Page 96 of The Cul-de-Sac War

“I didn’t force them to come. Or stay—”

“You posted the ad on Craigslist for five different cities.”

“I thought I would get a few people crazy enough to believe it,” Bree said firmly. “I mean, honestly, who would believe a man would trade his house for chickens?”

“Are you kidding me? I’ve seen ads on Craigslist for rentable ducks who wear money hats so party guests can pick up dollar bills while they walk by. Nothing is out of bounds on Craigslist.”

“So I underestimated the overwhelming number of unrealistic dreamers in the world—”

“Do you know how many people waste their money on the lottery? Do we live in the same universe?”

Bree frowned as she did a shuffle-hop over to the microwave and popped it open. “The point is, I didn’t mean to make him do that erupting-volcano face. For heaven’s sake, I didn’t even mean to do it that morning. Any of it. If I could take it all back, I would.” Bree popped over to the window yet again and looked out. No note in the window. The grass and trees were a muted gray beneath overcast skies, the street an eerie quiet. “I’m fairly certain I heard a Jekyll-and-Hyde laugh coming from his bedroom window that night though. What do you think that meant? Do you think I actually made him lose his mind?”

“If you’re asking if you are capable of making someone mentally unstable, then yes. I think we’ve been over that topic.”

Bree took a thoughtful sip of her coffee and started to hum.

“Bree, if you are actually worried that you ruined a genuine opportunity for him, why don’t you try something really novel?”

She set her coffee down. Her voice came out more desperate than she’d intended. “What?”

“Go out of your way to do something nice.”

Bree looked out over the distance between her house and his and considered the silence between.

It was ironic.

She had finally gotten what she wanted all along. Peace and quiet. A neighbor who minded his own business.

And it was more maddening than ever.

Bree started humming again.

“Stop,” Cassie said.

Bree stopped and took another sip. “I’ve gotta go. I have a dinner date.”

“What? With who?”

“Theo.”

“Theo? You’ve been dating a man named Theo and you’ve spent the last month giving me agonizingly long details about the neighbor’s dog?”

“Because it’s not as complex. Look, I’ll tell you all about it when I get back if you really want to know,” Bree said, and after a few more parting words, she hung up.

An hour later, seated at the Peppermill with Theo, Bree found herself transfixed by the butter dish sitting on the white tablecloth.

Chip never could have fit a business card onto it. The plate was too short and narrow.

“I’ll have the Shem Creek Sauté,” Theo said and handed the waiter his menu.

They both looked to her expectantly, and she looked up from her own menu, realizing she’d been sitting there for long minutes without reading a single item.

“Same,” Bree said, giving a slight smile.

“Without the shrimp,” Theo added swiftly.

“For yours, sir?”