She beamed as our cars were towed away, believing she had won a local war. But the next morning, she was standing on her porch, stunned, confronting a $25,000 mistake she’d never forget.
Jack and I had only spent one night at the house. It was a tiny, one-story rental nestled in a quiet suburb. Tan bricks. Green shutters. A patchy lawn that appeared to have not been irrigated since spring.
We were only here on a temporary assignment for work. Nothing long-term. Nothing spectacular.
We’d just finished unpacking the coffee machine when the doorbell rang.
Jack moaned. “We don’t even have curtains up yet.”
I checked the peephole. “Well, looks like the Welcome Committee’s here.”
He took a glance. “Yikes. “She is holding cookies.”
I opened the door.
A woman stood in a pastel pink cardigan, matching headpiece, and white capri pants. Her grin was dazzling, but what about her eyes? Too busy for someone to be handing out baked goods.
“Hi there!” she said, her voice loud and chirpy. “I am Lindsey. I reside just across the street. “Just wanted to say hello!”
She held out a dish of cookies. They were chocolate chip. Perfect rows. Not a single crumb was out of place.
“Well, thank you,” I replied, taking the tray. “That’s very kind.”
Jack gave her a casual wave. “Appreciate it.”
Her smile remained fixed, but her gaze flickered behind us. Over my shoulders. Then over to Jack’s.
She leaned slightly, as if she was trying to see inside.
I stepped to the side. Her gaze moved along our hallway. Then head back to the living room.
“Are you settling in okay?” she inquired, blinking quickly.
“Yeah,” I said softly. “Just moved in yesterday.”
“Such a lovely area,” she replied, her gaze returning to the doorframe. “Quiet. Clean. Very…orderly.”
Jack crossed his arms. “We’re only here for work. Shouldn’t be any problem.”
“Oh, I’m sure!” She said, her voice a touch too bright. “I just wanted to say welcome. Just one quick thing…”
I felt it coming. The transition from cookies to complaints.
