Once she stands from the car, I can tell her attention shifts my way. But unless I want to shout at her or jog a ways, there’s no way to make a casual introduction.
So, I leave my people-watching for now, hefting the box with my paper crafting supplies up my front walkway. When I drop it on the kitchen counter, the rustling inside gives me an idea. Pulling the flaps open, I dig out a smaller wooden box. Inside, I have my finished projects.
Carefully, I flip through the cards I’ve made, landing on the one with elements of lace and hand-drawn vines. I seek out my nice pens and write out a short note in a precise script I’ve honed over the years.
Card done, I head back outside and make the short hike to my neighbor’s house. While walking up to the front door, I can’t help admiring how beautiful the place is. The aesthetic seems to blend a rugged earthiness with an almost-artistic Victorian flair. The wraparound porch has sturdy metal furniture that is nonetheless crafted to look delicate. Hanging planters hold a variety of foliage. The sight gives me hope that my gift will be appreciated.
When I press the doorbell, I catch the deep ring of it, even through the thick wood. I straighten my T-shirt, as if that’ll help make my moving outfit appear classier. Eyeing my scuffed sneakers, I wonder if I should’ve taken a few minutes to change before coming over here.
“Yes?”
The sound of the voice makes me jump. At some point while I was looking down, the elegant blonde woman silently openedthe door. She stares at me now, and I try my hardest not to swallow my tongue.
My neighbor is ethereal.
Her pale skin reminds me of moonlight and lays over a sculpted bone structure that lends her face both beauty and intimidation. A deadly kind of lovely.
She stands tall before me, wearing heels spiked so severely that they could double as weapons. Her silk blouse and fitted pencil skirt appear as though they’ve never met a wrinkle in their life.
This woman doesn’t fit Pine Falls, which has a dress code of flannel and jeans. But she does fit this house.
Beautiful. Mysterious.
Werewolf?I wonder for a moment. But no. Werewolves are heavy. Present. This woman seems to have a sort of weightlessness. Like the menacing mist that lingers between trees in a dark forest at twilight.
“Hello!” I wave, even though I’m standing right in front of her. My awkwardness has me feeling clumsy. Ungainly. I wonder if it’s possible to trip when I’m not moving. Trying to keep myself from looking like a complete fool, I drop my hand. “My name is Juliet Adair. I bought the house just down there.” I point the way I came from.
Her eyes don’t leave my face. She simply stands in her doorway, observing me.
Upon further examination, I realize she’s likely in her late forties, maybe early fifties. Life lives in the subtle creases of her face. Each line seems to emphasize her sharp, gorgeous features. Whatever her age is, she wears it well.
“And?” she intones.
That’s when I realize I stopped talking.
“Oh. Sorry. I just wanted to come introduce myself. And give you this.” A blush heats my cheeks as I hold out the card thatappeared elegant in my house but now looks juvenile. I’m back in middle school, trying to get the cool kids to like me by crafting them personalized birthday cards. Didn’t work then. Not sure why I thought it would now.
This woman just seems so … untouchable. I can’t explain it.
Without a change in her expression, she reaches a set of long, elegant fingers out to pluck the card from my hand. I try not to compare my short, stubby digits to hers.
As she unfolds the card, I start babbling.
“I made it. That’s something I do. Just a hobby. Crafting is my happy place. Something to keep my hands busy.”
God, do I want her to pin it to her fridge with a magnet? I sound pathetic.
Is the message I wrote any better?
I look forward to being your neighbor, and I hope we can be friends as well.
Then I listed my phone number.
“Friends?” she murmurs, her eyes trailing over the coiling vines I drew with a dark green pencil. They wind around and through the lace.
“Or just neighbors is fine,” I hurriedly add.
She refolds the card, pressing the paper craft between her palms, and a set of frosty gray eyes traces over me. I fight the urge to shiver.
