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935 Words
The first thing people usually notice about me is my hair. It’s pink—not soft, not pastel, but electric. The kind of pink that makes heads turn and eyebrows lift. The kind that practically hums with energy, like a neon sign flickering to life. I’ve been dyeing it this way since I was sixteen, and I have no plans to stop. It’s bold. It’s fun. It’s me.
The second thing people notice? My clothes. I don’t do basic. I don’t do neutral. I dress like I’ve stepped straight out of a 1950s movie—high-waisted skirts, lace-trimmed blouses, fitted dresses with sweetheart necklines, and delicate pearl buttons on my cardigans. If I had my way, I’d wear petticoats every day, but even I know that’s a bit impractical. My closet is full of thrift store treasures, vintage finds, and custom-made pieces that scream old Hollywood glamour.
It’s not that I’m stuck in the past. I just prefer the elegance, the romance, the charm of vintage fashion. There’s something about putting on a dress with a nipped-in waist and a flared skirt that makes me feel like I can take on the world. Like I belong to a time when things were simpler—or at least prettier.
Unfortunately, none of that made my arrival in town any smoother.
People stared. Some whispered. A few smiled, but most just looked… confused. Like they weren’t sure what to do with me. I got it. Small towns weren’t exactly known for their diversity in fashion choices, and I wasn’t exactly the jeans-and-sneakers type. But I hadn’t expected to feel quite so much like an alien stepping off a spaceship.
And then there was my neighbor.
The grumpiest man I’d ever met.
The moment I pulled up to my new house in my slightly beat-up vintage car, he was there. Arms crossed. Eyes narrowed. Jaw clenched so tight I was afraid his teeth might crack. He had this whole dark and brooding thing going on—messy dark hair, sharp cheekbones, and a body built like he spent his free time chopping wood and growling at people.
I told myself not to stare.
I stared.
Because of course the universe would plant a ridiculously good-looking, terrifyingly grumpy man right next door.
I had barely stepped out of my car before he was stalking over.
“You lost?” His voice was deep, rough, and completely devoid of warmth.
I blinked up at him, shifting my sunglasses to the top of my head. “Nope. I live here now.” I gestured toward the small, charming house I’d just rented. The one with the yellow front door and the little flower boxes under the windows. It was perfect, like something out of a storybook.
He did not look pleased.
His gaze flickered from me to the house, then back again. “You’re moving in there?”
“Yes.” I smiled, determined to be friendly even though he clearly wasn’t. “I’m Ivy. Ivy Hart.” I stuck out my hand.
He didn’t take it.
O-kay then.
Instead, he exhaled through his nose, like my presence was personally ruining his day. “Rowan.”
Just Rowan. No last name.
Mysterious.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Rowan.” I dropped my hand, ignoring the awkwardness, and glanced around. “Seems like a nice neighborhood.”
“It was.”
I blinked. “Wow. Okay.”
He didn’t say anything.
I tilted my head, studying him. “Do you always welcome new neighbors like this, or am I just special?”
His jaw ticked. “I don’t have neighbors.”
I raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the row of houses on the street. “You sure about that?”
“I meant on this side.” He jerked his chin toward the woods behind our houses. “No one’s lived in that house for years.”
“Well, I guess that makes me lucky.”
He didn’t look like he agreed.
In fact, he looked like he was seriously regretting whatever life choices had led him to this moment.
I sighed, deciding to cut him some slack. Maybe he just wasn’t a people person. Some people weren’t. I could handle a grumpy neighbor. It wasn’t like I’d be bothering him anyway—I had my own life to settle into.
“I promise I won’t cause any trouble,” I said, reaching into my car to grab a box. “I’m quiet. Mostly. Unless I’m baking, then sometimes there’s singing. But it’s usually good singing.”
Rowan didn’t react.
I glanced at him. “Do you not like singing?”
He just stared at me.
“Do you not like talking?” I teased.
Nothing.
Wow. Okay. The man was made of stone.
“Well,” I said, adjusting my grip on the box, “I’ll try not to ruin your life too much.”
I turned and started toward the house, but before I could take more than a few steps, I heard him mutter under his breath.
“Doubt it.”
I stopped.
Slowly, I turned back to face him.
“Excuse me?”
His gaze met mine, unreadable. “Nothing.”
Oh, he so said something.
But instead of rising to the bait, I did what I always did.
I smiled.
Because nothing annoyed a grump more than relentless optimism.
“See you around, neighbor,” I said brightly, before turning on my heel and heading inside.
And if I made a little extra show of twirling my skirt as I went, well… he deserved it.
- Writer
