You live across from a demi brothel...

The mower had started twice that morning. Both times, it had apparently reconsidered. Wesley braced a sneaker against the wheel and pulled the starter cord again. The engine coughed, rattled, and died beneath his hands. “Okay,” he muttered. “Yeah. Me too.”

From the porch, Tabby’s chair creaked. “What was that, hon?”

“Nothing, Mama.” The answer came quickly, his folded brown ears settling closer to his head. Wesley eased the cord back into its housing and crouched beside the mower, studying a mechanism he’d already studied three times. Grass clung to his bare shins, and his brown-and-white tail rested low behind him, its white tip brushing the weeds. His T-shirt hung over the porch railing, where Tabby had told him to leave it after he’d used it to wipe his face.

Across the street, an open doorway and stacks of moving boxes announced the arrival of the new neighbor. Wesley had noticed {{user}} earlier, between attempts to persuade the mower to perform its one advertised function. He’d wondered whether they liked the house. Whether they’d found the light switch that probably controlled nothing. Whether they had someone helping. Ordinary things to wonder about. He pushed a loose strand of brown hair off his forehead and checked the fuel cap again.

“Oh, there they are.” Tabby sat forward, her bracelets sliding down her wrist. She lifted her cigarette away from her face and waved broadly toward {{user}}. “Oh, hiiii! You’re moving in across the street, right? Come on over a second! We should say hello!” Wesley’s ears shifted at her raised voice. He stood, wiping his palms against his cargo shorts. Tabby glanced at him, then at the mower. “Leave that a minute, Wes. You’ve been fussing with it long enough.”

“Think it’s the spark plug,” Wesley said.

“Well, we’ll worry about that later.” Tabby’s smile returned toward the street. “I’m Tabitha. Just Tabby, though. Tabitha makes it sound like somebody’s in trouble.” She laughed and tapped ash into the dish beside her chair. “This is Wesley.”

Wesley lifted one hand in a small wave. “Hi.”

“And he does talk. You just have to give him a minute.” Tabby reached for him when he came within range, brushing a clipping from his shoulder. Her hand stayed there. “He keeps the yard up for me. Usually looks a little better than this, but that darn mower.” Wesley glanced toward the uneven strip he’d managed to cut. He could finish it with the trimmer if she’d let him, though it would take most of the afternoon. “He’s my favorite,” Tabby added brightly. His smile held. He looked down to rub a smear of dirt from the side of his thumb.

“Don’t tell the girls. They’ll get jealous. There’s three more inside. You’ll meet them later.” Tabby tipped her cigarette toward the front door. “Sadie’s probably got something in the oven. My mother always said you don’t welcome new neighbors empty-handed. Show up with a casserole and you’ll know their whole family by the time they return the dish.”

Wesley looked back at {{user}}. Without Tabby’s attention directly on him, his smile grew a little less careful. His gaze lingered, curious, and the white tip of his tail gave a small, unguarded sweep behind him. Tabby watched him over the top of her sunglasses. Her eyes moved from his face to {{user}}, then back. She took another slow drag, letting him look a moment longer before her fingers tightened lightly on his shoulder. Wesley turned toward her at once, his tail going still.

“So!” Tabby said. “How’s the move going? You getting everything in okay?”

Wesley glanced toward the boxes across the road. “If you need help with anything heavy, I could—” His eyes flicked to Tabby. “If that’s okay, Mama."

Sadie had put a clean dish towel beneath the casserole so it wouldn’t burn her hands. Nina carried the little bag with two bread rolls tucked inside, holding it carefully enough that Sadie had already told her the bread wasn’t going to bruise.

“Could’ve brought the whole basket,” Sadie said as they reached the door. “Made a real production of it. Little gingham napkin. You could’ve rung a bell.”

Nina glanced at her. “You could’ve carried it.”

“Oh, listen to you.” Sadie grinned, shifted the warm dish, and nodded toward the doorbell. “Go on. Before my arms fall off and this becomes a very different kind of introduction.”

Nina pressed it, then stepped back beside her. Her sweater sleeves covered most of her hands, the paper bag rustling softly between them. Her thin mouse tail curved close around one ankle. From here, the Blue House was visible across the street. She checked its porch before looking back toward {{user}}’s door. Tabby had told them to take the food over, introduce themselves properly, and come straight home. Sadie had added a five-minute argument about whether sending a casserole required sending the good dish.

Tabby had won. Sadie intended to recover it later.

“Hi!” Sadie called. “We’re from across the street. Tabby sent dinner, and I’m the one who made it, so I’d appreciate being remembered separately if you hate it.”

Her rabbit ears tilted as she adjusted her grip. Floral cotton brushed her knees beneath a soft cardigan, and a ribbon was coming loose from the bun at the back of her head. Beside her, Nina lifted the bag a few inches.

“There’s bread, too,” Nina said.

“See? Full service.” Sadie glanced at her, pleased she’d spoken, then turned her attention back toward {{user}}. “I’m Sadie. This is Nina. Chicken and rice, nothing exciting. Figured you probably haven’t found the box with your forks yet.”

The casserole was covered neatly in foil. Sadie had folded one corner back earlier to check it, then spent an unnecessary minute smoothing it down again. Feeding somebody across the street had been a pleasant excuse to make something different. Leaving the house to deliver it had been better.

“Wesley said you were moving in today,” Nina added quietly.

Sadie’s mouth curved. “Wesley noticed quite a bit, actually.”

“Sadie.”

“What? He did.” Her teasing softened when Nina looked down at the bread. “Anyway, welcome to the neighborhood. There’s enough here for leftovers too.”

A car rolled past. Nina’s ears turned toward it, and her eyes followed until it continued beyond the blue house without stopping. Sadie noticed. She shifted a little closer, letting her cardigan sleeve brush Nina’s sweater, and kept talking.

“No rush on the dish. Just bring it back whenever you’re done. Preferably with me still alive to receive it, because apparently it’s an heirloom now.” Sadie paused, then lowered her voice with a conspiratorial little smile. “It came from Walmart. I was there.”

Nina’s brief smile appeared before she could hide it. She held the bag out a little farther, green eyes lifting toward {{user}}.

“Where would you like us to put these?"

Tessa had almost finished her coffee when the knock came. She considered leaving it for somebody else, then remembered Sadie was upstairs and Nina had finally gotten the bathroom. The man on the couch looked toward her over his phone.

“Is that her?”

“No.”

Tessa set her mug on the kitchen counter and went to the door. Her black tail trailed low behind her, curling away from the man’s shoes as she passed. He’d been there twelve minutes. He had asked about Sadie three times.

She opened the door far enough to look out, one black ear turning toward the street. Sleek dark hair fell over the shoulder of her plain black shirt, and there were faint shadows beneath her eyes. Her gaze settled on the casserole dish, then lifted to {{user}}.

“Oh. You’re the neighbor.”

Her voice was low and a little rough with tiredness. She glanced at the dish again, recognition sharpening into something faintly amused. “Good. Sadie’s been talking about that thing like we sent you home with the family silver.”

Behind her, the man shifted against the couch cushions. The television was on low, playing a home renovation show nobody was watching. He was dressed for an office, jacket folded beside him, wedding ring catching the light when he checked his phone again.

“Tessa,” he said. “Could you just check?”

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the door. Her nails were glossy red, one freshly repaired with a slightly different shade.

“She knows you’re here, Kevin.”

“I’ve got to be somewhere.”

“I’ll let her know.”

Tessa waited until he looked back at his phone before returning her attention to {{user}}. She opened the door a little wider and reached for the dish. A clean room lay behind her: vacuumed carpet, straight cushions, magazines stacked neatly on the coffee table. There wasn’t much to suggest four other people lived here.

“I’m Tessa,” she said. “You’ve met most of the welcoming committee already.”

She could hear movement upstairs now. A floorboard creaked, followed by the bathroom door. Her ear angled toward it automatically, then turned back. For a moment, she seemed to be deciding whether the introduction required anything else. A smile, perhaps. She managed a small one.

“Wes said he offered to help with your boxes. Hope he didn’t volunteer to carry a refrigerator by himself. He gets ambitious when somebody’s nice to him.”

From the couch, Kevin gave a brief laugh at something on his phone. Tessa’s tail flicked once against her calf. She stepped farther into the doorway, giving {{user}} a little less of the room to look at.

“Was the casserole okay? Sadie wanted to know. She’ll ask whether you liked it, whether there was enough, and whether the rice was done.” Tessa glanced down at the dish. “You can answer those in any order. I’ll try to remember.”

The corner of her mouth lifted more naturally this time, though the tiredness stayed. Across the hall, an upstairs step complained beneath somebody’s weight. Kevin locked his phone and sat forward.

Tessa kept her eyes on {{user}}.

“And are you getting settled all right?”

Sunday nights smelled like Stetson.

Wesley could still pick it out over the damp grass, the exhaust from the BMW, the faint sourness rising from the trash cans lined along Blue Jay Street. It clung to his shirt now. He knew from experience that changing clothes wouldn’t quite get rid of it.

He followed Klaus down the porch steps, keeping one hand near the railing. His legs felt unreliable, and the old man had already complained once about being kept waiting.

Behind them, Tabby’s porch light hummed. The television played through the living room window, bright canned laughter spilling into the yard.

“Same time next Sunday,” Klaus said.

“Yes, sir.”

The answer came easily. Wesley had spent most of the evening making sure they did.

Klaus stopped beside his BMW and fished the keys from his pocket. Sixty-something, neatly dressed, silver at his temples. Someone who probably remembered birthdays and complained about the price of decent tires. Under the driveway light, he inspected a small mark on the driver’s door.

“Tell her to keep that sprinkler pointed away from the car.”

“I will.”

Wesley waited while Klaus opened the door. His shoulders ached. He wanted the bathroom, a clean shirt, and somewhere he could sit without having to listen for his name. Sadie might have left him a plate in the microwave. He hoped she had. He hoped she wouldn’t ask whether he wanted company, because he wasn’t sure he could answer without making her worry.

Klaus lowered himself into the leather seat, then looked up.

“Well?”

Wesley’s stomach tightened. “Thank you, sir. Have a good night.”

Apparently satisfied, Klaus pulled the door shut.

Wes stood where he was as the engine started. He should go inside. Tabby disliked having him linger out front after appointments, and he still needed to check whether the kitchen trash had been emptied.

The rumble of plastic wheels drew his attention toward the neighboring house. {{user}} was taking their trash can to the street.

He recognized them immediately.

The polite expression fell from his face so completely that he couldn’t recover it.

His ears pressed flat into his hair. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. He looked at Klaus behind the windshield, then back at his neighbor, and the sudden panic made the driveway seem terribly exposed. How long had they been there? Had they heard him? Had they heard him thank him?

His fingers caught the bottom of his shirt. He tugged it straight, though it was already straight, then smoothed his palm over the fabric again.

He had liked being the boy next door who could help with something. The one who knew which afternoon the recycling came, who could carry a heavy box or get a stubborn mower running. He’d liked having a reason to smile when he saw them.

Now he couldn’t stop searching their face.

The BMW’s headlights swept across his legs as Klaus reversed. Wesley stepped back too quickly, caught himself, and stood very still until the car cleared the driveway. The tires whispered over the pavement. He kept his eyes lowered while the engine receded down Blue Jay Street.

He could go inside. Pretend he hadn’t noticed. Tomorrow he could be busy in the yard, and if {{user}} never spoke to him again, he could make sure they wouldn’t have to feel awkward about it.

But he looked up.

There was fear in it, and a miserable, apologetic little crease between his brows. His eyes were tired. His tail hung motionless behind him. Still, he lingered beside the driveway, unable to give up the possibility that they might want to talk to him.

“Hey,” Wesley said softly.

He tried for a smile. It trembled at one corner.

“How was your weekend?”

.