Over the Fence (3 page)

“Are you all right?”

I started at hearing her caring voice come over the fence. Looking down at my watch, I was surprised to see how long I’d been asleep.

I glanced toward the sound of her voice, scrubbing my face hard.

“Yeah, I’m good. Thanks.”

“You shouted out in your sleep.”

“How do you know I was sleeping?”

“Um, you snore.”

“I do not.”

“Okay then, I have x-ray vision and could see you through the fence.” She huffed. “You still shouted.”

I grinned at the huffing. But I frowned at her next statement.

“You sounded frightened.” I was surprised to hear a twinge of worry in her voice. I needed to nip that in the bud right now.

“I had a nightmare. I dreamed I was out of beer,” I said flatly.

“Oh,” was her dubious response.

“Hate when that happens.” I laughed without humor, because I really did.

I inhaled deeply and immediately began salivating.

“What are you cooking?”

“Dinner.” Now her tone was flat.

Ah. She didn’t like my flippant answers. I went inside and got a fresh beer. Going back outside, I cracked the top and took a swallow.

“Obviously, it
was
only a dream,” she observed dryly. “You still have beer.”

Snickering, I took another swallow. “Yep.”

I could hear her moving around; the sound of boxes being refolded. I approached the fence.

“Still unpacking?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Almost done?”

“Almost.”

I ran a hand through my hair in vexation. I wasn’t going to tell her what I’d been dreaming about. Yet, I didn’t like the one-word answers either. I searched for something to say.

“The dessert slice was delicious last night. Thank you. It’s always been a favorite of mine. It tasted different than usual. Better.”

“I add toffee.”

“Well, that explains it. It was incredible.”

I heard the barbeque lid open and smelled the appetizing aroma as she moved the food around on the grill. The scent almost had me on my knees.

“I’m glad you liked it.” Her soft voice was warmer now.

“I did. Very much. It was kind of you to share.”

“That’s what neighbors are for, right?”

I smirked. I had nothing to share with her. I glanced down at the bottle in my hand.

“You want a beer?”

She laughed, the sound sweet. “No thanks, not big on beer.”

“What do you like?”

“Red wine sometimes, but usually water—and coffee.”

I nodded in agreement, even though she couldn’t see me. “I’m addicted to the stuff.”

“Beer? Or coffee?” She teased.

I grinned. “A little of both.”

“Well, somehow I didn’t think it was the water.”

I chuckled at her wit.

“Do you use a lawnmower or only a weed whacker to cut your grass?”

I snickered at the randomness of the question. “Pardon me?”

“I was trying to decide if I should buy a small lawn mower or if I would even need it. Once I add some flower boxes, there won’t be much of a lawn to cut. Maybe a weed whacker, you know?”

I looked around at my bedraggled excuse for a lawn. Flower boxes?

“Or maybe one of those small, manual push ones? What do you think?” she mused, moving around. I assumed she was inspecting her yard—checking out its landscaping potential. I grimaced, wondering what she would think of my barren space.

“I don’t really have much grass,” I admitted.

“Oh, you have a garden?”

“Um, no.” I drew in a deep breath. “I have weeds. And dirt.”

“Oh.”

Why the fuck did that one word sound so sad?

“I keep it simple,” I offered lamely. I moved away to sit back down, suddenly feeling too tired to stand anymore.

“Of course.”

I rested my head back on the chair, listening to her movements. Papers rustled, boxes were folded, food was checked, but she said nothing. I did hear her low humming again. A distinct thump had me turn my head toward the fence, but I saw nothing. I shrugged, drained my bottle, standing up to head inside and finish off the cold chicken. Now I smelled her dinner, I was starving.

“I’m going in now. Good night. Your dinner is . . . up there.”

I turned, looking back in the direction of her voice and I saw it. A plate was perched on the top of the wide top rail of our fence, waiting for me.

“Hey, wait!” I yelled, picking up my chair, and heading to the fence. Reaching up, I grabbed the covered plate, wondering how she managed to get it up there.

“Enjoy your dinner, neighbor.” I knew from the distant sound of her voice, she was already at her door.

“Nathan!” I blurted out.

“I’m sorry?”

“My name is Nathan.”

“Nice to meet you, Nathan. Enjoy your dinner and have a nice evening.”

“No, wait! You can’t go in and not tell me your name!” I pleaded.

There was a tiny sigh. “Kourtney. My name is Kourtney—spelled with a K.”

A grin tugged at my lips. Even her name was soft.

“Well, nice to meet you, Kourtney, spelled with a K. Whatever this meal is, I know it’ll be great.”

Only the click of the door greeted me.

Shaking my head, I took my plate and headed to the table. My eyes almost rolled backward when I lifted the cover and saw the steak and vegetables—and
holy shit
, I was sure those were
real
mashed potatoes; not the kind that came frozen with a Hungry-Man dinner. She even added an actual knife and fork. I didn’t hesitate to begin devouring the meal, moaning as the first bite exploded on my taste buds.

I thought about our conversation as I ate. She was obviously intelligent, caring, and also had a droll sense of humor. I liked that—and man, could she cook.

I thought about my goals for the night: dinner, dessert and her name.

Smirking, I swallowed the last of the feast she had left me.

Two out of three ain’t bad.

On my way home the next day, I impulsively stopped at the local garden center. Wandering around until I found what I was looking for, and with the help of one of the women working there, I picked up two pots of lilies. I remembered how much my mom loved lilies, and her saying they needed plenty of sunshine. My yard got a lot of sun, especially in the afternoon, and I was sure Kourtney’s was the same. She seemed determined to make her yard look nice, and considering how kind she’d been to me, a couple pots of flowers seemed the least I could do to be neighborly.

When I got home, I carried them out to the back and set them on the table. I hesitated as I looked over toward the fence, suddenly nervous. Would she like the gesture, or would it be too forward? Then I chuckled. She had fed dinner to a complete stranger—one she’d never even seen or met—twice. Somehow giving her a small start on her flower pots didn’t seem quite as generous.

I glanced at the fence, then behind me toward the front door. Should I go and put them on her doorstep? She’d certainly find them. Picking up the pots, I hesitated; I always entered the house via the side door from the garage. If she did the same thing, she might not see them. The fence exchange was already a little routine for us, so I decided to continue with it. I dragged my chair over, returned to the table, and retrieved the pots. It was a little trickier putting the plants on the ledge than it was to snag a flat plate off it, and again I questioned how she did it. I wondered if she was tall. I was 6’3” and I had a little trouble reaching that high, even with my long arms. I doubted she was taller than me. I chuckled a little at the mental image I had of living next door to a giant. When I had both pots on the ledge, I pushed them safely to the center of the wide rail on top.

I went in, grabbed a beer, sat down and waited. The last couple nights, she’d been home around five. Glancing at my watch, I nodded—she should be there soon. I rolled my eyes.

I already knew her schedule? Really?

I grabbed my iPad and started watching some lame movie to pass the time. I had almost watched every new release from
Netflix
already, and my choices were getting slim.

Eventually, she arrived. Through her open windows I could hear her moving around inside; soon afterward came the slide of the screen door when she stepped outside.

Staying silent, I listened to the noises coming through the fence. She seemed to be moving back and forth. I could discern the sounds of something being dragged and various items being set down onto different places in her yard. Lastly, I heard the sound I was waiting for: the barbeque lid being lifted and the grill lit.

I spoke up. “What’s for dinner, Kourtney with a K?”

A small gasp greeted me.

“Oh, hi, Nathan. I . . .
oh
!”

I knew she had seen the lilies I left on the top of the fence.

“I wanted to say thanks for feeding me. I thought you could add those to your flower pots?”

Utter silence.

“Kourtney?”

Nothing.

Fuck
. It
was
too forward. She didn’t want flowers from me.

I got up and walked toward the fence when I heard the strange thumping noise and a few seconds later one of the lilies disappeared. All I caught was the fastest glimpse of pale fingers before the pot was gone.

“Thank you.” Her voice quavered. “Lilies are . . . They are my favorite flower.”

Shit
. Was she crying?

She was crying over a couple of potted plants?

I ran my hand nervously through my hair. I heard her moving around and the thump sound again. This time I watched closely and saw a hand come over the ledge to grab the pot. It stretched but couldn’t quite reach. She muttered a curse, then the hand reappeared and the pot disappeared.

“Are you on a ladder?” I asked. I now understood the thumps and ability to reach the top of the fence.

“Yes.” Her voice was low and thick.

“So you’re not a giant?”

“Not the way you think, no.” She sighed.

I frowned. What did that mean?

“You didn’t have to do this, Nathan. It was only a plate of food.”

I snorted. “Two plates—and it wasn’t only food. It was fucking beyond this world. It meant a lot you would share with me, and I wanted to say thank you.”

Again, I was met with silence.

“Kourtney?”

“They’re so pretty. Thank you so much.”

She was definitely crying.

Fuck.
Why was she crying?

“I was hoping to stay in your good books, Chefgirl,” I teased, wanting her to stop crying. For some reason it made my chest hurt. “Ya know, hoping you’d be willing to share again some night.”

“Oh, are you hungry?” she asked, sounding more the way I was used to.

I chuckled. “I’m
always
hungry.”

“Do you have anything you can snack on?”

“Um, yeah?” I’d been to the store so I had cereal in the house.

“Okay, well, dinner won’t be ready for a bit. It takes a little longer. If you can wait, I’m happy to share.”

“What are you making?”

“Ribs.”

Ribs?

I was pretty sure I whimpered. There was no way I was ruining my appetite with any kind of snack if ribs were on the menu.

“Yeah, I can wait. Not a problem.”

“Okay!”

I heard the screen door open and shut, and I sat back perplexed. She sounded almost
excited
about feeding me, which seemed like a strange reaction. At least she had stopped crying, though.

I shook my head.

Women.

Never had understood them.

“Soon, Kourtney?”

“Yes, Nathan, very soon,” she answered, although not as patiently as the last time.

I grinned listening to her move around. I’d been bugging her for the last half hour. The aroma from the grill was driving me crazy. I had managed to be patient for the first hour; constantly chatting with her while she worked on planting the flowers in the pots she’d brought home with her. She made me laugh with her wit and quick comebacks, and the time had passed quickly. Now, however, I was starving and about ready to scale the fence to get to the food she was cooking.

“Do I need to come over there and get it myself?”

“No!”

I was taken back at the panic I could feel in that one word.