Won't You Be My Neighbor?

by Vanessa Gray Bartal

  “Psst.”

  He was almost at her house when he heard the whisper. He stopped short and looked around.

  “Psst,” Blair whispered. “Over here.”

  She was standing at her kitchen window looking down on him. He wandered over and looked up. “What are you doing?” she asked, still whispering.

  “What are you doing?” he countered. He didn’t want to tell her he was coming to check on her.

  “I had some friends over for dinner. Are they still there?”

  He nodded.

  “How’s it going?”

  “They look cozy,” he said. He wasn’t sure how she would take the information, but he didn’t want to lie.

  She smiled. “Good. I wish I could watch, but it would be too obvious to stare out the picture window.”

  “You want to spy on them?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “So come out.” He held out his hands to her.

  “Through the window?”

  “No, through the bricks. Don’t tell me you haven’t learned how to transport through mortar yet. Of course through the window. That’s what this means.” He waved his upraised hands to show her the signal for “I’ll catch you.”

  “That’s a little undignified, isn’t it?”

  “You did it before,” he reminded her.

  “That was an emergency,” she said. “And it was the middle of the night. No one was watching.”

  “I’m the only one watching,” he said. “Are you coming or not?”

  “I suppose. Could you close your eyes?”

  “Only if you want me to drop you,” he said.

  She opened the screen and stuck her head out, leaning far over the sill. He put his hands on her waist and tugged her through the tight opening.

  “I feel suspiciously like a sausage right now,” she said.

  “Don’t make me laugh,” he said. “You’re heavier than you look.”

  “Thanks for that,” she said. He set her down. She smoothed her hair and clothes before sneaking to the corner of the house to take a peek. “I wish I could hear what they’re saying.”

  “Why do you need to hear when it’s so obvious?” Sully said. He was close behind her, peering over her head.

  “What do you mean? Can you read lips?”

  “No, I can read their body language.”

  She turned suddenly and bumped into him. He put out a hand to right her. “Really? What are they saying?”

  “They’re saying they’re interested and they each think the other is pretty.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Proximity, for one thing. People who don’t like each other don’t normally stand so close together.” He noticed that his proximity to Blair was pretty close, but they were sneaking around; that didn’t count. “Then there’s all the smiling she’s doing. And the hair thing.”

  “The hair thing,” she interrupted. “What’s that?”

  “She keeps touching her hair.” He reached out to demonstrate by tucking her hair behind her ear. “And he’s flexed his muscles a half dozen times, a clear invitation to reach out and touch them.”

  Blair pressed her hand over her mouth to stifle her laugh. “Is his mustache twitching?”

  “What? I have no idea. Why is that important?”

  “Because I think it works independently from the rest of his body.”

  Now it was his turn to try and stifle a laugh. He moved closer in case they turned to see where the noise was coming from.

  “How do you know all this?” she asked.

  “Years of experience,” he said. “I’m thirty five, Miss P. Just because I don’t date now doesn’t mean I never have.” He shifted so he was leaning on the bricks. “Let me ask you something. How come you fixed up the guy you’re dating with another woman?”

  “We had one quasi date. I don’t think that counts as dating. And Susan is a nice woman who needs someone stable in her life. They seemed like a good fit.”

  “Are you one of those masochistic women who is always fixing up the men she likes with someone else?” he asked.

  “No. I wasn’t interested in Tim. Let me ask you something; are you going to clean your gutters anytime soon?”

  “If I say no, are you going to try? Because I don’t think you could survive another tumble off the ladder.”

  “I met a boy today who needs some work doing odd jobs. I have a couple little things for him to do. I thought I could pay for him to do your gutters while he’s here.”

  “You don’t have to pay him to clean my gutters,” Sully said.

  “They’re overflowing and gross,” she said. “They distress me.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I meant that I can pay him to clean my gutters. Tell me when he’s coming, and I’ll have the money ready.” He tipped his head to the side so it was resting on the bricks, too. “Tell me something else, Miss P. Why is it I went for so long without seeing a trace of you and now suddenly you’re the Mother Theresa of the neighborhood—visiting elderly shut-ins, hiring teenagers in need, fixing up lonely singles. What gives?”

  For some reason, she didn’t want to tell him about Tristan and her therapy. “This old dog is learning new tricks, Surly,” she said instead.

  “You’re neither old nor a dog,” he said.

  Two cars started. Sully and Blair waited until they drove away before peeking to make sure the coast was clear. “I should go inside and finish my dishes,” Blair said. She took a step toward the front porch before stopping and turning toward Sully again. “I just remembered that I locked the door behind them. I don’t suppose you could give me a boost.” She pointed toward the window.

  “Isn’t that a little undignified?” Sully asked.

  “Do you tease everyone this much?” Blair asked.

  Sully shook his head. “I don’t talk to anyone this much. It may surprise you to know that people think I’m grumpy.”

  “That is shocking information,” Blair said, then didn’t speak for a few minutes as Sully hoisted her through her window. When she was safely inside, she turned and poked her index finger outside. “Just a minute.” She disappeared again and returned a minute later with a dish of peach cobbler. “This is only because I had leftovers and not because I’m proposing marriage,” she said as she handed it through the window.

  He stared at the cobbler, smiling. “If the cobbler is as good as it looks, then I might be the one proposing. See you later, Miss P.”

  “See you,” she said. She shook her head in disapproval as he stuck his finger in the cobbler and licked it, then she closed the window and resumed washing her dishes.

  Chapter 9

  Blair’s next session with Tristan was her best yet. He was so happy that she had invited friends for dinner, arranged a standing lunch date with Susan, invited Tanya for a visit, and hired Tyler to work for her, that he couldn’t stop beaming. “You’re doing amazing work here, Blair,” he said at least three times. He didn’t say so, but Blair had the feeling she was his star patient. Her progress made him feel good about himself as a therapist, and that in turn made her feel good. Theirs was a win-win relationship.

  As much as she hadn’t enjoyed kissing Tim, and even though she had eschewed kissing ever again, she couldn’t seem to stop picturing kissing Tristan. Her crush on him was getting worse instead of better. He was perfect. Even his voice was perfect—soothing and melodious. She could listen to him talk all the time and never grow weary. He was intelligent and well read, if the books on his shelf were any indication. Of course just because they were on his shelf didn’t mean he had read them, but Blair had the feeling that he had. Occasionally he quoted literature in the midst of their conversations. He was handsome without being too pretty or too rugged. His manners and dress were impeccable. Blair couldn’t find a defect, and she couldn’t stop dreaming about him. She was so enamored that she almost confessed her crush to Susan and asked her advice, but it turned out that Susan was flush with her own news and Blair couldn
’t get in a word.

  Susan and Tim had two dates in the few days since Blair introduced them. They were hitting it off and well on their way to happily ever after. She listened with a smile as Susan gushed, but there was one thing she couldn’t quite get over.

  “The mustache really doesn’t bother you?” Blair asked. She glanced around the crowded deli to make sure the mustache wasn’t there, lurking.

  “Are you kidding?” Susan replied. “I think it’s sexy. It’s like dating Magnum P.I. I always had a huge crush on him when I was a kid.” She took a forkful of salad and waited to speak again until she chewed and swallowed. “Who did you have a crush on?”

  “Mr. Rogers,” Blair answered without thinking. Susan spewed what was left of her salad and coughed a few times until she took a drink of water.

  “Seriously?” she said when she could talk.

  Blair nodded. “My favorite part was when he changed his shoes and hung up his sweater. A man with good organizational skills—now that’s sexy.”

  Susan laughed again and shook her head. “Oh, Blair. You’re so funny.”

  Blair thought it wasn’t a good time to tell her she hadn’t been joking. She had cried buckets when Mr. Rogers died, the only time she ever cried over a celebrity.

  Two days later, Darlene, the woman who ran the dog rescue, called Blair.

  “I’m home from vacation. Is now a good time for you to visit the dogs?”

  “I suppose,” Blair said without much enthusiasm. She had hoped the interim would create feelings of longing for a dog, but that hadn’t happened. Tristan thought she should get a pet, though, and he had been right so far. She made plans to visit the dogs that night. She grabbed her keys, opened her door, and ran smack into Sully’s chest.

  “Where’s the fire?” he asked. Then he poked his head around her and looked inside her house. “There’s not actually a fire, is there? Is your alarm going off again?”

  “No, I’m just going out,” she said.

  “Oh, I brought your bowl. Thanks for the cobbler; it was great. It tasted even better when I knew it didn’t come with a hidden agenda.” He passed over her bowl and followed her inside as she carried it to the kitchen.

  Blair suffered a rare impulse and decided to go with it. “I’m going to look at dogs. Want to go with me?”

  “Dogs,” he repeated.

  She nodded. “They’re short furry creatures with four legs. Sometimes they bark. You may have seen one walking on a leash in front of your house.”

  “I believe I’ve seen one once or twice. I didn’t take you for a dog person.”

  “Why not?” she asked.

  He pointed to her carpet. “People who have matching vacuum lines don’t generally care for dog fur,” he said.

  “Not all dogs shed,” she said. She scuffed her toe over the carpet to mess up one of the vacuum lines, thought better of it, and used her foot to make the line straight again.

  “They chew. They have accidents in the house. They bark. They whine.”

  Even though he was saying everything she had already thought, she didn’t want to hear it from him. “I can be a dog person,” she said. “There’s something fundamentally wrong with someone who doesn’t like dogs.”

  “No, there isn’t,” he said.

  “Let me guess—you don’t like dogs,” she said.

  “I happen to love dogs. I always had a dog growing up.”

  “Why don’t you have a dog now?”

  He shrugged. “Med school was crazy. I’m only now starting to work regular hours. I haven’t given it much thought.”

  “So are you coming with me to look at dogs or not?” She put her hands on her hips and glared up at him.

  “Are you going to be this touchy all night?” he asked.

  “I’m thinking about it.”

  “Good, I’m in. Let’s go, I’ll drive.” He took her arm and herded her toward the door again.

  “I hate that,” she said, shaking free once they were on the porch.

  “Why do you think I do it?” he asked. He closed her door and checked the lock.

  “You’re perverse,” she said.

  “I’m not a pervert,” he said.

  “That’s not what I said; they don’t mean the same thing. Perverse means…” she broke off when she realized he was teasing her. “You make me want to break things.”

  He smiled down at her. “I know.” He looked delighted.

  Blair threw up her hands in frustration. “I give up trying to figure you out.”

  “Finally,” he said. He opened the passenger door of his car and looked at her when she made no move to get in.

  “I was waiting for you to shove me like usual,” she said.

  “I’ve never shoved a lady in my life,” he said. Then he put his hand on her head and shoved her into the car. “So what kind of dogs are we looking at?”

  “All kinds,” Blair said. She explained about Darlene and the rescue.

  “Rescued dogs, that’s good.”

  “So glad you approve,” she said. She pulled down the visor to check her face in his mirror. Sully watched out of the corner of his eye.

  “Are you wearing makeup?” he asked.

  She closed the mirror and looked at him. “That’s a weird question.”

  “Is the answer classified?”

  “Yes, I’m wearing makeup,” she said, exasperated already and the conversation had barely begun. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Do you wear makeup to sleep?”

  “Of course not. That’s not healthy for your skin. Why are you asking me such weird questions?”

  “I’m trying to figure out how you look the same during the day as you do in the middle of the night. That’s why I thought you were hitting on me when you showed up at my house, because I thought you had just put on makeup and fixed your hair.” Not to mention the pretty white nightie. He wasn’t going to ask her about that, though. He already had trouble not thinking about it.

  Blair laughed. “You really thought I got dressed up for a middle-of-the-night rendezvous? Who does that?”

  He quirked an eyebrow in her direction.

  “Oh, right, Sharon. Sorry. Anyway, I have no idea why you thought I looked the same as always. Maybe because you hadn’t seen me very much.”

  Sully had a different theory; he thought it was because she was naturally pretty and didn’t need makeup. He didn’t say that, though. Even though she wasn’t great at reading signals, she couldn’t help but interpret the remark as flirtatious. He liked his friendship with her as it was and had no desire to change it to something more. So he stayed quiet and shrugged one shoulder, not giving away the fact that he was secretly reminiscing about their midnight encounter. Did she wear that gown every night to bed? He glanced at her.

  They were stopped at a red light. Sully’s traitorous imagination redressed her in the white nightie.

  “What?” she snapped. She sounded defensive and suspicious. The car behind them honked and Sully snapped to attention.

  “Nothing,” Sully said. He turned up the air conditioner and pointed a vent at his face. How terribly inconvenient to be a man sometimes. Just when he began to congratulate himself on maturing to the point where he wasn’t ruled by his hormones, he was suddenly ruled by his hormones again. And the target was Miss Prim. Great.

  It was a relief to Sully when they arrived at the dog place and he could get out of the car. Miss Prim smelled like oranges and the ocean. From there his thoughts led to beaches and bathing suits, and other places it shouldn’t be. “Let’s hope this goes quickly,” he muttered.

  “You didn’t have to come,” Blair said.

  “I wanted to come,” he snapped.

  “You are so odd,” she whispered as she reached out to knock on the door.

  “You have no idea,” he replied. “Let’s just get this over with.” The sooner he got her out of his mind, car, and nostrils, the better. Darlene had no such time schedule, however. She took her time t
alking to Blair, trying to learn her personality and preferences. Either Blair wasn’t self-aware, or she was purposely trying to make herself sound less uptight than she actually was. He almost snorted when he heard her tell Darlene that she “preferred things to be neat but wasn’t a stickler about it.”

  “I think I have just the dog for you,” Darlene said. She disappeared. Sully crossed his arms and shook his head at Blair.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I didn’t say a word,” he said. The proceedings were really none of his business, but he was interested to see the outcome, nonetheless. Darlene reappeared a minute later with a medium-sized golden retriever mix. Blair turned to look at it, froze, and plastered a smile on her face.

  “He’s very pretty,” she said.

  “He’s a sweetheart,” Darlene said. “Never met a stranger. He sheds, but the hair comes off in big clumps that are easy to vacuum.” She ran her hand over the dog a few times, pulled off a large clump of fur, and held it out for Blair’s inspection.

  “Oh,” Blair said.

  “Why don’t you kneel down and say hello,” Sully suggested when Blair remained staring at the dog.

  “Oh,” she repeated. Stiffly, she knelt and squared off with the dog. “Hello,” she said.

  The dog bounded forward and covered her face with sloppy kisses. The expression she sent Sully was of someone who had just been dropped into the deep end of the ocean without knowing how to swim. He reached forward, grasped her hand, and pulled her up, inserting himself between her and the dog.

  “Hey, fella,” he said. The dog wasn’t picky about whom he adored because he forgot Blair and lavished all his attention on Sully. Unlike Blair, Sully reciprocated. “Sit,” Sully tried. The dog sat.

  “He’s very obedient,” Darlene inserted. “He’s well behaved, good with kids, friendly, and even tempered.”

  Sully could see that for himself. The dog was affectionate, but not overly boisterous.

  “He needs a fair amount of space to run around or daily walks,” Darlene added. “I wouldn’t recommend him for apartment dwellers.”

  “I have a house,” Sully heard himself saying. His backyard was fenced. At the time he made the purchase, he had noted the fence in case he ever decided to get a dog. Then he became busy with work. Life went by, and he pushed dog ownership to the back burner. Until today. “I’ll take him.”