3. Jessica
I stand outside his door, my fingers balled into fists beside me. It’s barely noon, and he’s already so loud. So what if he’s in a band? For all I care, he can get a studio somewhere and make all the noise he wants over there.
The drumming has stopped, but he still hasn’t answered the door. When he shows up, I stop my hand mid-launch, just before the next series of pounding on his door.
He’s just as he was when I saw him earlier: tight fit tee thrown over his super fit body, shoulders that could pass as boulders, and an annoying glare on his face. His chest ripples as he places his left arm above his head and props it against the door frame.
I gulp and immediately regret it.
“My eyes are up here,” he directs, waving his finger.
Shoot. Just what I need. Him catching me drooling over his body before I give him a piece of my mind. It’s merely a reflex action, but there’s no use explaining that to him.
“Something I can help you with?” he asks.
“As a matter of fact, yes.” Crossing my arms, I match his glare. “Would you mind toning down your drumming? As you might’ve noticed, this is usually a quiet neighborhood. Until you started drumming.”
“Is that all?” he scoffs.
The nerve of him.
“Yes.”
I’m tempted to smack him across the face, but I’d sprain my wrist if I did. His perfectly masculine jawline and chin give the impression that they should be auditioning for the next Gillette ad.
“Okay.”
He takes a step back and shuts the door. I put my foot in the way, just in time.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“What does it look like?”
“You’re just gonna go inside?”
“There you go. I knew you’d figure it out.”
“Are you being serious right now? I just asked you to be quieter, and you’re gonna head back inside?”
“Well, you have to be a little more specific about what you want, Miss. A quiet neighborhood or a conversation.”
“How about some politeness?”
“Oh, my bad. It must’ve slipped my mind to say hello and ask for your name. I was too busy getting my door beat down by my neighbor.”
Ugh.He has me there. I knocked on the door mouthing off demands without introductions or small talk. Still, he deserved what he got. I have an unfinished manuscript on my desk to get back to, and his ruckus isn’t helping.
“My apologies, Mr…?”.
I’m certain he’ll respond. He says nothing. He stands there, holding the door halfway open. I can’t peek over his shoulders, but I can view the living room littered with boxes and appliances from under his arms.
“I’m Jessica Walsh. I live next door.”
“Figured. Now, can I go inside?”
“Now, would you please stop drumming so loudly?”
“You know a quieter way to do it?”
It’s bad enough that he’s being stubbornly difficult. Now, he’s being a wise guy, too.
“Just stop drumming entirely then.”
“I’ll think about it.” He runs his hands through his hair. “Can I go in now?”
Yes, get lost!
“Just get—” I drop my hand mid-air and demand, “Stop the drumming.”
“You might wanna get used to it, Jessica Walsh,” he yells after me as I turn to leave.
I don’t bother turning around until I’m back inside my house. I slam the door behind me and let out a frustrated grunt. It’s not even a day yet. How am I supposed to deal with this new neighbor? He didn’t even bother to tell me his name. Not that I care anyway.
I make my way to my bedroom, fluffing a few accent pillows on the couch before moving on. The living room is in perfect shape and the smell of fresh flowers is faint, adding a touch of sophistication. Serene, just how I like it.
My bedroom is a completely different landscape, a sprawling mess much like my current thoughts. My laptop lays open with several sheets of paper lying next to it. I’ve done so much work, yet it feels like I haven’t even made a dent with the book. Above my desk is a little board with paper clippings and sticky notes. My think-board, I call it. After this novel, I’ll need to clear everything on it and start fresh for my next one.
Where do you even begin, Jessica?
I look around the room again, then collapse on the bed. I’d rather stay here and get lost in thought until I decide what to do first. Clothes are a tedious task. My novel feels like an uphill battle. Developing the perfect ending to a romantic thriller always is. It should be sweet, but not too sweet, so it doesn’t come off as abrupt or unrealistic. It shouldn’t be too ordinary, or your readers would merely shrug and say, ‘I told you so.’
It needs to have the right balance. Gina would say, ‘You have to find the sweet spot.’ Only Gina isn’t a writer. She’s an editor. There’s no doubt she understands what makes characters click and draws the readers in, but this story has her both stumped and excited at the same time.
How do I balance a character who’s on a mission to find love and one who’s all about finding herself?
Phew!My phone buzzes next to me. It’s a reminder—noon. Lily will be back soon.
I rouse myself from the bed to tackle rearranging my room. The littered pieces of clothing are the first to go. Next are the torn papers from my notebook. After what feels like an eternity, my bedroom no longer looks like a hurricane swept through it. A clean space means I can think.
The rest of the day unfolds monotonously, all the while my cranky new neighbor is plaguing my brain.
A shower and food are the perfect antidote to my tense encounter with him, but I’m hungrier than I’m motivated to prepare lunch. I consider marching over to his door and knocking it down again.
‘Has anyone ever told you you’re rude?’I’d demand.
I should’ve said that. No,that would be more like suggesting he’s rude because others said so. I should be blunter.
‘You are so dang rude!’There, that’s better.
It won’t be fair for me to use any swear words. He hasn’t used any. Not that it makes him any less aggravating.
I tug off my oven mitts and lean against the countertop. Not the best start to the day, but Lily will make everything better. Luckily, I prepare lunch in time before she gets home. In her excitement, she tells me countless stories about her day before eating and heading up to her room to do her homework.
The rest of the afternoon is a breeze. I barely sit at my desk when my phone buzzes again. It’s not a notification this time. It’s Gina calling.
“Hey, Gina.”
“Hey, Jess. How’re you doing?”
“I’m alright. Mentally exhausted, but fine.”
“I hear you.”
“Sometimes it feels like I’m the only one with a stressful day in this town. I should ditch romance and just write a book about how to manage stress. I’m sure it’ll be a bestseller.”
“Speaking of books and bestsellers, how’s our book coming along?”
“Same old, same old,” I say.
“Still stumped?”
“Kinda.”
“Writer’s block?”
“There’s no such thing as that.”
“I’m glad you said that. You should have a few chapters ready by the weekend then.”
Ugh.I left a clear opening for that. “How about Monday?”
“Weekend, girl. You know how these things work. There’s a pre-order date, marketing, and all that. We gotta stick to the schedule, and you gave your word.”
Yes, my word. But I had no idea I’d have to deal with an obnoxiously rowdy neighbor when I agreed to that.
“I know Lily can be a handful. I could have her stay over for a few days if that’s what you need. You’ll have your peace.”
“Peace? I wish,” I respond sarcastically.
“What do you mean?”
“Some pesky guy moved in next door, and I wish he came with volume control.”
“Someone new moved into South Brook?”
“Yeah. Someone who drums in the middle of the afternoon. You told me about him, remember?”
“Ohhh! Wait, Brian Shepherd moved in next to you?”
“Brian what now?”
“Brian Shepherd. Leader of the EBB band? I told you they’ll be moving into town, silly.”
“You did. You left out the part where he’s a total grump.”
“I’m sure he’s not that bad.”
“Really? I’ll trade houses with you right this second.”
“Come on, Jess. I might take you up on that offer.”
“Your loss.”
She laughs. “Whatever. I just need my chapters ready by the weekend, okay?”
“Fine. Bye.”
I drop the phone from my ears and stare at the blank page on my screen. Hopefully, there will be no music to delay me this time.