“Wow, he is so cute.” I roll my eyes at Linda who is all but crooning at the window. She’s one of my co-leaders from work and who has also become a good friend since I moved to town. Her auburn hair is pulled into a high messy bun, green eyes twinkling and always mischievous.
“A pretty face with no manners whatsoever,” I mumble, draining the spaghetti noodles into the sink.
Nonetheless, I lean back to take a peak too. He’s doing yard work; raking the now falling leaves and shoving them, rather hastily, into large clear plastic bags. I hate to admit it, but the man is quite good looking. I would guess he’s in his mid-to-late twenties, medium build, curly golden brown hair falling across his forehead, strong jaw, and the most impeccable blue eyes I’ve ever seen. I’ve only ever looked into them a few times over the past couple of weeks since he had moved in. Majority of the time, he had given me that same pointed look that annoyed yet intrigued me. I shake my head to get rid of my thoughts. No, he is the most rude, most inconsiderate jerk I’ve ever met.
“Maybe he’s the brooding type,” Linda pipes up, cutting into my thoughts. She jumps off the couch and strolls into the kitchen, reaching for the boiling pan of spaghetti sauce and begins to stir. “You should invite him for dinner.”
I give her a look, followed with a snort. “Not in this lifetime.”
“Maybe he’s one of those guys who seem really hard at first, and then once they open up they’re prince charming.” She grins at me, sprinkling some garlic powder into the sauce. “You never know. London Cartier could be the one to crack open the mysterious, emo stranger and find love once and for all. ”
“Oh, cut it out L!” I giggle, snapping a towel at her and she hops up to avoid it.
“I’m just saying,” she continues, swiftly shutting off the stove and taking the pan off the burner. “Have you even had a decent conversation with the guy?”
“L, I don’t think the guy has any decency to converse with anyone,” I reply, pouring the spaghetti noodles into a big wooden bowl. “I mean, despite the fact that he was such a jerk to me to begin with, I’ve actually tried to say hi like a good neighbour.”
“And?”
“He just… stares. Sometimes he nods. But I’ve never heard him speak since.” I help her pour the spaghetti sauce in with the noodles and she tosses them together as I place the pan into the sink.
“I wonder what his deal is,” she murmurs, and I can tell her mood has gone from playful to genuine curiosity. “I mean, doesn’t that just kind of … irk you in a way? This guy just pops up out of nowhere to live on his own in Banff. He’s supposed to be this famous boy band member, but nobody can speak about it? He doesn’t do much all day, and he’s super quiet.” She pauses and I mull it over. “If he wasn’t so good looking, I’d think he’s a creepy weirdo or something.”
I laugh. “So, just because he’s good looking, famous, rich, and can sing, it automatically cancels out that he could be a potential danger? Mass murderer perhaps?” We both scoop up a pile of the freshly-made spaghetti onto our plates.
“Yep!” she quips and I laugh, shaking my head.
She takes both of our plates to the living room as I grab two bottles of wine glasses and a bottle of white wine. I realize that I hadn’t opened this bottle since I bought it a couple of weeks ago - the same day asshole-jerk-neighbour hit me with his passenger door. I shake my head again and follow her into the living room.
“That doesn’t phase you?” she asks, curling her legs under her on the couch, the plate of spaghetti on her lap as she hits play on the remote. The opening music of The Wedding Planner fills the room and I join her, ready to dig into my food.
“Not one bit,” was my reply before shoving a forkful of spaghetti into my mouth.
As the season turns from fall to winter, the weather slowly begins to drop each day. My days at work have slowed down significantly as mountain biking season ended this month of October. This was usually around the time we transition from spring and summer activities to planning out activity schedules for the winter months. Thankfully, I’m spared from the boring task of scanning ski lift tickets this year and am working full time as a snowboard instructor for kids. It had been my favourite part of the season last year; the kids’ excitement and enthusiasm are so contagious. I was only privileged to teach when more instructors were needed on any given day, so I was ecstatic to learn that I was a full time Activity Lead for snowboarding this year. Also, I have to admit, I was relieved that Jeremy would be off my back as he was assigned to help with equipment rentals. I calculated that, on average, he would ask me out on a date about three or four times a week, in which I would calmly and gently turn him down. He’s a nice guy and everything, but I didn’t feel the attraction there. Of course, Linda and Mark would be on me about it, teasing that I haven’t been on a date since I arrived in Banff. Don’t get me wrong, there are days I do think about being in a relationship and I have dreams of a nice little family one day. But I guess that, after ending an emotionally draining 5 year relationship right before moving to Banff, my priorities have shifted a little.
-
I pull the strings of the hood on my windbreaker tighter as I feel a cold gush of wind lap at my face. I could feel the warmth radiating from Bronx’s body at my side as we jog through the neighborhood. The sun is just setting against the mountainous horizon, creating soft oranges, reds, purples, and pinks against the faded blue of the sky. This is my favourite part of the day; it’s like you can almost feel a sense of peace flooding over the town as families and groups of friends unwind from the day. I check my watch: 6:42. I had been running for almost an hour now and decide it’s time to head back home. As Bronx and I near the house, I notice a familiar figure dressed in grey sweats and a blue hoody striding down the walkway of the brick cottage across from mine. With all intentions of completely ignoring him as I have for the past month, I turn to cross the street when something in his hands catches my eye.
“Hey!” I call out instinctively and he glances up, a look of surprise grazing his face which is quickly replaced by a frown. I walk up to him and motion toward the black garbage bag in his hands. “Is that food?”
His frown deepens. “Yeah…” he replies slowly. “Just taking the garbage out.” I notice a southern twang in his accent that I hadn’t noticed before. But then again, when do I really talk to this guy?
“Did you not read the brochure that all new residents receive when they move here?” I ask, surprised at the rudeness of my voice that I hadn’t intended.
“I had better things to do,” he grumbles and walks past me. I follow.
“Well, if you had read it, you’d know that any garbage containing food goes into the bear-safe garbage bin that was provided with your house.”
He turns to look at me, his eyes narrowed and the same frown on his face. “The what?”
“The bear-safe garbage bin. It’s to keep bears away from the town. It’s an imposed law to put all garbage containing food items in the bin,” I reply matter-of-factly. To my surprise, he rolls his eyes and plumps his garbage bag near the curb.
“It’s garbage day tomorrow morning,” he says matter-of-factly. “What’s a few hours overnight of leaving this here?” He moves to walk past me, but I step in front of him to stop him. He sighs. “Really? If a bear comes knocking at my door, it’s not your problem.”
That’s it. I’ve had enough. “You don’t get it,” I say harshly and he looks at me, surprised. “Listen, I don’t give two shits if a bear comes knocking at your door and decides to eat you instead. There are kids on this block who walk to school in the morning. We,” I pause to sweep my arms across, motioning at the houses nearby. “all take the proper care and precautions so that we don’t attract wild animals, not only for the safety of everyone else, but for the bears too. If things go very wrong, they get shot and captured. And all because one idiot decides to leave his bag full of food on the curb because he’s too lazy to get his damn bear-safe bin from his house.”
There’s a pause in which he stares at me, taking in my little outburst. Then he snorts. The nerve!
“So let me get this straight.” He runs his hand across the back of his neck. “You’re concerned about the safety of wild animals, when you live in their natural habitat? When you jog, bike, ski, and whatever else you guys do here, cutting down trees and disturbing their homes just to build resorts for your entertainment? Well, no wonder these bears are so desperate for food to the point that they walk to nice little quant neighborhoods like this one just to dig through garbage. And, if you’ve read your little resident manual, you’d know this is actually unnatural for them to put themselves in danger by being near humans. They’re desperate because their natural habitat is gone! How else are they gonna eat?” He scoffs and turns around to walk back into his house.
By this time, I’m fuming and my hands are balled into fists to keep from slapping him. “Why are you such an asshole?” I call out before I can stop myself. He turns back around and for a long moment, we glare at each other; blue eyes into hazel. I could feel my cheeks flush from anger. “Seriously, you’ve been the biggest asshole since you got here. You didn’t have to move here, and now you’re ranting about the preservation of the environment?” I shake my head. I’ve had enough of this. I grab the garbage bag from the curb, turn on my heel, and march across the street. Bronx had been waiting on the porch the whole time, watching our little encounter with intent.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Just because you’re an inconsiderate bastard doesn’t mean I have to sit around and watch you put everyone else in danger,” I half yell, not bothering to turn around. “That includes taking out your damn garbage myself!”
I slam the black bin shut, still fuming from what had just happened. I grab the handle and pull the medium-sized garbage bin onto its wheels, dragging it across my backyard, kicking open the fence door, and pulling it toward the front curb. I look up in time to see him staring out from his front window before quickly pulling the curtains shut. I let out a frustrated sigh, place the bin by the curb, and stalk into my house. It had been a long day, and all I want to do is get Asshole-Neighbour off my mind.
A pair of intense blue eyes are staring at me, the rest of his face in shadow. He’s calling my name but I don’t budge. My dark brown hair is flying around my face from the wind and he reaches out a hand to touch my cheek. His hand is warm … and wet. It wasn’t a gentle touch, but an aggressive one.
“Ugh,” I groan, pulling away from him.
I bolt upright in surprise, bed sheets on the floor, and hair in a tangled mess. Bronx keeps licking my face, giving me a small bark that wakes me and fully connects me to the world. I look at my clock: it’s 8:30. Shit! I have to be at work in 30 minutes. I fly out of bed, almost tripping over the bed sheets on the floor, strip off my clothes in record time, and run into the shower. I’m dressed and ready by 8:45, hastily drying my hair and pulling it into a ponytail. I pour food into Bronx’s bowl, pet his head goodbye, grab an apple on the way and am out the door by 8:50.
By this time, I’ve broken into a full out sprint and spot none other than my favourite new neighbour taking an early morning jog. He’s partially hidden by his blue hoody, but I recognize him right away. I catch his eye for a millisecond before passing him and am momentarily distracted when I see that they’re blood shot and puffy. I feel the flush on my face when I remember the same blue eyes in my dreams last night and run faster, needing to shake my thoughts away.
The day is gloomy, dark clouds beginning to roll in and there was an exceptionally cold bite in the air for October. By the time I get to work, I’m ten minutes late and my cheeks and ears have turned pink from the chill. Linda has a fresh cup of hot chocolate waiting for me and she’s standing at my office door with her eyebrows raised at my flustered appearance.
“What would I do without you, L?” I say, gratefully taking the mug from her.
“Probably have a boyfriend by now,” Mark replies brightly as he passes the both of us in the hallway. I roll my eyes and groan. This is my every day.
Something feels off today. I blamed it on the weather at first, which has turned from dark and gloomy, to light flurries, to full on snowing thick flakes and howling wind by lunchtime. Though usually, I don’t mind the snow. I love the first snowfall of the season; it makes me anticipate the start of winter activities that much more. But today, I feel it in the pit of my stomach. A gut feeling. Even Linda keeps checking up on me every ten minutes. I assure her that I’m fine and concentrate on getting my day-group schedules done for the start of the season.
An hour before work ends, Mark informs us of the impending snowstorm that was just announced on the radio and lets us out early. The snow is coming down hard now and I decide to catch a ride with Linda. “Are you okay London?” she asks for the millionth time that day. I nod my head, but that feeling in my stomach will not go away.
“Yeah,” I reply slowly. “I think I just don’t feel good. I didn’t have the best sleep last night. I just need to get home and rest is all.” Though I know I’m just trying to convince myself because, as we near my house, the gut feeling grows stronger. “I’ll see you tomorrow, L.” I open the door and step out, the snow falling onto my lashes.
“Call me if you need anything!” Linda calls as I close the door behind me.
I wave at her as she drives off and hurry up my porch steps, my heart pounding. What is this feeling? Staring at the doorknob, I frown. Somehow, I don’t remember taking my keys with me. I reach into my backpack and, sure enough, no key. I turn the knob. It’s unlocked. I gasp and push the door open, imagining the worst. I look around. Everything looks normal enough; furniture still intact, all decoration still in place. But there’s something wrong.
“Bronx?” I call out, walking first into the kitchen. Nothing. “Bronx!” A lump forms in my throat and I walk down the hallway to my bedroom. No bark, no paws skittering across the hardwood. “Bronx!”
By now, I could feel the panic set in and I run out the front door, down the steps, and onto the sidewalk, looking frantically around me. I can barely see anything with the snow coming down hard. I squint, hoping to see a familiar silhouette running towards me. Nothing. I feel my breath becoming ragged, turning into mist in front of me. How am I ever going to find him in this weather? This is my fault. I was in such a rush, I didn’t close the door properly.
Just when tears of frustration threatened to spill, I hear a bark and my head shoots in the direction of the familiar sound. A few seconds later, a large German Sheppard comes padding down the street, tail wagging and tongue out. Relief floods over me as my face breaks into a huge grin and I kneel down to hug him.
“Bronx!” I cry out, furiously petting his head and letting him lick my face. “Where have you been boy? I was so worried!” I let out a giggle of relief.
“I found him roaming the streets.”
My eyes dart up and connect with a pair of blue ones standing over me. Oh. I swallow and stand slowly, not taking my eyes off him. He’s in a black Canada Goose jacket, hands shoved in his pockets, hood up, and eyes unreadable.
“He’s a good dog. Obedient.” He nods. My words catch in my throat. “I saw your door open, so I closed it and brought him to my house.” He pauses. “I didn’t want to snoop … or trespass, or anything.” I look down at Bronx and he’s staring up at me, tongue still out and eyes bright. “I didn’t want to leave him there either, in case he tried to break out again.” I look back at him and I feel it in my chest. I’m so grateful. So grateful nothing had happened to Bronx. “Well-“
Without warning, and surprising even myself, I throw my arms around him into a tight hug. I feel him tense but he doesn’t pull away.
“Thank you,” I breathe. “Thank you… Brian.” I pull away and glance at him before looking back down at Bronx, all of a sudden shy at my sudden action. “He means the world to me,” I mumble.
“It’s no problem.” I glance up at him again and he nods before turning on his heel. “You should learn to close your door next time.” With that, he stalks off down the street.
