6. Not Flirting, Just Neighbor-ing
NOT FLIRTING, JUST NEIGHBOR-ING
OWEN
W e got the remaining theater seats removed last week, which has made The Shadowridge feel pretty cavernous and echoey.
Today, we’re making enough dust that it’s a little less so.
But only a little. We’re also making plenty of noise.
I’ve got some guys removing some damaged plaster so they can begin the rewiring, and I’m up on some scaffolding, cataloguing and carefully removing the decorative features on the front of the balcony boxes so when we restore them, they’ll look exactly as they did originally.
Normally, on a day like today, my thoughts go something like this: thinking deeply about what I’m currently doing and the best way to do it.
Thinking about what everyone else is doing.
Thinking about what the next steps are and who I’m going to put on what jobs.
Shifting my position to help my hurt knee.
Thinking further down the schedule, about what building materials I need to order next.
Thinking about how to deal with an upcoming area that’s going to be tricky. Repeat.
Today, though? My thoughts are more like this: scoring the caulk and paint seal along the edge of some trim.
Thinking about Charlie. Inserting the trim removal tool and carefully prying it loose.
Thinking about Charlie. Glancing down at my guys removing plaster to see how things are going for them.
Thinking about Charlie. Starting to ponder what the next steps are, but getting distracted by thoughts of Charlie.
Why? I don’t know. I decided long before I came to Cipher Springs that I wasn’t going to get involved with anyone while I was on a job.
Not three days ago, I reminded myself that I’m in no shape for a relationship, and that based on what I’d heard from Charlie when she was with her friends, she doesn’t want a relationship, either.
I’d decided that we could be friendly but not flirty.
“Owen!”
I quickly shift where I’m standing on the scaffolding to glance down at Grady, who’s looking up at me like maybe he’s been trying to get my attention for a bit. “What?”
“You’ve been awfully quiet today, boss. Thinking about blueprints or brunettes? ”
I chuckle and admit, “A little of both. Whatcha got?”
“We’ve got wires runnin’ right where the old duct was. Want me to reroute, or have you got a plan for that?”
“Reroute,” I say, then turn back to the front of the balcony box, the trim I’m removing, and, unsurprisingly, thoughts of Charlie.
Maybe I’m having so many thoughts about her just because of last night. A small, far-away part of me knew that Charlie was home when Tessa called. But I was so concerned about my sister that I didn’t have brainpower left for wondering if Charlie could hear. Part of me is embarrassed that she did.
The other part of me, though, is glad she did.
I didn’t realize how badly I needed someone to literally step in and put things into perspective until Charlie did just that.
I didn’t ask her to. She just somehow intuitively knew I needed it.
And she knew exactly what I needed to hear. I still can’t get over it.
When I called Tessa today to check on her, she was clearly in more pain than when she’d called from the hospital. But the pain was manageable, and she was getting tons of help. She even had her friends on a rotating schedule to check in on her and help her with the things she needed.
I told her that I was proud of her, and I was impressed at how well she was taking care of everything. That seemed to be exactly what she needed to hear, too. I swear I could feel her beaming right through the phone. I have Charlie to thank for that.
Or maybe I can’t stop thinking about Charlie because of what I have planned to give her after work.
When I first chose this theater as a potential project, I checked out the whole town.
I remembered going into a little shop near the theater that made custom-painted wooden signs.
The kind you hang on a wall in your home.
I stopped by on my way to work this morning and told the shop owner about my current wall situation and what happened last night.
I asked her to make a sign for me that reads, Eavesdropping Level: Expert .
I don’t know Charlie as well as I’d like to, but from what I do know, I think she’ll get a kick out of it.
The shop owner was so excited to get started on it that she said she’ll have it ready for me to pick up when I leave work. I can’t wait.
As I’m doing a building sweep and locking the place up at the end of the day, I get a call from my landlord.
He tells me that it seems some of the electrical wiring was damaged in the leak, especially in the oven area—I’m not sure if he’s talking about the initial leak or the one caused by Josh’s hammer—and that an electrician will need to come by and fix that first .
“But that’s not all,” he says, and I get the sense that he really doesn’t want to say the rest.
“You can tell me,” I say. “I do construction for a living, so I know how many things can delay a job.”
“True. Okay, so you might have noticed when they were doing the demolition that the insulation between the walls had some water damage and a bit of mold. Obviously, it had to be discarded. But the insulation needed between units like yours is on backorder for a week or two.” I can practically hear the grimace in his voice.
“I talked to the restoration company to see if they would put the Sheetrock back up on one of your walls and just wait to do the other side until the insulation came in. That way, you’d at least have something more closely resembling a wall.
But the younger of the two guys got injured on a job, and he’ll be out for at least a week. ”
“From when he fell and broke our pipe?”
“Um, no… it was another job. Apparently, that wasn’t his only time being clumsy.
Since they’re a man down, their schedule is a little too tight, so they aren’t willing to come until all the building materials can be there.
I tried to line up a different company, but there aren’t any that are free.
It was hard enough getting Demo Daydreams as quickly as we did. ”
None of the problems happening are within my landlord’s control, so I tell him that I understand and thank him for trying to get everything taken care of. “Have you told Charlie and Reese yet?”
“I’m calling them next. Wish me luck!”
When I stop to pick up the wooden plaque, the shop owner sees me walk in and excitedly goes over to a counter and picks up the sign she made, showing it to me with a big grin on her face.
I’ve noticed that Charlie wears a lot of pink, so I had her do the base color in pink and the lettering in white.
And she’s done a fantastic job. Eavesdropping Level: is in blocky hand-lettering, and Expert is in a fancy script.
The shop owner even puts it in a fancy box with tissue paper and everything, and she adds a pink bow. I thank her profusely and promise that I’ll stop back in and let her know what Charlie thought of it.
When I pull into my driveway and see that both Charlie and Reese are home, I start to second-guess everything.
What if Charlie doesn’t find it funny? What if getting the call from our landlord saying that it would be longer before we get a new wall has just left her angry or frustrated, and this will only make it worse?
Instead of knocking on Charlie’s door and handing the box to her when she answers, like I had planned, I opt for leaving it on her doorstep.
I tell myself that it’s the kind of gift that’s best if it’s not opened in the presence of the giver, and not that I’m doing it this way because I’m worried about whether she’ll find it funny or not.
I knock on her door, then race into my own townhome so I can hear her reaction through the non-wall.
Both women start by wondering what it is, who it’s for, and who it’s from. Then one of them opens it, and Charlie immediately knows the answers to those questions. Their laughter is loud, long, and joyful, and it has me grinning from ear to ear.
This is good. I gave a very neighborly gift, not a flirty gift. I’m still on track.
It’s nearing nine p.m., and I’m sitting on my couch, going over the blueprints for the historic train station in Philadelphia that I’m under contract to restore next, and perfecting my final restoration proposal after getting the structural assessments on my laptop, when I hear a small noise come from my kitchen.
I glance over to see a blurry silhouette of Charlie, crouched down and pushing a little basket of something through the untaped flap at the bottom corner of my fake door, next to the floor.
A second later, Charlie stands, and I see her hand slowly maneuvering its way between two of the taped sections of the door, right about eye level.
She sticks a pink Post-It note to my side of the plastic and then removes her hand.
A second later, I hear a small knock before seeing her race away from the door.
I walk over to the note, and I grin as I read it.
Thank you for your very thoughtful gift. I will treasure it always.
P.S. Look down.
I bend down and pick up the wicker basket she left. It’s filled with muffins sitting on tissue paper printed with a wood design. Was she just able to guess that wood is my favorite color? There’s a little card attached, so I open it to read, From your nosy but adorable neighbor .
I shake my head. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a neighbor I’ve had this much fun with. I take a bite of one of the muffins and nearly moan. I’m aware of the state of her kitchen, so I know she didn’t bake these. But I had no idea that there were places that sold muffins that taste this good!
I find the cabinet that houses my office supplies over by my table and shift everything a bit so I can open the drawer and pull out a pad of sticky notes and a pen.
I go to the one cabinet and countertop that wasn’t removed—the one that used to be the bottom of the L in my L-shaped kitchen but is now more like a small island—and I think about what I want my note to say.
I’m left-handed, and when I’m not paying enough attention to my handwriting, it slants a lot.
I make sure to slow down and make all my letters upright.
And thank you for your very delicious gift.
My taste buds will fondly remember it forevermore.
From your neighbor who talks on the phone too loudly.
I reach through a space between the tape on my side, snake my hand through the space between the studs, in through a space between the tape on Charlie’s side, and I stick the note to her plastic.
Then, I head back to my couch to work on my proposal, smiling.
The next morning, as I keep pulling things out of my closet, I realize I should have spent a bit less time perfecting my proposal last night and a bit more time deciding what to wear during my presentation. I’ve got it down to two very different choices, and I can’t decide which one.
Charlie is insightful. I bet she’d know.
I look down at my watch. It’s seven-forty.
One thing that no sound deadening between you and your neighbor does is let you easily learn each other’s daily routines.
So, I know Charlie is currently standing at the one part of her cabinets that’s still in place, eating breakfast. From a part of a conversation I overheard, I’m guessing yogurt with granola and maybe blueberries.
So I put on my first option, which is a navy suit that’s well fitted with a white shirt and a light blue tie that has a subtle design of architectural blueprints. Then I go downstairs to my kitchen and knock on one of the studs. “Charlie, are you nearby?”
“Yeah,” she says, sounding a bit surprised to hear my voice.
“Can you help me figure out what to wear?” I already hate that I said that out loud.
“What to wear? Um, sure.”
As we are both pulling the tape away from the plastic so we can open the door, I start talking. “I am presenting at a historical preservation society about my plans for my next project. What?” I stop explaining when we each open our side’s door and I see the expression on her face.
“Nothing. I just, wow. You, uh, look mighty spiffy in a suit.” She clears her throat. “Seriously, good job on that.”
I look down for a minute, smiling. And then I have to remind myself that my goal is to act neighborly, so I should stop thinking of the flirting responses I really want to reply with.
I meet her eyes again. “Thank you. So, I want them to say yes to my proposal, and I know that what I wear can make a difference. Do you mind if I come back in a few minutes wearing my other option?” And here I am, feeling all stupid again for asking.
She says she doesn’t mind, and in my head, I keep replaying her reaction to my first option as I’m changing into the second.
It wasn’t flirting—it was an honest reaction, which makes it so much better.
Maybe the navy suit is the right choice.
It’s professional-looking. Especially when I take Charlie’s reaction to seeing me in it into consideration. I mean, that has to be good, right?
This time, I put on a vintage-inspired crisp white shirt and camel-colored trousers that are slightly tapered and cuffed just enough to show off my brown leather brogues.
My tie is a dark gray, leaning slightly toward brick red.
Then I put on a charcoal tweed vest with a faint herringbone texture, and add a deep forest green sport coat with leather elbow patches and brass buttons, and look in my mirror.
It’s a well put- together outfit that feels slightly…
academic. It makes me think of cedar and old books.
I go back downstairs, knock on the stud again, and Charlie and I both open our bendy little doors.
This time, Charlie doesn’t say a word—her eyes just widen. Then she swallows, nods, and says, “This one.” Except the words come out sounding a little choked.
“Yeah?”
“Definitely. The first one looked like you were going on a fancy date or to a benefit or something. This one says, ‘You can trust me with your beloved building.’”
I smile. “That’s exactly what I was hoping it would say.”
“Now if you’ll excuse me,” Charlie says, “I need to go remember how to… not…” She says as she’s closing and re-taping her door.
Then she turns around to rest her back against a stud, and I swear, her mumbled sentence finishes with, “…spend all day drooling over those two mental snapshots you just gave me.”