Day Thirteen of Advent

These two are new. Just a little snippet of original fic.

I Woke From my Dreams

The clatter and roar of a snowblower dragged me from my sleep. I forced my eyes open and squinted at the alarm. 7.03. Still dark outside. I did a sum in my head that added up to less than five hours sleep after pulling a double shift at the hospital, groaned, and rolled over. Sleep refused to return. After twenty minutes of trying, with the fucking snowblower providing background music, I gave up and got up.

I’d finished my shower when I heard blissful silence descend. Oh, now he’d stopped. My new neighbor was apparently obsessed with his garden. His house was on the corner, front door facing onto another street, so we hadn’t met yet, but I’d heard him cutting his grass often and seen him raking leaves off it as I drove by. Now it seemed I was doomed to a winter of being woken early as he dealt with each and every snowflake.
I pushed open the bathroom window when I heard the creak of a shed door. He was putting the instrument of torture away. I leaned out, towel around my waist, a sudden fury sweeping through me.

“Hey! Thanks a lot, asshole.”

He swung around, startled, and stared up at me. Too far to see much of his face, and a toque covered his hair, but I heard his reply.

“What did you say?”

I shot him the finger, slammed the window closed, and sank onto the edge of the bath, heart pounding with exhilaration and guilt. I barely did assertive, let alone aggressive, and I’d shocked myself. Eyes scratchy from lack of sleep, still resentful, I dressed and went downstairs for coffee in vast quantities.

I wandered into the front room with a brimming mug and glanced out to see how much digging I’d need to do.

None. My driveway and the sidewalk were clear.

Coffee slopped over my hand as I lurched forward to confirm what I already knew. He’d been clearing my drive when he woke me up. And, by the look of it, Susan’s too. She was a sweet elderly widow who’d lived next door to me for years.

I sipped what I hadn’t spilled, mind racing. I’d need to apologize. No. Grovel. Though he had woken me up…but he didn’t know I worked nights, and it was a weekday.

Knocking on his door took guts. I wanted to run away instead, plunge my face into a snowdrift until the scorch of embarrassment faded. No one came so I knocked again, over-compensating by pounding hard.

He answered the door in sweats hanging low on his hips, bare feet, and a damp T-shirt he’d clearly pulled on over wet skin. His hair was damp too, long, thick, and reddish-brown.

Great. I’d gotten him out of the shower.

“If you’re here to yell at me some more, save it.”

“I’m not! Really, I’m not.” I hesitated. The wind whipping at me had to feel icy to him. “Can I come in? To explain?”

“Not interested.”

“To apologize?”

“Marginally interested.”

“Grovel, beg, and plead for forgiveness?”

“Now, there’s an offer I could consider.” He jerked his head. “Come on in, neighbor.”

Something about the twinkle in his grey eyes told me I had a chance at making his good list when Christmas rolled around. Except by then we’d both discovered the pleasure of being naughty together.

Unless I fell asleep on his shoulder. That happened a lot and he was always careful not to wake me.