Seraphina #3
Not at all. The sound of the engine lingered for another few seconds before the morning settled back into its familiar rhythm. Birds. Leaves. The distant hum of someone mowing a lawn far across town. I should have gone back to the roses.
Instead...
I looked down at my phone. The photograph stared back at me. Morning sunlight spilled across the porch, Max looking wonderfully pleased with himself while Elias scratched behind one enormous ear.
I pinched the screen, zooming in. Max. Definitely Max. His ears looked even bigger up close. His tongue was hanging out. My eyes wandered to the person occupying what’s left of the photo, my heart pumping. The detective accidentally wandered into it. How unfortunate I zoomed in.
Obviously, don’t judge me. I'm just a curious little thing, nothing strange about that, it’s not like you take pictures of things and zoom in. Interesting. His watch is set 5 minutes faster. He had tiny scars on his arms. Arms that would one day comfort me.
"You know..."
I said, mostly to myself.
"I've never understood people who don't like dogs."
Rosemary's tiny ceramic face peeked over the rim of the flowerpot beside me.
"They're suspicious."
"The people?"
"The people."
"I agree."
I studied the picture again.
"His owner isn't entirely unfortunate either."
Rosemary gasped dramatically.
"There it is."
"What?"
"The beginning."
"The beginning of what?"
"Your nonsense."
I locked my phone.
"There is no nonsense."
"You took a photograph."
"Of the dog."
"You framed his owner rather nicely."
"Accidentally."
"You centred him."
"I absolutely did not."
"You absolutely did."
I frowned.
"Maybe a little."
Rosemary folded her tiny arms.
"I've seen this before."
"No, you haven't."
"I've read books."
"So have I."
"My point exactly."
I tucked my phone into my pocket and reached for the basket again. The roses waited patiently. Flowers never judged you. They simply kept growing. I admired that.
"I am merely..."
I searched for the correct word.
"...curious."
Rosemary snorted.
"That's what every protagonist says before making a terrible decision."
"I'm not a protagonist."
She looked directly at me.
"You literally speak to the readers."
"Fair point."
For a few blessed minutes I managed to focus on the garden. Another bloom. Another stem. Another handful of weeds that had somehow appeared overnight. Peaceful, quiet. Comfortable.
My eyes drifted toward the cottage next door.
The curtains in the front window were still open.
His coffee mug remained on the porch railing.
One moving box sat beside the steps; half collapsed from yesterday's rain. He probably left it outside after unpacking it. That’s bad for the environment, Detective but I couldn’t blame him.
Moving was exhausting. I wondered what his books looked like.
Whether he alphabetised them. Whether he folded his shirts.
Whether he left toothpaste in the sink and if he made his bed every morning or left it exactly as he'd climbed out of it. What he smelled like.
Rosemary smiled.
"You've started wondering what his bookshelves look like."
"I have not."
"You just did."
"I wondered what kind of novels he reads, or if he even reads."
"Mmm."
"That's perfectly normal."
"Mmm."
"I don't like that 'mmm.'"
"It means you're lying to yourself."
"I prefer 'romanticising.'"
"You've known the man for approximately a day."
"One day and seventeen hours."
Rosemary blinked.
"You counted?"
I opened my mouth. Closed it again.
"That does sound worse out loud."
She nodded solemnly.
"Oh, sweetheart."
"I know."
"No."
She smiled.
"I don't think you do."
I glanced back toward my own garden. The roses. Lily. The basket. Everything exactly where I'd left it. My eyes wandered next door again. Just for a second.
"No."
Rosemary looked up at me from the pocket of my overalls.
"Yes."
"No."
"You're thinking about it."
"I'm absolutely not."
"You've been looking over there for five whole minutes."
"I've been observing."
"Same thing."
"It is not."
"It really is."
I folded my arms.
"There is absolutely no reason for me to go over there."
Rosemary raised one tiny ceramic eyebrow.
"You've already thought of three."
"I have not."
"You have."
"Maybe."
She smiled.
"There she is."
I looked at the neighbouring porch. Then at the garden path leading toward it. Then back again. The morning breeze carried the scent of fresh coffee and cut grass between the cottages. I sighed.
"Hypothetically."
Rosemary's grin widened.
"I love hypothetically."
"I'm only going to walk over."
"Mhm."
"I'm not doing anything."
"Mhm."
"I'm simply..."
I searched for a word that sounded far more respectable than the one currently occupying my thoughts.
"Being neighbourly."
"Of course you are."
Picking up Rosemary, I put her in my front pocket as I took one step then another. The gravel crunched softly beneath my boots. Halfway across the lawn, I stopped. I looked toward the porch. I looked back at my cottage.
"This is ridiculous."
"It absolutely is."
"So, I should turn around."
"You could."
"I probably should."
"You probably should."
I stood there for another long moment then I looked at the front door.
"...Five minutes."