The neighbor's back yard is nothing but flowers. No grass. Just rows and rows of beautiful flowers with crushed rock pathways in between. Red and pink roses line the center rows and beyond that are flowers I don't know the names of but they're all different colors and they're absolutely beautiful. It's like something you'd see in a public garden or a botanical center, not someone's yard.
"The flowers are nice," Grams reluctantly admits, "but he doesn't keep them up. Look at all the weeds. It's a mess. It's just like he keeps his house. There's no order. No cleanliness."
"He's a bachelor. He probably doesn't care."
"Which is yet another reason why I don't like that man. A grown man should keep his house in order, with or without a woman present."
"I think you're being too hard on him. Not everyone's a neat freak."
"I'm not a neat freak. I simply like cleanliness and order. There's nothing wrong with that."
I unlock the window and yank it open.
"Faith, the air conditioner is on!" Grams scolds.
"I just have to see if I can smell them." I put my face out the window. It's a windy day and the flowery scent is being carried through the breeze. "Grams, come here. You have to smell this."
"Faith, you're not going to smell them from way up here."
"You can! Take a sniff.”
Grams pokes her head out the window just long enough to sniff the air.
"Well," she says, sounding surprised. "Isn't that something? I wouldn't have thought the scent would carry like that."
I gaze out at the flowers. Even with the weeds, they're really beautiful. "Did Walter plant all those? Or did he hire someone?"
"He did it himself. He made the garden for his wife. She passed away a couple years ago."
"That's really sweet. He can't be that bad of a guy if he does something that nice for his wife."
"I never said he was a bad person," she says, gazing out at the flowers. "He's just inconsiderate regarding the noise."
"He can't really help it if his tools make noise," I point out.
"He could limit their use to within reasonable hours. Sometimes he's out there at six in the morning, hacking away with his clippers, talking to himself, playing his music. And the music volume is something he CAN control."
"What kind of music is it?"
She huffs. "Rock 'n roll music from the Fifties. Even when I was a teenager I didn't like that kind of music."
"What if it was music you liked? Then would it bother you?"
She walks away. "Honestly, Faith, I don't know how you get us off on these tangents. We need to focus on the task at hand, which is to clean up this house and get it in good enough shape to live in and then sell. Hurry up and get dressed. We need to get to work and stop talking about Walter and his flowers and his ridiculous rock 'n roll music." She hurries out of my room.
That was odd. Usually if she doesn't like someone she's more than happy to continue complaining about them, but when I mentioned Walter she ended the conversation and raced out of the room.
Looking out the window, I see Tyler pulling the lawn mower out of the storage shed that's behind the gardens. He's shirtless again. Does the guy not own any shirts? Not that I mind. I like seeing his bare chest. In fact, I might just stand here a moment and watch his muscles flex as he works.
My phone rings. I see it’s Jules and answer it, my eyes still on Tyler.
“Hey, Jules.”
"Hey, how's life in Indiana?"
"Good."
"I don't know how you can live out in the country like that. I'd be so bored."
"There's stuff to do in town. I just have to drive there."
As she continues to talk my eyes fix on Tyler as he struggles to start the mower. With each pull, his arm muscles flex, along with his back muscles. The man is all muscle.
"Faith? You still there?"
"Yeah. So what are you up to today?"
"I'm getting my hair colored. I just told you that. Weren't you listening?"
"Sorry, I guess I was distracted."
"By what? What's going on?"
"The neighbor. He's trying to start his mower and it's kind of loud."
"Is this the old guy your grandma hates?"
"No, it's his grandson."
"How old is he?"
"I'm not sure. Maybe 25?"
"Is he hot?"
He got the mower started and is going over the grass that lines the side of the house. I can see his face, and to answer Jules' question, yes, he's definitely hot.
"He's okay," I say, nonchalantly.
"Meaning he's hot."
"I said he's okay."
"But you said it in that tone you use when you don't want to admit how hot you are for a guy because you think you have no chance with him."
"I don't have a tone. And that's not what I meant when I said he's okay."
"It's totally what you meant. We've been friends forever. I know you better than you know yourself. Now tell me the truth. How hot is he?"
I smile as I continue to watch him. "Like fitness model hot."
"Like with bulging biceps and veins popping out?"
"No. Not like that. He's just muscular like he works out a lot, but not too much. And he's got these gorgeous green eyes and dark hair and he's tall."
"How'd you see his eyes? Did you go over and talk to him?"
"Yeah. Yesterday, while Grams was on the phone. If she found out I went over there, I'd never hear the end of it. She told me to stay away from him. She thinks he's dangerous because he has a tattoo."
"Dangerous?" Jules laughs. "Does she not realize how many people have tattoos these days?"
"She didn't actually say he was dangerous, but she implied it and told me not to go over there."
"So you did." She laughs again. "You're such a rebel."
"I didn't plan to. It's just that Grams had just got done complaining about the guy and I didn't want her yelling at him for his loud music so I walked over there and politely asked him to turn it down."
"And did he?"
"Yes, but I startled him when I went over there. He was in the garage working on a car and hit his head and it started bleeding."
"You made the guy's head bleed?" She's laughing. "Great first impression, Faith."
"I know. I felt terrible. But if he didn't have his music so loud he would've heard me."
"Now you sound like your grandma."
"I didn't care about the music. I was doing it for Grams. Anyway, after I cleaned up his head, I went back home and that was it. I haven't talked to him since."
"Wait—you cleaned his head? And then what? You kissed him and made him better?" She's laughing again.
"Would you stop? I didn't kiss him."
"If he's that hot, sounds like you should have."
I hear the clink of pots and pans downstairs.
"Jules, I have to go. My grandma's making me clean out cupboards today. "