As our automobiles were towed away, she grinned, certain that she had prevailed in a local conflict. However, she was standing on her porch the following morning, stunned, confronted with a $25,000 error she would never forget.
The house had only been occupied for one night by Jack and me. The rental was a modest one-story home nestled in a peaceful suburb. Bricks of tan. green shutters. an uneven lawn that appeared to have been neglected since the spring.
We had just finished unpacking the coffee maker when the doorbell rang. Jack moaned, “We don’t even have curtains up yet.” I looked through the peephole and said, “Well, looks like the Welcome Committee’s here.” We were only here on a temporary assignment for work; nothing exciting or long-term.
A woman gazing out the window | Pexels Image
He took a glimpse. “Ouch. Cookies are in her hand.
I opened the door.
There stood a woman in a pastel pink cardigan, a matching headpiece, and white capri trousers. Her eyes were bright, but her smile? They’re far too busy to be distributing baked goods.
“Hi there!” she said, voice high and chirpy. “I’m Lindsey. I live right across the street. Just wanted to stop by and say hello!”
She offered a tray of chocolate chip cookies, with flawless rows and not a crumb out of place. “Well, thank you,” I said, accepting the tray. “That’s very kind.” Jack waved lazily at her. “Thank you.” Her smile remained fixed, but her eyes kept darting over my shoulder and then over Jack’s.
She leaned forward, as if to see inside, and I moved aside. Her eyes went along our hallway before returning to the living room. “You folks settling in okay?” she asked, blinking quickly. “Yeah,” I responded slowly. “Just moved in yesterday.”
Such a nice place,” she said, her gaze flickering back to the doorframe. “Silent. Clean. Very…orderly.” Jack folded his arms. “We’re just here for work. Shouldn’t be any trouble.” “Oh, I’m sure!” she said, her voice a bit too bright. “Just wanted to say welcome. And one quick thing…” That change from cookies to complaints was something I could have predicted.
She remarked, “Our HOA has a rule about cars. They’re very friendly but firm.” “Only one in the driveway per household.”
I blinked. “Just one vehicle?”
“Yes,” she responded, her voice becoming more strained. “No exclusions. keeps the neighborhood neat and orderly.
Jack’s eyebrows went up. However, we won’t be parking on the street. Both vehicles easily fit in the driveway.
She tilted her head slightly and whispered, “I know.” However, there are still two cars. Just one residence. Just one driveway. One vehicle.
“We’re only here for a short time,” I stated. “Not residents on a permanent basis.”
She grinned broadly. “Everyone is subject to the rules. That’s what makes it so beautiful.
Jack studied her for a moment. “All right, I appreciate the cookies.”
Have fun with them! She gave a little chirp. “And you’ll fit in just fine, so don’t worry.”
We shut the door.
That was quite a bit, Jack remarked.
As I placed the tray on the counter, I remarked, “She looked past me as if she thought she would see a drug deal taking place in the kitchen.”
She must have already committed our license plates to memory.
“Give her permission. We’re not exactly breaking the law. Just a neighbor with too much time and too much enthusiasm.
Jack gave a shrug. “But cookies smell good.”
Three days later, I woke up to a strange noise outside. It was early. Still dark. That cold, gray hour before sunrise.
