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“Don’t forget a bow,” she reminds me. “I want my red one.”
“Sure thing, ladybug.”
I reach over and grab her favorite sparkly red bow from one of the ribbons attached to the woven rainbow hanging on the wall, holding dozens of other bows and hair clips. Lola’s love for glittery and shiny things has no limits.
That must be why she’s so captivated by Marlow. The woman lives in a pink house, wears glittery sneakers, and has a wardrobe full of colorful clothes. Add in her sunny disposition, and any little girl would be in love, particularly mine.
I’m concerned that Lola’s fascination toward our eccentric neighbor might be contagious.
I secure the bow in Lola’s hair, pleased with the final result.
“You’re all set. Now, let’s hurry and get you off to school.” She’s off like a shot. “No running,” I call after her.
“I’m just hurrying like you told me to,” she sasses back.
Considering the size of her attitude, it’s a miracle I don’t have a head full of gray hair yet. I can’t imagine what life will be like living with a teenage Lola. God, give me patience when the time comes.
“Well, hurry a little slower,” I shout after her.
Once I put away the hair supplies, I head to the kitchen, grab Lola’s lunch from the fridge, and slip it inside her backpack. When I get to the entryway, the front door is wide open, and she’s waiting for me on the porch, impatiently tapping her foot.
“Come on, Daddy.”
“I’ll be right there.” I quickly throw on a pair of tennis shoes and we head toward the school.
Until Lola stops in front of the pink house next door.
I glance up to find Marlow standing at her studio window. Even from this distance I notice spatters of blue paint on her face. Soon enough, Waffles appears by her side, barking enthusiastically.
“Hi, Waffles. Hi, Marlow,” Lola shouts, waving with both hands.
Marlow waves back with a vibrant smile on her face.
God, why is she so damn pretty all the time? Even with paint on her face, she’s stunning…
I dismiss the thought with a shake of my head. Happy. I meant, why is she so damn happy all the time?
I usher Lola along. “Come on, ladybug. We have to hurry or we’re going to be late.”
Against my better judgment, I turn back to give Marlow a second glance. She’s still at her window, and when she catches my gaze, she gives me a wave of my own. Unsure what else to do, I wave back.
There I go again.
The one drawback to living in my neighborhood is the houses are uncomfortably close to each other, which means if your neighbors are loud, you’ll hear it. Luckily, my house is at the end of the block, so I only have one next-door neighbor. The downside? That neighbor is Marlow Taylor, and she blasts ’80s pop music at the most inconvenient times.
Both our houses have lofts—I’ve transformed mine into an office and she uses hers for some sort of art studio. I have no idea what she does over there all day, aside from listening to loud music and painting flowers. Whatever that means.
I log into my conference call to find Harrison already waiting. His arms are folded across his chest, and his face remains in a permanent scowl. It’s rare to see him smile these days. His black hair is styled in a tapered fade, and his muscular arms fill out the sleeves of his light gray dress shirt. He played professional hockey when he was younger and has maintained his athletic build. I clench my teeth in frustration as the chorus of “Material Girl”filters into my office. Every time I think Marlow’s going to take a break, another song starts.
I lean back in my chair to get a better view through the window that faces her loft.
She’s at it again.
Marlow is dancing around the room with a giant paintbrush in hand, belting out the lyrics to the second verse. She bends down to where Waffles is seated on his haunches, watching her impromptu performance. From this angle, I have the perfect view of her backside, and those tight mint green yoga pants do nothing to hide the toned shape of her ass. She usually paints in her overalls, but I much prefer the yoga pants.God, I sound like such a creep.
“Dylan, are you listening?”
I snap my attention to the computer screen and receive a disapproving glare from Harrison. Cash, who has since joined the call, covers his mouth in an attempt to suppress a snicker.
