chance.”
“You don't know anything about me.”
“Well, I know enough to know I'd like to know more.”
I kicked a rock with my bunny slipper's nose. “I suppose it would be a safe and wise choice to get to know my new neighbor.”
“Like favorite food? 35 Across.”
I grinned, remembering that morning's crossword. “Twoeg-gsovereasy.”
“I think I speak your language, Rames.”
I eyed him suspiciously. “Maybe so, but it just wouldn't be a good idea to date you after my sister. She would never forgive me.”
Cortland's smile left his face. “Come on. You really think she'd care?”
“She'd at least pretend to. She's a drama queen.”
“This much I know.” Cortland glanced back at his duck house. “Well, can I at least get your neighborly opinion on a few things in the house?”
“You need a woman's perspective?”
“Always.”
I followed him across the street. The inspector was up on the roof, and we entered the house, the smell of vanilla Plug-Ins washing over us. “Very ducky,” I said, noting the feathered creatures everywhere- stenciled, painted, wallpapered.
Cortland shook his head. “Sometimes you have to look beyond how things are now and think about what they could be. You know?”
“Potential? Of course. You should've seen my house before we bought it. The former owner loved pink. Every room, wall and carpet was some shade of pink.”
“I knew you could help. C'mere.” He took my hand and led me into the kitchen, to the thirty-year-old olive-green appliances, stained linoleum floor, and stark, white-tiled countertops. “I'm going to rip out the kitchen. Install granite instead. Black, you think?”
I shook my head. “Too stark. Go with a beige blend.”
“Stainless steel appliances?”
“Why not?”
“And what do you think about stained concrete flooring?”
“Sounds cold.”
Cortland inched closer to me and looked down at my feet. “That's what bunny slippers are for.”
I cleared my throat, noticing the outdated lighting. “There's a great lighting store, locally owned, just a couple blocks over.”
“Maybe you could go with me?”
I stared at my feet, knocking my heels together like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz. “ Look, Cortland.”
“You won't be able to get rid of me that easily. Especially since I'm right across the street. Here, let me show you something. It's the reason I wanted this house.”
I followed him down the narrow hallway to a large bedroom, which I quickly gathered was the master with a large bay window that offered a lovely view into the backyard.
“It's beautiful, isn't it?”
The koi pond was surrounded by stones with a bench and a walking path that winded to another sitting area and fall flowers everywhere in golds, reds, purple and whites. “Perfect for entertaining, being the mover and shaker you are.”
“Or just unwinding after a long day. Come on.” We walked out the patio door to the pond where two dozen koi swam around, their bright orange scales glistening in the fading sunlight. He led me down the stone path to the seating area with a swing facing a bed of mums, in which stood a statue of a duck and a row of her ducklings. We sat on the swing, me on one end and Cortland on the other. He rocked us gently, his foot tapping on the earthen floor.
“Nice ducks.”
“I'm thinking of naming them. Besides, I don't want Mrs. Thompson to haunt me if I remove all of her beloved ducks.”
“Oh, yeah?”
He pointed. “That one on the left? He's totally Mr. Quackers. And the one on the end? Yellowbelly. That's all I've got.”
I laughed. “So this is why you wanted the house?”
“Think you might slip over at night after you tuck the boys in? We can come back here and rock, and you can tell me all of your troubles.”
“Troubles?”
“As in problems, trials, tribulations, woe, grief, heartache.”
“I know what it means, thankyouverymuch. What makes you think I have any of those things?”
“Because you're human. And I'm a good listener. And I always have a good bottle of wine to wash it down.”
He placed his hand on the back of the swing, his fingers brushing the skin underneath my T-shirt. I wanted to wriggle away, but couldn't. I wondered if he touched me long enough if I could figure out why his touch felt so different than da Vinci's. “I suppose a late-night visit every once in awhile wouldn't be a bad thing.”
“And you'll let my daughter play on your cul-de-sac?”
“Well, as long as she can keep up with my boys.”
“Deal?” Cortland held out his hand for me to shake.
“Deal.” When I stuck out my hand, he turned it and kissed my knuckle. “Okay. I should get back to the boys.”
“Does that include da Vinci?”
“He's moved some things in.”
Cortland nodded. “I guess I'll be seeing you both tomorrow, then.”
I left, feeling lighter and heavier at the same time. I wanted to turn around and tell him I'd like to make him 35 Across and shop at the lighting store and walk on his concrete floor with my bare feet. But I kept it tucked inside, like a secret daydream.
I wiped the drool from my mouth and then my dissertation notes when I awoke to the sounds of a man singing, before it registered it wasn't a man singing at all, but many men singing. Joel's wall clock read 10:30 p.m. Da Vinci was late. Again.
Groggily, I roamed through the house, listening for the source of the singing and my heart sank when I saw the Scrabble board was still on the kitchen table, untouched. Damn da Vinci.
The singing continued. Whatever it was, they were at least in unison if not on key, but I couldn't make out the words. It sounded old-fashioned and muffled, nothing like you heard on the radio in this day and age. TV in the living room? Off. Clock radio by the bedside table? Silent. The singing got louder as I stepped into the foyer when the sight of candles flickering outside caught my attention. The singing was right outside my front door. My heart sped up. What in the world? Isn't it a little early for caroling?