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“It is.”
“All right. I cook often.” Then he nods and hurries down the steps again toward his house.
He’s such an odd dude, but I smile as I close the door.
I sit down and eat a delicious chicken and vegetable dish over lo mein noodles. They have a lemon-garlic taste, and even Evie picks out the pieces of chicken and declares them yummy.
The next day, I teach Evie the fundamental lesson that you return a plate like that washed and full of goodies, piling them with brownies and sugar cookies we bake in Lisa’s kitchen before depositing them on his porch with a thank you note.
That night, I go to take my garbage cans out only to discover they’re at the curb. I’m sure I can chalk that up to him.
On Saturday, I’ll work closing, and Evie and I spend the morning in the yard. I’m adding lights wherever I can fit them, and Evie is turning sticks into witches stuck together with tinsel.
“This one is a nice witch.” She holds up a stick figure tied with cheap green curling ribbon. “Can I go give it to Mr. Henry?”
I glance over at his house. We haven’t seen him in a day or two, but it should be okay. “Sure, honey.”
She runs over and knocks on his door. A moment later he answers, and I hear her explanation that she’s made him a good witch. I hope he knows to take it, and I give a small sigh of relief when he does, solemnly examining it like he’s inspecting the workmanship of a master.
I can’t quite make out his low response, but he disappears into his house and Evie plops herself down on his top step.
“Come on back, Eves,” I call. “Let’s give Mr. Henry some space.”
“He said I could make a village here,” she calls back and waves.
I’m about to question what this means when Henry himself emerges again, this time with a stack of papers and a mug of coffee. He takes a seat at the café table on the porch, settling his papers in front of him. I walk over, curious. In our two weeks of residence, Henry has not yet been a front porch sitter.
Something is different about him as I walk over, but I can’t figure it out until I’m standing in front of the steps by Evie and have a better view of him. He’s wearing jeans. It makes me slightly uncomfortable, like if your high school principal showed up to work in sweats. Wilder still, he’s not wearing a V-neck. Instead, he’s wearing a thermal in dark green, and honestly, it should be as boring as his sweaters, but instead, I’m having a flashback to the morning of the Great Trash Can Rescue.
His glasses are missing too. So now what I have is an almost-hot neighbor sitting on his porch and watching my little girl play with stick witches. Thank goodness he’s clean cut to the point of boredom or it might be an issue. If this man ever grows scruff . . .
“What’s going on, friends?” I ask.
Henry smiles at me. “Christmas witches, I think.”
“Yep,” Evie confirms. “They’re going to brew a potion that makes presents!”
“Oh, the endless present potion. Nice. What will they make it from?” Henry asks.
She holds up two different leaves and a roly-poly curled into a ball. “This so far. Have to hunt for more ingredients.”
“Good plan,” I tell her. “But bring your stuff back over, and only hunt where I can see you.”
“I don’t mind,” Henry says. “She can stay over here if she wants. I’ve been grading midterms all day, and it’s nice sitting out here to do it in the fresh air.”
I’d probably rather grade in the fresh air than in my house all day too, but I don’t want to push our newfound truce. “Okay, but only until I have to leave for work.”
“Sounds good, Mama.” She picks up one of her stick witches. “Mr. Henry, I need your stick witch. He has to help with the spell.”
“Here you go.” He picks it up from the table and brings it over. “But it’s just on loan. I’ll need him back when the spell is done.”
My heart melts a little. He’s sure getting the hang of Evie pretty quickly. She accepts the stick, and I realize I’m staring at his backside as he returns to his papers. Jeans do it way more favors than his chinos do. Nice, professor. Very nice.
“Mama?” Evie’s voice interrupts me, and as I blink and shift my attention toward her, I swear I spot the faintest smirk on Henry’s face, but when I dart a look at him, his eyes are fixed on his grading. “Is this a good spell? Holy moly, roly-poly, a gift for me, when I stir, one, two, three!”
“That sounds like an excellent spell. I love your little brain.”
She claps a hand on top of her head. “It’s not little.”
