ONE
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I wanted to mention some themes in this story that may be triggering or uncomfortable for some readers. This story contains discussions about the death of a parent, mentions of suicide, and the death of a spouse. It's very brief, doesn't go into too much detail, but I wanted to warn ahead of time.
If that makes you uncomfortable, then go ahead and click off.
With that, enjoy Lena and Aden's story!
POV: ADEN
I quickly rap my knuckles against the door as I peer out over the unkempt lawn. I lift my brow at a garden gnome wearing a sun hat and a pink floatie around his belly, clutching a margarita with a little drink umbrella. I shift my gaze back to the door, my patience wearing thin as beads of sweat trickle down my back.
After a long moment, I bang against the door again with added force fueled by my irritation.
Finally, the door opens just a crack, enough for a sharp female voice to snap, “Holy bejesus! I just got out of the shower. Give me a damn second!”
The door slams shut with such force that the sign hanging from it, reading, “Don’t knock unless you have a warrant,” swings crookedly with the motion. I stare at the door, my brows knitting in confusion.
A few minutes later, it swings open again to reveal a slight brunette, her olive-toned skin dusted with freckles across her nose and cheeks, and her green eyes narrowing in annoyance. She’s not who I expected to see living here, but with only her car out front to go on, I had no clue who might’ve moved in next door.
Her hair drips wet, forming a small puddle at her feet. She wears an oversized T-shirt featuring the logo of an ’80s hair metal band, concealing whatever lies beneath, as the shirt nearly reaches her knees.
“What do you want?” she asks, her voice tinged with irritation. The question of whether she’s concealing shorts, underwear, or nothing at all beneath her shirt nearly distracts me from the reason I’m here.
“Your car.” I clear my throat and jab my thumb toward her rundown beater with a donut tire and enough rust to leave me guessing its original color. “It’s blocking my driveway.”
She cautiously leans out, doubt clearly visible on her face. The strong aroma of vanilla fills the air, forcing me to take a small step back.
“Where the hell is your driveway at—oh.” She pauses mid-sentence, her frown deepening as she spots the tire marks streaking through the grass beside my house, where I usually park my truck. My truck is idling in the street, but that hardly matters; traffic is rare out here. In the back seat, I glimpse my son strapped in his booster seat, his wide eyes watching us curiously.
“Let me get my keys,” she grumbles, turning away. I can’t help but glance into her house, my curiosity getting the better of me. It’s tidy enough, but the wooden floors are scratched with missing boards, her staircase looks as if it’s about one wrong step away from collapsing, and the walls show signs of the earlier owners smoking indoors for years.
She must have moved in only a couple of weeks ago; I haven’t seen her during the day, although I’ve heard her car in the middle of the night, thanks to her brake pads, which are likely past their expiration. I imagined a bitter old man or an eighteen-year-old boy living here, judging by the lawn decor and sign hanging from her door—not some twenty-something who seems like she drove in from some big city.
The brunette with a jutted-up chin soon reappears, keys in hand, and brushes past me. As she makes her way to her rusted steed, the T-shirt clings to her slight curves, and I have to tear my eyes away to reassure myself that I’m not a creep. She climbs inside, and I cringe at her engine sputtering to life. She backs up, revealing that one of her taillights is out.
Jesus.
Who is this girl, and where did she come from?
She still seems to be trying to sort things out. I remember those days—though they seem admittedly distant—reckless decisions, not giving a shit about your car’s condition, only caring that it gets you from point A to point B, and the attitude.
She has enough of that attitude to equip an entire cheer squad, that’s for sure.
Once she’s no longer blocking my driveway, she hops from her car and heads back to her house as I remain frozen on the porch.
“Thank you,” I grunt, looking down at her. She slows her pace and gives me a curious glance that begins at my boots, taking in my stained and greasy jeans and equally dirty blue mechanic shirt before moving up to my face. I almost think she’s about to say something, but then she brushes past me again, careful to avoid physical contact as if I’m the plague.
I decide to take the initiative. “What’s your name? I haven’t seen you mu—“
Slam!
The door flings shut between us, signaling an end to our conversation, and I stare at it with furrowing brows.
“I’ll go fuck myself then,” I mutter under my breath, still staring at her door. I’m not usually one to befriend my neighbors—since I haven’t had one in years. I wouldn’t even know where to begin to know how, but it would be nice to know my neighbor’s name in case I get her mail or a package on my doorstep.
Turning on my heel, I step down her creaky porch steps, nearly sending me crashing through the stairs. I know I’m not a small man, carrying myself at six feet five and two-fifty, but stairs usually don’t make me fear for my ankle’s safety.
Her property has been neglected for years and is quite an eyesore. I used to mow the lawn alongside mine, but it feels too intrusive now that she’s here. Maybe I’ll take the chance to mow it later when the scorching sun begins to set. Who knows, she might appreciate the kind gesture. Isn’t that what neighbors do?
I head to my truck and climb inside, catching my son’s bright blue eyes in the rearview mirror.
“Is that our new neighbor?” Kellin asks in his small voice. I nod.
“What was her name?”
“Probably ‘grumpy,’ since that’s what she is,” I say, giving him a funny glance in the mirror, which elicits a giggle from him. Shifting my truck into drive, I pull into my makeshift driveway of dead grass formed from my tires after years of parking on my lawn.
Pouring concrete will need to be postponed until my brother’s and my car repair shop sees better business. Although the uncertainty of the shop’s health hangs over me, I hold onto the hope that the life insurance payout wasn’t wasted when I purchased the abandoned shop and brought my brother on board with his degree in business management to help make it a successful venture. With each day, the dream feels slightly more out of reach, but I’ve invested too much to give up now.
I leap from the truck and slam the door, quickly moving to assist Kellin as he climbs down from his seat. I’ve been meaning to add a step since he’s too scared to jump down and potentially hurt his ankles, even as he grows an inch taller each week.
He wraps his arms around my shoulders as I lower him to his feet, clutching his tiny travel cup of juice from the fast-food joint we stopped at on the way home from school.
“I don’t have homework this weekend, just so you know,” he announces, grinning as he climbs up the steps, his long, blond curls brushing against his shoulders. My mom always scolds me for letting them grow so long, but every reminder of his mom—my late wife—is cherished.
“Good, that means you can help me with more chores.” This earns me a loud, dramatic groan, and I can’t help but smile as he pushes open the door. He drops his backpack, which is half his size, at the entrance and hustles to the kitchen for his favorite afternoon snack of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I quickly remove my hat, hang it on the hook, and grab his bag to hang it up, too. I can’t even be bothered to lecture him about it for the umpteenth time after the day I’ve had.
I call after him, “I’m going to mow soon, so get started on cleaning your room. “
“Can’t I do it later?” He peers around the corner, jelly smeared around his mouth as his frown grows.
“Now sounds like a better option to me. Finish your snack, then get all your Legos picked up.”
He groans again, and I ignore him as I climb the stairs to my room. I shut the door behind me and strip off my clothes, neatly tossing them into the hamper before rifling through my drawers for a worn-out T-shirt and a pair of shorts. I pull them on, along with a pair of socks well past their retirement. I slide into my dedicated lawn-mowing sneakers and head back downstairs.
Just as I descend, I hear the unmistakable sound of Legos crashing into a bin from Kellin’s open door, and I can’t help but chuckle softly at the sound. He has at least a few hundred Legos; knowing him, they’re spread across his room. He’ll be in there for an hour, at least, especially when one catches his attention and he gets sidetracked building another train station.
I make my way to the garage, and with a fist, I hit the button to open the door. As the steel lifts, I duck beneath it and step outside to see the sun dipping low on the horizon. I should wait a bit longer, but after a week cooped up in the shop, I could use some sun before the rain inevitably comes.
May has been a record high in temperature this year, and the town enjoys every minute of it. More and more people are out and about, trying hard to find something to do in a town that doesn’t offer much.
Hell, I even planned a camping trip with Kellin to Cedar Falls in a couple of weeks since this heat is going to last a bit.
Grabbing a rag from my workbench, I toss it over my shoulder for my predestined sweat and roll my mower onto the grass. I yank the starter cord a few times until the mower roars to life, and I slip into a rhythm, carving perfect lines through my yard and expertly navigating the trees and edges. Once I’ve mowed my lawn, I glance over at my neighbor’s house before tackling her yard, rounding her garden gnome with a twinge of something bordering irritation in my chest as I notice the unruly grass creeping around him. I hesitate—should I touch her private property? I’m already mowing her lawn; what harm can it do?
I reach down to grab the lawn gnome when suddenly, a voice pierces through the roar of my mower.
“Hey! Hey, you!”
I straighten and squint against the sun to see her standing on her porch, cheeks flushing pink and hands on her hips. No longer in a T-shirt or dripping wet, she’s now wearing tight black yoga pants and a bright pink sports bra, her chocolate waves cascading down her shoulders, wispy bangs framing her striking face. The fabric of her sports bra clings tightly to her chest. I swallow hard, turn off the mower, and remove my hat to wipe the sweat from my forehead before placing it back on.
“Yes?” I manage after a brief pause.
“What do you think you’re doing?” She stomps down the stairs, her movements causing her…assets…to bounce. I tear my gaze away as she approaches, mentally scolding myself; she’s young enough to be my daughter, for crying out loud.
“Just being a good neighbor. Are you new to this?” I shoot back, trying to sound casual while she looks—admittedly—adorably irritated, chin jutted up, and pink lips pressed into a pout. “You seem to be unfamiliar with neighborly chivalry. My lawn needed a mow, and I noticed yours did, too.”
“Put him back.” She points at the gnome, still blissfully grinning at the sky.
So, touching her property is a no-go. Got it. I stare down at the gnome with a frown. “I will when I’m done. I won’t leave a patch of long grass behind—things like that keep me awake at night.”
She stares at me, fire burning deep in her green eyes.
Why is she so worked up?
Or, more importantly, why do I enjoy the sight so damn much?
“Do you think I’m incapable of mowing my lawn?” She jabs a finger at my chest, and I stare down at it, smirking softly before lifting my eyes back at her.
“I never said you couldn’t. I just assumed you might not have access to a mower or something.” I shrug nonchalantly, as if it’s not an issue—which, to be honest, it isn’t.
“I don’t,” she admits, her gaze slipping down to my chest, which is heaving slightly from the strenuous work in the glaring sun. Her nostrils flare slightly, and I crook a brow, watching her eyes betray her as they take in my shoulders and arms.
“Dad!” Kellin yells from the living room window, snapping us back to reality.
The grumpy neighbor’s gaze flickers between us, curiosity contorting her face before her eyes return to mine.
“What?” I call back, still focusing on her.
“I clogged the toilet!”
I can hear the laughter bubbling in her throat. My cheeks heat up, and I briefly close my eyes before reopening them, hoping the ground will swallow me whole.
“I promise this will be the last time, alright? Just let me finish so I can sleep tonight.”
“What, a half-mowed lawn will haunt you?”
“More than you know.” I chuckle slightly. I take this opportunity to stick my hand out to her. “I’m Aden.”
She stares at my hand for a moment, her eyes guarded and teeth sinking deep into the pillow of her lip.
“Helena,” she finally says, her hand linking with mine. Her skin is so soft despite the callouses I feel along her palm; it feels like a crime in my own. “But I go by Lena.”
“Lena,” I echo, nodding. “Nice to meet you. Officially, that is.” I chuckle, remembering her slamming her door in my face not long prior.
She nods slightly, but then she focuses on everything except me. “I think your services are needed by your son.”
Right—I almost forgot.
It’s easy to lose track of everything when her emerald eyes catch the sunlight.
“I’ll get this cleaned up in no time; then I’ll be out of your hair. You can borrow my mower anytime if you’d like to do it yourself.”
“No, it’s fine. You look better—I mean, l-like you’d do a better job.” She flusters, her cheeks heating, and I stifle a chuckle, covering it with a cough. She then stumbles over her words as if over-explaining herself, “I’ve never mowed a day in my life, so I wouldn’t know where to even start. How do you even work a mower?” She presses her lips into a thin line, anxiously twisting her ring around her pointer. “You can mow it from now on. Thanks.” Her eyes refuse to meet mine, and I nod.
“Sounds good, Helena.” Her eyes rip to mine quickly, and I almost question whether I said something wrong by her shell-shocked expression. I dip my chin, stepping back before I turn on my heel and head back toward my house, glancing back just once to catch her watching me, a bead of sweat trickling between her breasts—somewhere I’d like to explore, all my morals aside.
