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Madden ruffles my hair. I hate it when he does that. “I’m proud of you, too. Can’t wait to hear all about it.”
“What about work?” Dad asks. Of course, that’d be what he’d think of first, with his workaholic tendencies and all.
I shrug. “Perks of owning your own business. I can take a vacation whenever I want.”
Dad doesn’t look convinced. “You rescheduled clients at such a late notice?”
“Seeing as I’ve never taken a vacation—ever—they didn’t mind me rescheduling this once.”
My dad shakes his head. “Bad business practice, son.”
Sophie’s eyes shift between me and my dad. She giggles awkwardly and changes the subject, “I’m not sure what’s more exciting… David going on a big trip… or Brooks not being able to date for four months.”
Everyone laughs except Dad who is apparently still concerned about me taking off work for the first time in my life.
The family turns their attention to Brooks. He’s still sitting in his chair, looking unconcerned. “As I said, I’ll believe it when I see it.”
The rest of my family laughs and continues their meal, but I see the lone drop of sweat slowly making its way down Brooks’ forehead.
Monday morning begins just like any other, except I’ve begun packing for an international trip. I don’t leave for nine more days, but I did an inventory of my closet, knowing I’d need to do some serious shopping today. I don’t even have hiking shoes, or a backpack… or a water bottle.
I start my day by getting dressed in business casual attire. Working from home doesn’t mean being sloppy, and I meet with a lot of my clients over video chat.
After freshly grinding the coffee beans and filling my French press with hot water, I pour the coffee grounds on top and let it set while I head outside to get my morning paper.
Perfect coffee can’t be rushed.
As I walk outside to grab my paper, I notice Isabella’s yard is… once again, out of control. The grass—if you can even call it that—is long and overgrown. The weeds are growing in between all the cracks in the path leading up to her front door. Even the ants noticed how little yard work she does, taking full advantage by building an ant hill complex along her fence. Her yard alone ruins the look of the entire neighborhood. Everyone else’s yards are perfectly trimmed, but she can’t seem to manage her own.
I can hear her awful yoga music coming from her backyard—you know, the music they play in a spa, with harps and birds and all that bullshit—so I know she’s awake. I see Mo clawing at the front window like he’s desperate to escape. Poor animal. Even the cat hates her music.
How can she relax when there’s so much work to be done? I’ve asked her several times to keep her music down and her lawn trimmed, to no avail.
Having not inhaled any coffee yet, I’m not in the mood to deal with my neighbor. I decide instead to go back inside and blare my own music. I have a fantastic Bluetooth surround sound system installed, which makes listening to my favorite audiobooks and podcasts delightful. But today I get to use it for a little heavy metal.
I snicker to myself sardonically. I hate heavy metal. Honestly, does anyone actually enjoy heavy metal?
It’ll be enough to interrupt her yoga. I make sure the patio speakers are on and turn the music up to its max volume. I’d watch for her reaction since our yards are close together, but I have work to do. Grabbing my noise-canceling headphones, I finish the coffee and pour myself a cup before sitting at the kitchen table and opening my laptop.
Enjoying a perfectly brewed cup of coffee in peace while working on budgets for my clients are a few of the simple pleasures in life.
My open kitchen and dining room have French doors that open up onto the patio, giving me a clear view of my backyard and patio from where I sit at the dining room table. I watch Isabella fling open the gate to my side of the fence and stomp into my yard and straight to my patio.
Well, that was fast. Honestly, she makes this too easy.
She stops in front of the French doors and makes eye contact with me. Her chocolate-brown eyes are wild with rage, and I have to hold back a grin. She’s dressed in her yoga clothes, which is distracting. A white, cropped, sporty top with matching white yoga shorts. The white stands out against her skin, making her look even darker and more bronzed. She knocks on the glass with one fist, then crosses her arms and taps her foot impatiently.
Sliding my headphones down around my neck, I rise from my seat and walk over to the French doors. Calmly, I open the door, then glance down at my Apple watch. “Siri, remind me to get a lock for the gate in my backyard.”
The voice on my watch responds that she’ll remind me tomorrow and Isabella’s glare deepens. “You think you’re really funny, don’t you?”
“Is there something you need?” I lean against the doorframe and try to look bored.
“I think you already know why I’m here.”
Bringing my hand up to my chin, I furrow my brow in mock confusion. “Hmm, I can’t think of a reason.”
She glances up at the speakers connected to the pergola above my deck—the speakers that are blaring heavy metal music—then back at me again. “Funny, you struck me as more of a classical music person.”
