I wonder how he liked his Reuben.It was Marlene’s first day in the kitchen, so I didn’t want to make her nervous by rushing her, especially since the poor girl jumps at every sound.To distract Marlene from her nerves, Mrs.Norton started telling her about my plans to expand into the empty lot next door, and I got distracted too.
The lot beside Mugs has been abandoned for as long as I can remember.After two years of pinching pennies, I managed to save enough money to buy it.I had this great idea to make it into an outdoor space where folks can enjoy their coffees while watching the distant waves crash against the shore.Just about every other restaurant has one, and I’m a little jealous.I want a pergola with a roof made of surfboards, a boatload of yellow picnic tables, and sand.That’s right.I want sand under those tables so that people can kick off their flip-flops and get the full beach experience.It’s not a huge project, so we might even have it ready by the Fourth.That’s when things really get crazy on the island.
Finished with my shower, I turn off the water, wrap my towel around myself, and head upstairs.
With the air unseasonably warm, I throw on a pair of soft cotton shorts and a tank top with a built-in bra because wearing a bra in my own house offends me.
Now to find something to eat.
There’s not really a lot in the fridge, which is what I get for feeding the girls all my burgers last night.I should’ve picked up a pound of shrimp from Joe’s Seafood Market.Guess I’ll have to make do with lettuce wraps and the few veggies wilting away in the fridge’s bottom drawer.I carry my meager dinner out to the back porch—the best spot to watch the sunset paint the sky.
A breeze wafts across my cheeks, smelling not like the salty sea, but something delicious and meaty.My stomach rumbles.
What is that glorious smell?
My new neighbor’s kitchen windows are open, and I can see him moving around, opening and closing cabinets.If he wasn’t such a dick, I’d go over to ask what he’s cooking and beg for him to share.But since he is, I’m stuck eating sad rabbit food.
The telltale slam of a screen door drags my attention back to the old Simpson place.My new neighbor emerges from the downstairs exit and crosses our shared driveway, heading this way.
I set my plate aside and may or may not run my fingers through my hair so it doesn’t look like it’s plastered to my head.
Not that I care what he thinks.It’s just easier to win a fight when you’re looking your best, and this guy has been brewing for an argument since 6 a.m.
Oops, my bad.6:15.
He slowly comes into view as he ascends my back staircase, and that’s when I remember the boards that are rotting underneath.
Because I’m a good person, I decide to warn him.“Watch out for the fifth?—”
CRACK!
“Motherfucker.”
“Step,” I finish, just a smidge too late.Don’t laugh.My front teeth dig into my bottom lip.Donotlaugh.
He shakes out his foot with another curse and stomps up the rest of the stairs to my deck.A brave move considering none of those boards are very stable.
“This place should be condemned,” he grumbles, his face as red as Lola’s favorite swimsuit.
Just like that, I don’t feel like laughing anymore.
“Those stairs are a death trap, and you’re missing a shitload of shingles,” he says, nodding at the A-frame roof.
He did not just walk over here to insult my house.Condemned, my ass.His attitude should be condemned.I glue on a stiff smile, refusing to let him get to me.“Did you need something?”
He shoves his hair back from where it’s fallen over his forehead, huffing a breath like being here is a huge inconvenience.He does realize he’s the one who decided to come over, right?
“Do you have any salt and pepper?”he asks.
Ahh, now I see.He’s here because he needs something from me.“Let me get this straight.You come over here, insult my house, and then ask me for some of my food?”
“I didn’t ask for food.I asked for salt and pepper.”
It’s edible, isn’t it?Which makes itfood.
The sooner I get him some seasoning, the sooner he will take his negativity far, far away.I slip off my chair and head into my quaint kitchen, not expecting him to follow me inside without an invitation.He’s so tall, he has to duck to clear the door frame.If only he’d knocked himself out on my “sagging overhang,” as he so grumpily mumbles.
I tear open the cabinet above my stove, and the hinge at the top that’s been hanging on for dear life decides that today is the day to finally give up.The thing falls off.
