A car crept past tapping its horn repeatedly.
“What’s your problem, Mister?” he groused. “Can’t a guy work on his car in peace?” He patted through the leafy debris in the gutter, feeling for a dropped bolt. “Of course, I spend more time under this car than driving it around.”
“Sir, you left the door open on your car.”
Ernest glanced over and wheezed. A pair of shapely pair of legs stretched up from shiny high heels. These were not Mrs. MacDuff’s legs. Hers were thick and planted firmly in handknit socks and tattered slippers.
He swiveled his head upwards, and when he couldn’t see more than a silhouette, he shifted the flashlight to stand on end. A young redhead shielded her eyes from the glare with obvious annoyance.
“Your door?” She pointed over the car. “You left it wide open, and I had a hard time getting by. Didn’t you hear me?”
“What?” She was the honker? “No need to have a hissy fit,” he mumbled. Ernest jumped to his feet and ran around the car, slamming the door shut. He pointed the light after her retreating back only to note two remarkable things. One: she had a very nice figure. Two: she lived next door to him.
Since when was there a shapely redhead living in the pad next to him?
He jogged after her, growing self-conscious of the grease on his shirt and tie as he entered the pool of light their shared porch light afforded. “Hey! You… live there? When did you move in?”
Her face wrinkled in obvious confusion. “I’ve lived here since summer.” She shoved the key into the lock.
“How have I never seen you before?”
“I work late most nights.” She gave him an irritated shrug and hurried inside without another word.