Sweet Harmony

“Hey! Hey, what are you doing?”

The truck driver looked out his window and winced. “Sorry about that, lady.” He drove forward a bit, then cut the engine, hopping down from the cab. Kara heard the other door slam, as well.

Her carefully tended flower bed was in ruins, the V-grooved treads of two tires running right down the middle of her impatiens.

“What are you doing?”

He held out one of those electronic order processing boards for her signature. “Furniture’s here.”

“Furniture? I didn’t order any—”

“Yoo-hoo! Excuse me.” A moment later Miss Ever Efficient, today in a lime-green miniskirt suit, tiptoed around the ruined flower bed. “We’re over here.” The woman made it to where they stood without getting her heels caught in the lawn. Kara had to admire the skill—and the shoes.

Her gaze was still on the shoes when another set of feet appeared. This one looked to be about a size twelve encased in Timberlands. Her stomach knotted, and Kara knew even before her gaze roamed up the man’s body and landed on his face.

“You.”

He grinned. “Hello, Dr. Kara. I seem to be bad news for flowers in this town. Maybe I need to buy some greenhouse stock. Nadira?”

“I’ll have quotes for you this afternoon.”

“My fl…”

Before Kara could get the rest of the words out, he’d motioned to the assistant, who nodded.

“Hello, Dr. Spencer. I’m Nadira,” she said, extending a hand for a quick, efficient handshake. “We’re very sorry about the lawn. I’ll have a landscaper over here to fix it pronto.” She then directed the delivery driver to the house next door and started talking on her phone again.

“What are you doing here?”

“I told you, I rented a house.”

“But…” Kara waved a hand at her home, and then at—his! “But that one is…it’s right next to mine.” She pointed back and forth between the two houses as if they might disappear if she blinked. “You can’t possibly plan to live there.”

“Not me. My staff and I,” he quickly added. “We’re all set up, except for furniture.”

“But…”

“I was glad to see there’s a path between the two houses.”

Kara winced as she looked back at the winding stone path that led from her back door to the neighboring one. Laid by her next-door neighbor’s late husband, the path had linked the two homes in fellowship and friendship for more than forty years. Kara had kept up the tradition when she moved in five years ago. The now treacherous path had been perfect when Mrs. Abersoll lived in the house next door. Kara had checked on her elderly neighbor every day. Together they’d maintained the flower beds that ran the length of the driveways. But Mrs. Abersoll had gone on to be with the Lord six months ago, and her big house had remained empty. Until now.

“So, we’re neighbors,” Marcus said.

Kara wondered how fast shrubs could grow in place of the flowers.

“So I see,” she said, trying to inject some enthusiasm into her voice.

It was one thing to be friendly toward Marcus Ambrose when she thought he lived across town in one of the big houses on Cherryville Drive. It was another completely to have to face him not just on the unlikely off chance that their paths would cross at a shop in town or one Sunday morning at Community Christian, but every single day! Kara’s sunroom faced his kitchen. If she sat in her favorite chair, he’d think she was staring straight at him.

He was an R & B singer, at that. Would a band take up residence in the garage, disturbing the tranquillity of their tree-lined street with their practices and late-night musicians’ hours?

And even more important, would Kara be able to tamp down the flicker of jealousy she felt every time the able-bodied Nadira sidled up to Marcus with her ever-ready clipboard and telephone?

Kara knew herself to be more than able and efficient, but the fact that she’d worked herself into an emotional frenzy in fifteen seconds flat didn’t bode well—and over someone whose lifestyle she couldn’t respect. She promised to do some deep breathing exercises—just as soon as she established the ground rules with him.

“It looks like these two houses have a connection,” he said.

“Yes,” replied the conversationalist.

“I hope we’ll be good neighbors and can maintain it.” He smiled. “You never know when one of us might need a cup of sugar.”

“Sugar. Yes, well.” Kara watched his mouth say the words, but her mind was elsewhere, like on the lyrics to one of his songs. Something about a cup of love. Patrice used to sing it constantly.

And that’s the thought that saved her.

As the oldest Spencer child, Kara had moved out first. Faye followed a year later when she’d married. Patrice and two other siblings still lived at home with their parents. Benjamin came and went as his graduate studies demanded. Knowing how difficult it could be to find privacy in the large, busy household or even to stake out any significant personal bathroom time, Kara had slipped her sister a key under the proviso that she not let Erica, Benjamin, or Garrett know that she had complete run of Kara’s place. Of course, their mother had a key, but that was just for emergencies. And in the five years Kara had lived here, there’d been just one emergency.

With a focus again, Kara visibly brightened. “You’ll be pleased to know that my sister Patrice spends a lot of time over here. More than she does at home.” That was the truth.

She was aware that she was thrusting Patrice at him in an attempt to quash her own persistent interest in him. Since Haley’s wedding, Kara had spent time imagining her own happily-ever-after. She’d had a hard time superimposing a groom’s face into the fantasy. Until now.

“Well, then, having two beautiful neighbors will be even better.”

Kara’s knees faltered as if an earthquake shook the land beneath her. Had anyone else felt the tremor? His compliment warmed her, shook her foundation.

“Mr. Ambrose, I need you to sign this form. And an autograph for my daughter if you don’t mind,” the delivery driver added with a sheepish grin.

Marcus acknowledged the man, but his attention didn’t immediately leave Kara, nor hers him.

If she hadn’t been watching him so intently, Kara would have missed the brief, though distinct, flash of irritation that swept over him at the man’s polite request. Not so much as a muscle moved on his face, but she knew that he was annoyed. It must be tough to always live in the spotlight, with people demanding things from you.

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