Page 145 of Neighbors With Benefits

“Or we can go home and forget about this,” Dante grumbled.

I gave him a pointed look.

He sighed, then raised his voice. “Sorry for calling you Voldemort, Howard.”

“It was a shitty thing to do,” Aiden added. “I regret it.”

“Voldemort is actually a really powerful wizard,” Bash explained through the door. “Like, literally the most powerful one in history. Does that make you feel better?”

“A little,” Howard said. “Thank you.”

“Apology over,” Dante said. “Let’s go home.”

“There’s one more person we owe an apology,” I said, leading them out of Howard’s yard and to the house next door.

“I spent the entire day on two planes and in three airports,” Dante said. “All I want to do is change out of these clothes and relax.”

“In a minute,” I said, marching up to the front door. I reached for the doorbell, but the door opened before I could touch it.

“Hmm. You four,” Karen said with moderate disapproval. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“We’re sorry for calling you Karen,” Dante said. “There. Now can we go home?”

“Why would you apologize for calling me by my name?” Karen asked.

We spent the next five minutes explaining to her that Karen had become a negative term for someone who doesn’t mind their own business. She couldn’t quite understand why the nameKarenhad been chosen for that, and seemed to think she was the origination of the term.

“It became famous on the internet,” I said. “The point is, we’re sorry for being bad neighbors.”

“I will graciously accept your apologies,” she announced. “Just like I have graciously accepted your choice of mailbox paint, even though it is not one of the approved colors from the Homeowners’ Association booklet.”

“And we’re done here,” Dante said, turning and walking away.

*

The four of us settled into a nice groove over the next month. The days became shorter and the temperature dropped as fall descended on Philadelphia. The trees lining our quaint little street turned gorgeous shades of orange and red.

We moved more plants into the greenhouse, some permanently and some just for the winter months. Everything was flourishing now that the greenhouse was finished. In fact, the work Dante—and Bash—had done on the structure made it hard for me to remember how dilapidated it had been when I moved in.

I was working in the greenhouse one Sunday when the door opened and Dante strode inside. I gave him a little wave and paused the podcast I was listening to.

“You’re not watching the game?” I asked.

“Fuck the game,” Dante growled, pulling on a pair of gardening gloves. “The birds are getting their asses kicked. If I don’t come out here and calm down, I might destroy the TV.”

“Good choice, then,” I said. “I’m fond of my TV.”

He grunted something and gave his attention to a Monstera Deliciosa in the corner.

I removed my headphones and walked up behind Dante. “I could help you relax.”

“I’m not in the mood,” he grumbled.

I slid my hands around his hips and hugged him from behind. “That’s too bad.”

“I just want to tend to my plants,” he said.

“You can tend to your plants,” I said, unzipping his pants and pulling them down. “Just ignore me.”

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