Rolling up her sleeves, she got to work unpacking her kitchen and putting everything in its place. Coasters on the bar counter. Oven mitts on their hooks. Trivets in the drawers. Dishes in the cabinet. Her spices in the rack that hung on her pantry door. The tall pepper mill that had belonged to her mother and still cracked pepper better than any pepper mill she’d ever encountered took position by her stove.
She eyed the ancient stove, vowing to look into upgrading it. A good oven was essential. Faith liked to cook. She had been doing it since her mom passed away and it became apparent that if she relied on her father and brothers, every day of her life would consist of frozen pizza and scrambled eggs. Badly scrambled eggs. Bone-dry and crunchy. If she wanted to eat anything better for the rest of her adolescent life, she’d concluded that she was going to have to be the one to prepare it. She’d found peace working in her mother’s kitchen. It was like she was connected to her somehow, surrounded by her pots and spices, using her recipes.
She ran a hand over her gleaming new refrigerator. Tomorrow she’d have to go to the store and buy groceries. Right now she had a few basics. Opening her refrigerator, she peered inside and assessed if she had enough ingredients to make her mother’s chocolate chip scones.
Satisfied that she did, she tightened the band of her ponytail and got started. Soon she was shaping doughy crescent scones onto a well-seasoned pan, the place smelling like the childhood of her memories. With three kids, two of whom were teenage boys that topped six feet, her mom had constantly been cooking. Setting the timer on her phone, Faith wiped her hands off on a dishtowel.
Content, she sank down on her couch and turned on the television, relieved that her cable was already up and running. She flipped channels until she landed on a comedy. She saw enough grim realities at work. When she vegged in front of the TV, she preferred lighthearted fare.
She abandoned the episode of Modern Family when the timer went off. She sprinkled the tops of the hot scones with sugar until their golden-brown crust sparkled with sugar crystals. Leaving the pan to cool, she returned to her couch.
It wasn’t very long before the sound of an engine outside drew her attention. It must be her neighbors. Sharing a driveway (not to mention a wall), she imagined she would hear them whenever they came and went.
Her Realtor hadn’t imparted any information about her neighbor the few times Faith had looked at the house. Curious, she stood and peered out the peephole, glimpsing a body moving to the front door before disappearing out of sight. In that split second she identified it was a male body. A very tall male body. She marked his height, the curve of a well-muscled shoulder covered by a black T-shirt and a gold-skinned arm roped with sinew. His dark hair was on the long side, obscuring his face. There wasn’t enough time to see his features, and she felt an uncalled stab of disappointment.
She heard the key in the lock. She listened as he entered the other side of the duplex. The door thudded shut. For a moment, she absorbed the fact that only a wall separated them. Only a wall divided her from a stranger. But he was her neighbor. He wouldn’t be a stranger for long. Not once they met.
She stood there for some moments, thinking, debating how she should go about introducing herself.
Reaching a decision, she moved back into the kitchen and grabbed a plate. She carefully chose the best four scones and placed them on it. Without bothering to don her shoes, she walked outside and strode along the duplex’s shared porch, stopping in front of her neighbor’s door. She knocked twice. Nothing.
She waited several moments and then knocked again. Louder. Maybe he was at the back of the house and didn’t hear her.
Knocked again. Nothing. Staring at the peephole, she wondered if maybe he was in the shower. Several seconds ticked pass and she lifted her hand to knock yet again.
The sound of a car pulling into their driveway had her turning around. A beat-up Honda parked behind her car, blocking her in. She watched as a bombshell of a redhead climbed out of the car. She was wearing ripped-up jeans so tight they were painted on. A yellow Rainbow Brite graphic tee so thin you could see the dark leopard-print bra underneath it completed the ensemble.
She slipped her keys into her back pocket as she walked up the drive, her thick-lashed eyes landing on Faith.
“Hey,” she greeted.
“Hi,” she returned, wondering if she should say anything about the woman’s car blocking hers, but then decided against it. Faith wasn’t going anywhere tonight.
“What you got there?” Redhead nodded at the plate in her hands.
Faith glanced down, a little flustered in face of this confidant, sexy female. “Uh, scones,” she answered.
“Scones?” she echoed like she had never heard the word.
“Chocolate chip,” she added.
“Damn.” The girl bent at the waist to breathe them in. “Sounds good. These for North? You here to see him?”
“North?” Was that her neighbor’s name?
“Yeah. North Callaghan.”