Off limits neighbor

Klara

The car door slams closed behind me, and I’m left staring in disbelief, standing in the middle of the cul-de-sac. No wonder I questioned myself the entire drive about whether or not I actually wanted to do this.

The houses in front of me are…run down, to say the least. I didn’t remember it this way. In my memories, ours hadn’t been the nicest house, or even in the nicest neighborhood, but it was average. What I’m looking at right now is the kind of place that you’d quickly drive past. The kind of place that you quietly ignore and warn your kids to avoid.

Has it always been this way? I’m honestly not sure. But there’s definitely a part of me that realizes that there’s no way a cul-de-sac can degrade this much over five years. That I was definitely blind to the truth of it when I moved away.

The day I turned eighteen I moved out and never even thought about coming back. Nothing was more important than getting the hell out of Reject’s Corner. That’s what this place was called by everyone. But this is so much worse than I remember.

Slowly, I turn in a circle and take everything in. All five houses. My parents’ house definitely seems to be in the worst shape, and I understand why the city has given them an ultimatum to fix it or else they’ll condemn it. I mean, my parents haven’t even lived in this house for a few years, that should have tipped me off that things were pretty bad. There aren’t many signs of life from the other houses, a big difference from my childhood when we’d all ride our bikes around and play ball in the street. Why do they want to fix up this place? Why not just let the city raze it, or just sell it? Thank goodness that everything I need to repair the place has already been ordered, otherwise the task in front of me would be impossible. Hell, I haven’t even looked inside yet and already I doubt I have the skills and the time to save my parents’ house.

And then there are the other houses…

Dad, looking for an investment to fund his and Mom’s retirement, bought the neighboring houses for a steal, hoping to turn this shabby cul-de-sac into some sort of shabby chic cul-de-sac getaway. As if.

I actually made a promise never to come back here, to the dusty little town of Affliction Creek, a few hours away from Austin. There are beautiful parts of it—including the depressingly named creek itself. But this neighborhood certainly isn’t one of the beautiful parts.

And the town knows it.

Over the past couple of years they’ve been trying to change their image and capitalize on its strange name in order to turn it into a tourist destination. And that’s why I’m here. My parents called me, desperate. The city is moving forward with a fancy consultant to change Affliction Creek, and my parents are in no shape to work on the houses themselves. Dad’s just recovering from a hip replacement and Mom’s recovering from another round of chemo. The deadline for this little project of theirs is looming, and they can’t get it done without me.

I sigh and rub my temples, glad that there’s no one here to see me. An audience would make cursing loudly into the air and stomping my feet a little awkward.

Looking around one more time, I try to comprehend the true size of what I agreed to. In my head, when I said I’d come and polish up the houses on this cul-de-sac to create a little vacation community, I was thinking that I’d be taking some trips to Pier One, doing some painting, and in general, doing my interior design thing.

That’s…not what’s happening here. These houses are falling apart. Probably plumbing and electric, too. I’m in way over my fucking head. Dad better have a plan for some contractors to help because I don’t think this can get done otherwise. Based on the budget he’s trying to stick to, I don’t feel confident.

I grab my suitcases and pull them toward my childhood home. Even without Dad’s injury, how was he planning to get this done? It’s a hell of a lot to fit in two weeks. God, I’m fucked.

Dropping the bags on the porch momentarily, I head around the house to grab the spare key, hidden under a conspicuous fake rock. Back here, I see a mess of cables that are draped over the neighboring fences as well.

Are those power lines?

Dread seeps through me. Are you fucking kidding me? Please, tell me that those aren’t connected to this house. Or any of the houses. It’s a total coincidence. Yeah. Absolutely.

I try to convince myself as I head back to the front door.

The wood of the porch is rotting, and I feel it give under my feet as I step toward the door. I don’t dare put my bags down again because I have a feeling one wrong step would break through these boards and I’d rather reinforce the floor than rebuild the entire porch.

It’s fucking hot this afternoon. Juggling two suitcases and my purse plus the keys is an act that’s fit for the circus. A bad one, anyway. There’s a reason that I didn’t run away and join it. I’m much better when I’m handling one thing at a time.

I finally get the door unlocked and shove it open with my hip. Only my skirt gets caught on the doorknob as I do, and the old door pulls my skirt down over my hips, exposing my thong and pulling the elastic away from my waist. Perfect. Another reason I’m glad there’s no one living in this neighborhood anymore.

At least the floor doesn’t sag when I put my bags to the side.

People always say they want to be interior designers because it looks glamorous. Perfectly dressed women with freshly coiffed hair floating through exquisite, brightly lit houses explaining why they’ve chosen to use shiplap on the accent wall.

Yeah. If any prospective design clients could see me right now, they would run in the opposite fucking direction. I manage to get my skirt off the door handle, and something catches my eye. A scurrying in the hall, and I scream, heart jumping into my throat until I see that it’s a cat.

“Holy shit.” I tell the black and white stray. “You scared me.”

A cat? Living in here? I sniff the air. It doesn’t smell like a cat’s been living here, so that’s good. I just have to find how it’s coming in and out and patch that up. Thankfully the cat doesn’t look too scraggly. It might not even be a stray. “Okay,” I tell it. “This is going to be my house for a little bit. So, you have to go, okay?”

It doesn’t move as I creep down the hall toward it, it just stares at me with big green eyes. Okay. This is fine. It could be worse. There could have been a person living in here. Or a rabid dog. A cat is fine, and it seems friendly.

Flicking its tail back and forth, he watches me, and it’s only when I reach down to pick him up that he darts away toward the open front door. Perfect!

Wait, no. It dives for my luggage, hiding behind it like this is some sort of game. “Okay, you’re so close, just go out the door.”

It curls into a pouncing stance and I see it wiggle just before I make it back to the door, and then it pounces past me. I stretch for it as it makes it to the stairs, just out of reach, stumble, and go to my knees.

The cat’s launch knocks my suitcase off balance, its handle pinning the bottom of my maxi skirt to the ground, dragging the hem low enough for me step on it and trip. My skirt is pulled down around my ankles.

I press my forehead into the cool wood of the staircase and groan. “This can’t be happening to me.”

A throat clears behind me, and I whip around to find a man in the doorway. “I’m guessing this is a bad time.”

Wait a fucking second. That’s not just any man, that’s Reynard Mast. Holy fuck, the last five years have done the opposite to him that they did to this neighborhood. He was the hottest thing walking when I lived here, and the Texas heat has nothing on him. He was my biggest crush when I was in high school. Five years older. A rebel and the bad boy of Reject’s Corner. He was the one I imagined at night, when I first learned about pleasure, in bed in the dark, in this very house.

Hell, I still imagine him sometimes.

Rey always seemed too worldly and too out of reach. Too mature to be into a nerdy, goofy, weirdo like me. He’s the last person that I expected to see on this trip to Affliction Creek.

But here he is, standing in the doorway, staring at me laid out in a thong that’s more air than fabric.

This trip is off to a great start.

Reynard

Holy fuck.

I’m standing completely still, in shock. Because this is not what I expected when I woke up this morning. The scene in front of me would be better suited to a Saturday morning cartoon than real life. Luggage everywhere, the main character splayed on the floor trying to catch a cat that’s now standing victoriously at the top of the stairs. The only thing that doesn’t fit is the fact that this woman is kind of half-naked.