Page 7 of Resisting the Grump

Usually when I move to a new building, someone brings me a pie to welcome me to the neighborhood. So imagine my surprise when I found your bullshit rules shoved under my door. I'm impressed you took the time to write them out so neatly, as if your penmanship might keep me from seeing through the fact that not only are these rules totally made up, but you're operating outside your jurisdiction. Don't worry, though. I like naughty girls. I'm actually inviting some over tonight. Figured an orgy would be the best way to break in my new bed. You're welcome to stop by if your chastity belt isn't wound too tight. It's BYOB and the party starts at 10:30.

If, however, you're staying in tonight to write nasty letters to other neighbors and innocents who haven't even had a chance to offend you yet, good luck with that.

I sincerely hope they're more appreciative of your childish nonsense than I am.

Your ungrateful new neighbor with the big, loud jackhammer,

Number Seven

I stared at the note when I was done, wondering if I should sign my name. Then again, I was pretty sure I didn't want to be on a first-name basis with the insufferable bitch, so maybe it would be better to leave it at orgy and hammering jokes and hope she got the message that I wouldn't be bossed around by a spiteful animal hater.

Then I got online and ordered the bookcase I'd been meaning to buy because I was suddenly in the mood for a little DIY.

F I V E

- Avery -

If my mouth weren't so full of chocolatey, caramelly goodness, I would've been swearing like a truck driver. The brownies I’d made under Grace’s watchful eye were so decadent they almost made up for the sex I wasn’t having.

"What do you think?" Grace asked, her green eyes wide with hope.

"I think I'll probably find a husband if I start serving people brownies that taste that good."

She laughed. "I'd settle for a silver star, but if you reel in a man, I'll be doubly impressed."

I reached for the carton of milk between us and topped up my glass before relaxing back into my seat across from her. Apart from the café chairs we were sitting in, the rest had been flipped up on their respective tables since closing time. "Thanks for staying late to help me get this right," I said. "I wouldn't feel right about repping the brownies if I didn't know how to make them."

"I appreciate that," she said. "And I hate to say it, but I think yours came out even better than mine."

I squinted at her. "Really? On my third try? After you've made them two hundred times? Seems pretty unlikely, but I appreciate the positive reinforcement."

"I mean it," she said, using a fork to free another bite from the pan between us. "You have a knack for doing the caramel layering, and that’s the most finicky part."

"Thanks." It seemed silly to be as proud as I was, least of all because Grace had been supervising my brownie making attempts for a week, but I really needed a win today. My new neighbor, who seemed to be a part-time asshole and full-time comedian was on a literal drumroll last night. Not that I wasn't a Led Zeppelin fan, but Tuesday night after 9pm wasn't the time to be breaking levees.

“You okay?” Grace asked, dipping her head to meet my eye as if she sensed something was wrong.

"Yeah. I’m just a little tired.”

“Something on your mind?”

“Of course. My best friend’s going to Paris without me, and she’s leaving me all alone with her baby.”

Her eyes softened. “You aren’t going to be alone. Kayleigh promised she’d be around to help out, and you’ve faced far more difficult challenges than running this place for a few days.”

“I know.” Her vote of confidence meant a lot, even if I was the only person she trusted to do the job.

“Plus, I’ve already laid out the schedule and all the recipes you need. Hopefully, you won’t have to make a single decision or solve a single problem.”

I glanced at the pan between us. Another few bites, and I’d have to call this batch dinner. “It was cool of you to do that,” I said. “Especially when you have so much on your plate between the baking festival and your miserable boyfriend whisking you off to Paris.”

“Isn’t he the worst?” she asked. “I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

I smiled. “He’s the lucky one.”

She blushed and leaned back in her chair like she was as reluctant to hurry home as I was. Only difference was that the people waiting at home to drive her crazy were people she actually loved.

“It’s not just that,” I said. “My new neighbor is driving me up the walls.”

---