“Oh! I forgot to ask. Have you met your new neighbor yet?”
I pause the flat iron I’m about to run through Ariel’s hair. “New neighbor?”
“Yeah, I heard the old Blackwood house sold. Do you know who bought it?”
I blink a few times, trying to wrap my head around the fact the house next door to me finally sold. It’s been on the market for about six months, and, from what I was told, the family of old man Blackwood refused any offer below their asking price, which was high to begin with. It sat empty for more than a year, ever since the older man passed away. The family moved away long ago and have paid someone to maintain the house and yard, waiting for a buyer. Now, it sounds like it’s finally happened.
I glance over at my mom. “Have you heard who bought it?”
Something flashes in her eyes, but it’s gone quickly. “No,” she says, reaching for her broom and sweeping up discarded hair on the floor around her station.
“I heard it was a younger guy, not from here,” Roxie states as she adds highlights to her client’s hair.
“Really?” I ask, a bit concerned by this news. Mr. Blackwood was a grumpy old man, but he was a good neighbor. He was meticulous about his lawn, especially the garden, and I’d often help him with some of the weeding throughout the summer, since he struggled to get up and down the last few years. In fact, since he passed, I’ve continued to maintain it, hoping the next owners will have a green thumb and take good care of it. The thought of some young guy buying the house and letting the garden go—or worse, removing it completely—doesn’t sit well with me.
For the rest of the day, I worry about the new neighbor. Even after Dad delivers our Christmas tree to the salon and I spend time decorating it, I still wonder about who the new owner is. What if we don’t get along? What if he trashes the place and I have to look at mountains of crap in the yard and driveway? What if he ruins the gorgeous curb appeal of the house by painting it seafoam green?
What if he doesn’t hang Christmas lights?!
As I round the corner by my house, just three short blocks from the downtown square, my eyes zero in on the moving truck in the driveway. Parked beside it is a large Chevy truck with out-of-state plates that looks big and loud. Since my bedroom window is on that side of the house, I’ll probably hear him coming and going all the time. A young guy probably doesn’t care that his neighbors like to sleep at night.
I slowly walk past the house, trying to look in the windows, but all of them are covered with blinds or curtains. When I reach my own sidewalk, I let out a sigh, realizing I’m no closer to finding out who my new neighbor is than I was this morning when I heard the house sold.
Slipping my key into the door, I release the lock and push it open. The familiar scents of home assault me. I flip a switch on the wall, bathing the entire room and everything that will stand still in bright white Christmas lights, and smile. I love this holiday and the warm, comfortable feeling I get every time I arrive home.
Just as I step through the door, something brushes past my leg, making me jump. I spin around, terrified Miss Snowflake ran past me and is now outside, but when I turn around, I don’t see my cat. Instead, I catch movement inside my house as a black and gray one darts down my hallway.
“What in the world,” I mutter, running inside and almost forgetting to shut the door behind me. I chase after the cat that isn’t mine, frantically searching the first room for the stray.
A noise catches my attention. It sounds like my cat’s being…murdered!
I take off running, following the sound into my bedroom. When I cross the threshold, I gasp in shock at the sight. Right there, in the middle of my bed, is a big tomcat, and he’s having his wicked way with Miss Snowflake. I’m so surprised, all I can do is stand there in horror as the scene plays out in front of me, right in the middle of my snowy village Christmas quilt.
Finally, when I find my voice, I open my mouth. “Get off my cat!”
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