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I turn to face her, clutching my latte and inhaling the delicious scent of caramel. “You think he’s hot?”
“You don’t?” she asks, her brows raised.
“Well, I guess I did notice that he’s not unpleasant to look at if you’re into that whole mountain lumberjack kind of thing, but then he opens his mouth, and it’s like his whole body transforms into something else.”
“What do you mean?” She takes a sip of her drink.
“He’s not nice,” I say bluntly.
Visions of him standing in my yard yelling and swearing at me flash to the forefront of my mind. Although, when I took him his plant, a lack of profanity spewed from his mouth. Maybe he listened to me when I asked him to stop.
She laughs. “How can that be? Everyone in town loves him.”
Love him? Is that possible?
“Have you met him?” I ask incredulously.
“No, but I’ve seen him in passing over the past couple of years.”
“Well, I’ve met him, and he’s rude, swears at complete strangers, and I tried to give him a plant when I introduced myself as his new neighbor, and he told me he didn’t want it.”
She laughs again and pushes a few loose pieces of her dark hair behind her ear.
“That’s odd.”
“Right!”
We both take another sip of our drinks, and my gaze wanders out the front window to the yard.
“So what do I do about the deer?”
“When I was growing up, my mother always hung bars of Irish Spring soap from the trees around our property.”
“What?” I chuckle.
“Deer are very sensitive to smells, and they don’t like soap. It’s a cheap way to keep them away from your yard, and you can hang them in a way where they are hidden.”
“I suppose.”
“Next year, you can also plant things around the edge of your yard, like chives, garlic, and lavender. They also hate sudden sounds. I’ve seen people buy pretty little wind chimes and stake them throughout their gardens. Hanging them in trees is nice too, but if they bump against them in the garden, they get startled and run off.”
“That’s interesting.”
Little wind chimes. I’m certain I could find some beautiful ones that would go perfectly in my garden next year.
“You’ve been here for two weeks. Are you bored yet?” she asks, eyeing me over the rim of her cup. Emma had asked me the same question when I talked to her the other day. I’m not sure why they think I would be bored. I love it here.
“Nope. Not even a little bit.”
“How is that possible? You barely leave this house, and there’s not that much to do every day.”
“That’s not true. I do leave the house. I went to Main Street the other day and walked through all the shops. I found a farmers’ market just on the edge of town where I bought some fresh fruit and vegetables. You know I’ve been to both nurseries in town, and I met you at Avery’s for dinner last week.”
“Yeah, but what about the rest of the time? Aren’t you lonely up here?”
“Not at all. I’ve been very busy. I put together everything in this house that needed it. I bought a tool set and hung the curtain rods and other things that needed to be put into the walls. I’ve worked outside a little each day, and I’m teaching myself how to cook. I didn’t realize how much I relied on take-out food and delivery. In fact, you have to try this.” I jump up off the couch and go into the kitchen.
Several times over the past couple of days, I’ve sucked up my fear and gone back to the blackberry bushes. There are just so many berries, and I can’t see letting them go to waste. So I’ve picked a bunch and have taught myself how to make jam and a blackberry pound cake. I slice her a piece of the cake and take it to her.
