Chapter One: Welcome to Pear Street

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        It was the summer time. The air had a dry and humid feel to it that made you want to sip water every five seconds. The bees were buzzing, and mosquito bites were red and itchy. Children were scattered out the neighborhood, riding bikes and playing hopscotch everywhere you looked. School had just ended, and my summer vacation had just begun.

        But instead of enjoying the summer like any every other college kid on break, I was sweating bullets and swatting mosquitos, working my ass off in the blazing June heat. I had the pleasure of cutting Mrs. Bloom’s lawn, my senile neighbor, who could barely remember what day it was or even the year we were in. Still, I didn’t mind cutting her lawn since she always paid me well. That was something she never seemed to forget to do and for that, I was grateful.

        It was about ninety nine degree’s outside and Mrs. Bloom was sitting out on her porch, watching as I pushed her rusty old lawnmower up and down her yard. I brushed the beads of sweat off of my forehead, as I glanced every so often at the pale white house across the street. A large moving truck was parked in the driveway. There was a certain excitement about having a new neighbor especially on Pear Street, where everyone literally knew everyone. The house had sold rather quickly on the market, according to our neighbors. I guess it was because Pear Street had an ethereal feel that attracted people almost immediately.  

        Mrs. Bloom would casually glance over into the yard every so often, trying to catch a glimpse of the new people who were going to inhabit that raised ranch. Mrs. Bloom wasn’t the only neighbor watching the mover’s carefully bring cherry oak dressers, wooden tables and vases into the house. It seemed like everyone on Pear Street had found an excuse to be outside on this particular afternoon.

        The self-declared housewives of the neighborhood had already prepared their baked goods, and were making their way over to greet the new folks. Ms. Tillman, the single mother, who had shamefully dated almost every available man in the neighborhood, was the first one to step foot in the yard.

        I rested my hands on my hips, as she stood at the ivory door, gripping a basket of store bought cookies in one hand. She was wearing a tight black dress that hugged the curves of her body and her normally tied jet black hair hung across her shoulders. She walked right through the door, without as much as a knock. Talk about self-invitation.

        “Desperate woman that Tillman,” Mrs. Bloom muttered shaking her head. I chuckled as I rolled the lawnmower into the garage. Mrs. Bloom might be senile, but most of the time she had the right idea.

        “I’m all finished Mrs. Bloom, is there anything else you need?” I asked taking a sip from my water bottle.

        “No dear,” Mrs. Bloom answered. “There’s fifty dollars on the table inside for you. Oh and there’s some homemade strawberry jam for your mother too, I know how much she likes it.”

        “Thanks,” I nodded, as I slid open her screen door, grabbing the money and the jam. I was back out on the porch not even a minute later. Mrs. Bloom was still staring across the street at the house. I glanced back over to see Mrs. Tillman flirting with a tall dark-haired man in a polo shirt and khaki shorts. There didn’t seem to be anyone else with him. He must be living alone. That meant every woman in the neighborhood would be after him.

        I rolled my eyes, as Ms. Sampson, a recent widow, made her way down the street clutching what appeared to be some sort of cake. God, these women are pathetic.

        “See you later, Mrs. Bloom,” I said as I swiftly moved down her steps, walking two houses down to my own. I moved through the front door, slamming it behind me, before I walked into the kitchen. The smell of pie drifted through the air, quickly filling the inside of my nose.

        “Ryder, is that you?” my mother called out not even glancing up at me.

        “Yeah,” I said sliding the strawberry jam onto the table. “Here’s your jam. Mrs. Bloom made it especially for you.”

        “Well, that was nice of her,” my mom replied plopping it into the door of the fridge. “Wow, you smell, Ryder.”

        “That’s the smell of a man,” I retorted as the oven timer went off. My mom quickly opened it up, pulling one of her famous apple pies out. She slid it onto the stove, wrapping it up with aluminum foil.

        “Pie,” I commented, sliding into the chair at the table. There was one thing I loved and that was fresh apple pie.

        “Not for you,” she said swatting my hand away. “It’s for the new neighbor.”

        “Not you too, mom,” I mumbled underneath my breath. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

        “Language, Ryder,” my mom warned. Obviously, I hadn’t been quiet enough. “And yes, it’s just to welcome him to the neighborhood.”

        Yeah right. I knew what it really meant. It was a way to get into the man’s house to find out about him and see if he’s single. Nothing screams more of a welcome than fresh apple pie and horny housewives. The guy hadn’t been here for more than two hours and he was already the subject of everyone’s conversations.

        “Mom, don’t be like these other desperate women,” I said glancing out the window. “Look at them. They’re pathetic. I hope he’s married.”

        “He’s not,” my mother answered quickly. “Beverly told me that he’s a single guy with no wife or kids. He’s a writer apparently.”

        “Oh a writer,” I said faking interest. Of course, Beverly would get the scoop about the new guy before anyone else. She was, after all, the town gossip. I come home for college and it was like I had never left.

        “Homemade whipped cream too! Wow! You’re really going all out,” I teased as she slid everything into a plastic bag. “What would Phillip think of all this effort you’re putting in for another man?”

        “Can it, Ryder,” my mother groaned. “Phil won’t care because I’m not bringing it over. You are.”

        I shook my head. Yeah right. As if I’d do that. My mother shoved the bag into my hand, pushing me out the front door, before I could protest. Well, it appeared, I didn’t have a choice in the matter. I held the bag, slowly sauntering my way down the sidewalk to the ivory house.

        The sun had drifted from the sky and all the children that were out earlier had returned home to their parents. The street was quiet and the moving truck had disappeared from the driveway, along with the line of woman outside of the writer’s house. The neighborhood had returned to its normal state.

        I sighed as I walked across his front lawn, straight to his front door, feeling utterly stupid. The pie was hot against my thigh, as I knocked swiftly on the front door to no answer. Well, maybe, he wasn’t home. Just as I turned around, a voice called out to me.

        “It’s open. Come on in.”

        So, he was home. I chewed on my lower lip as I pushed open the screen door. My eyes flickered around the house almost automatically.  There were huge brown boxes everywhere. They filled his hallway, living room and even his dining room. For a single guy, he sure had a lot of stuff.

        “I have pie,” I called out awkwardly. “I’ll just leave it on your kitchen counter.”

        I walked into the kitchen, my mouth dropping open at the sight. It appeared I wouldn’t be leaving it on the kitchen counter, as the counter top was filled with all sorts of baked treats. With all the food on his counter, you’d think he was throwing a party. The welcoming committee had definitely left its mark. I chuckled as I grabbed one of Miss. Porter’s chocolate chip cookies. I knew they were hers because she was the only one clever enough to have written her name on her Tupperware container.

        “You can take that home with you, if you’d like,” a voice said from behind me.

        “No thanks,” I said turning around, my mouth full of crumbled cookies. I swallowed it quickly, as he began to laugh. He was definitely taller in person. He had a good five inches on me. I could now see why the neighborhood had come out to greet him. He was an attractive guy with his chestnut brown hair and hazel-green eyes – anyone could see that.

        “Is that the pie?” he asked pointing to the bag in my hand.

        “Oh yeah,” I said handing it to him. “My mother made it. There’s even some homemade whipped cream in there too. She sends her regrets for not being able to deliver it in person, and she told me to welcome you to the neighborhood. But I’m sure you’ve been welcomed enough, judging by the amount of sweets in your kitchen.”

        “Everyone’s been very friendly,” he chuckled sliding the pie into the oven. Well, I guess that was the only place he had left for it.

        “I’m sure,” I said rolling my eyes almost automatically. “They see a bachelor like you move in and they all come running clad in scanty dresses and faces covered in make-up. You just got to love the suburbs.”

        “Well, you’ve got everything figured out,” he replied, a grin stretching across his face. “And might I ask who you are?”

        “Ryder, I live in the house directly diagonal to yours every four to five months of the year,” I said extending a hand.

        “So you’re a college student?” he asked.

        “Yeah, full time at state,” I said proudly. “I’m a swimmer. But anyways, I’ll leave you to your unpacking. It looks like you’ve got a long week ahead of you, sir.”

        “That I do,” he sighed, his eyes flickering across his living room. “It was nice meeting you, Ryder. Thank your mom for me.”

        “No problem,” I nodded as he showed me to his front door. I shoved my hands deep in my pocket as I crossed through his front lawn. Just as I touched the sidewalk he called out to me.

        “The name’s Ian, by the way.”

        “Well Ian, if you ever need your lawn cut, I charge fifty dollars,” I replied coyly, pointing out his tall grass.

        “I’ll consider it, Ryder, but the price sounds awfully steep for such a small piece of land,” he retorted.

        “Hey! I need to pay for college somehow,” I said smugly, as I crossed the street back to my own house. I glanced behind me casually, as he nodded, watching me, as I made my way to the front door of my house. I waved, before I shut the door behind me.

        “Ryder, you’re back,” my mother said appearing at the top of the steps. “So, what’s the new neighbor like?”

        “He seems like a cool guy,” I said moving swiftly by her into my room. I slammed my bedroom door shut behind me, my thoughts on Ian. He was cool for an older guy. I can’t believe how easy he was to talk to. I was way too comfortable in his house. There was just something about his personality I guess.

        “So, did he like the pie?” my mom asked opening my bedroom door.

        “I’ll doubt he’ll even try it,” I retorted. “He had enough pies to last him for more than a week – all different flavors.”

        “Well, it’s the thought that counts,” she huffed. “Plus everyone knows my pie is the best on the street. He’ll know it too soon.”

        “Definitely,” I said shoving my headphones into my ear, as soon as my mother started going on a rant about the scandalous woman of our street. I had a feeling that Ian was going to be the eye of everyone’s affection for a while.

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