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I wonder if I could talk some sense into him.
Maybe I could even buy his cooperation, as the money from my parents’ life insurance policies set me up so I essentially don’t have to work another day in my life if I don’t want to. I live simply, without a lot of frills or luxuries. I bought this property with some of the proceeds, and I’ll build my little artist studio with my little driveway and still have over a million and a halfdollars left to pay for my living expenses for years and years. Of course, I hope to make a profit on my studio, but I really don’t need much. I can definitely spare some money to bribe this asshole into letting me have my driveway.
Yes, I need to try to reason with him.
I cruise past my driveway and instead pull into his. Even though our properties sit adjacent to each other, the fact he lives around a curve means the back of his property butts up against the side of mine. I’ve never really paid much attention to the cabin as it sits deep within the natural wooded area that buffers the main road.
As I drive toward the house, I note a large silver truck pulled under a carport, which I assume means he’s home. My heartbeat picks up because I don’t like confrontation, but I have my dreams driving me. I’ve come too far in this process and invested too much of my heart to give up and let Mr. Highsmith walk all over me.
It’s so quiet as I make my way up the porch steps. His house is a full scribe cabin, otherwise known as a log cabin, where logs are stacked horizontally and secured with cut grooves. Because those notches are made by hand, these homes are not inexpensive.
The door looks to be made of the same cedar as the house and has a large beveled and frosted glass oval in the center that dates the style as early nineties, which is when I’m guessing this was built.
I press the doorbell and look around as I wait for him to answer. When I hear his heavy footsteps nearing, my pulse jackhammers, and then I see his approaching form through the opaque inset.
The door swings open, and his face is already set into a hard mask of impassivity. He doesn’t say a word but just stares at me.
“Um… I thought maybe we could talk,” I say, realizing how lame that sounds. “About… the driveway.”
“Nothing to talk about,” he says and starts to shut the door.
“Wait,” I blurt, my arm swinging out to push against it. “Just five minutes.”
“Thirty seconds,” he counters, and I know the clock has started.
I yammer, no cohesion to my words. I’m fifteen seconds in when I realize I’ve made a mistake about pointing out the legality of the easement as his expression slackens to one that screams, “I don’t give a fuck about legalities.”
It’s time to change tactics, and maybe I’m not the one who needs to talk. I take a deep breath and let it out. “Maybe you could just tell me why you’re averse to the shared driveway.”
“I thought the answer was obvious, but I like my privacy, lady. I don’t want to see your studio, and I don’t want traffic back there.”
“Maybe if you put up a privacy fence—”
He growls. “I don’t want a stupid fence.”
“Then why?” I ask in exasperation.
The man is overly dramatic as he waves his hands. “I’m a goddamn naturalist. I draw strength and serenity from Mother Nature. I’m a motherfucking, modern-day Snow White who communes with all the forest creatures and don’t want their habitat destroyed.”
My head tips to the side as I frown with skepticism. “Really?”
“No, not really,” he says with an eye roll. “I just like my privacy, okay? End of story.”
“Well, it’s not like I’d take down all the trees. If you would let me—”
“Time’s up,” he announces and starts to push the door closed again.
“Wait!” I put my shoulder against the wooden door. “I don’t understand why you have to fight me on this, and I don’t understand why you’re acting like an asshole right out of the gate and suing me.”
“Because Iaman asshole.” He walks into my space, forcing me back from his door and onto the porch. He doesn’t stop barreling toward me, and while I’m not fearful he’ll harm me, I give him a wide berth by scrambling back.
“How do your friends put up with you?” I ask, in part to poke at him but in part because I’m curious. I’ve never met someone so consistently rude.
“I don’t have any friends,” he says, coming to a stop. One more step backward, and I’ll fall off his porch.
“Shocker,” I mutter, then poke some more. “Your family must be appalled by your behavior.”
“No family that matters.” He leans forward, looming over me. “I’m not a nice man, so don’t bother trying to figure me out. The best thing you can do is get off my front porch before I make you regret coming over here.”
