When I walk over to the hedge to give it a closer inspection, something in the recess of my mind reminds me that boxwood is resilient and can be shaped into anything. If so, I’ll show Austin. I’ll cut a hole in the middle of this sucker and make a window. Then my shiny butt will be framed when I moon him.
“Bet you’d like to see that with your binoculars, wouldn’t you, Mr. Silence of the Lambs?” I growl to myself.
I’m still muttering obscenities when something snuffling my feet makes me jump in the air. When I gain composure, I look down to find one really cute German shepherd staring back up at me.
“You’re back, huh?” I lean down and scratch her between the ears. A jangle-ing sound pulls my attention. “You’ve got a collar on today.”
Good. Maybe I can do at least one good deed and get this dog back to its owner, or at least keep it from coming here so much. Whipping my phone out of my back pocket, I pause my playlist before tapping the numbers into my phone.
It rings a few times before sending me to voicemail. Keeping my eye on the dog, whose name is Harley according to the tag, I leave a message with my contact details.
“Here’s hoping,” I say to no one in particular as I hang up. As I do, I watch Harley slowly lower herself to her belly, staring across the field directly at Austin’s.
I follow her gaze; if you ignore the hedge that’s practically screaming, “You’re not welcome here,” it’s actually kind of picturesque. Through the leafy barricade, I catch a glimpse of the pond, which is quite charming—if you’re into that whole “rustic serenity” thing. It’s not exactly the Grand Canal, but it’s doing a decent job of looking serene, with its occasional ripple and a few ducks that probably have grander ambitions.
Austin’s house is framed by this pastoral scene like it’s trying to be the poster child forCountry Living. I suppose if you squint and ignore the fact that the hedge is having a personal vendetta against my right to a clear view, it’s actually quite lovely. It’s the kind of scene that makes you want to grab a blanket, a cup of tea, and contemplate life’s mysteries—or at least try to figure out how I ended up with such an entertaining neighbor. Oh, the absurdity of it all.
A chill snakes its way down my spine, a gentle reminder that it’s fall and tonight could be a cold one. I’m blissfully unaware of the weather patterns here, being from Southern California. I guess to me everywhere is cold until I get used to it.
I make my way back in, Harley hot on my heels. Opening the door to the kitchen, I’m shocked when I’m hit by a wall of frigid air rolling out to greet me.
“What is happening? That’s cold!” I exclaim as I sprint over to the thermostat. I thought I’d hit the wrong button, choosing the air-conditioning option and not heat, but no. It’s set on heat. The thermostat says it’s seventy-eight degrees.
“Liar.” I turn the dial up and put my hand to one of the vents in the living room. Yep. Freezing cold air.
Acting fast, because I know I need to fix this now, I pull out my phone again and do a quick search online to find a local heating specialist I can hopefully coerce into coming out today.
The workman before me looks like he’s seen more sunrises than I can count. His face is etched with deep lines, like a comfy and worn leather sofa, each one a testament to years of hard labor or time spent in the sun. His hands are rough, calloused, and marked with scars, evidence of a lifetime spent building, fixing, and toiling. A few strands of silver are threaded through his thick, dark hair, and his eyes still hold a sharp, assessing glint.
“Yep, exactly as I thought,” he says as he scribbles on a notepad. “The unit is going to need to be replaced.”
“Noooo,” I moan. The lurch in my stomach almost pulls me to my knees. “Replaced?”
“That thing is old,” he continues, nodding sympathetically. “It’s practically a fossil. I’m surprised it’s still running at all.”
“Great,” I say, trying to mask my panic with sarcasm. “So, what’s the damage? Do I need to start selling off family heirlooms, or should I just empty my savings account now?”
The repairman chuckles. “Well, it’s not quite that bad. But you’re definitely looking at a decent chunk of change to get a new unit.”
“Perfect. Just what I needed,” I mutter. “Another thing to add to my ever-growing list of ‘Things I’d Rather Not Deal With Today.’”
He gives me a sympathetic smile. “I know it’s a hassle. But a new unit will be more efficient and save you money in the long run.”
“Yeah, assuming I don’t have to live on ramen noodles to pay for it,” I reply, shaking my head. “Well, I guess I’ll be shopping for an HVAC unit instead of groceries this week.”
“Let me know if you need any recommendations,” he says, gathering his tools. “I promise it’ll be worth it.”
I should sit and let this sink in, but hearing you need to replace a whole heating and cooling unit in your home right before winter does not sound appealing. Nor does it sound inexpensive.
“Out of curiosity, do you know how much they cost?”
He shrugs. “Last one I worked on ran close to eight.”
“Eight?” Fingers crossed, I smile his way. “Like eight hundred?”
“That’s a stretch,” he says. “I wish. More like eight thousand.”
I feel ill. It’s not like I can call my landlord to come fix this. Iamthe landlord.
