After the party, I'd been keeping my head down in the neighbourhood for a bit. Some of the others at the party told me that it did crack on until dawn. Best to be the good neighbour and toe the line for a bit. Danielle has been going around with such a skip in her step since the party.

She's obviously lauding it over the others that she told me off. If only she knew what plans I have for her. Swanning about in her yoga pants and those sports bras leave nothing and everything to the imagination. I do enjoy watching her brown hair bounce as she floats around the neighbourhood not a care in the world, knocking on doors or heading to the gym. I haven't seen her husband for over a week and whenever he is away this long, she seems to keep herself extra busy. The extra time at the gym is working for her though; that ass is pneumatic these days.

A couple of days later I'm sitting in my study working on a new project when I hear this almighty crash from just outside. Locking my screen I dash through the house and out my front door to see Danielle staring down at the rear end of my car, her own parked way too... oh, you stupid...

"What the fuck, Danielle?"

She's there, eyes wide, hair in a long ponytail, looking luscious as ever but clearly just back from the gym, yoga pants and sports bra somehow looking like an outfit that took at least an hour to pick out. She doesn't know whether to look at me or the back of my car. I don't know where to look, to be honest.

I walk over I see what she's done. I'm not a car guy, but I'd wanted to own a Jaguar E-Type Roadster since I was a kid. An original 1966 Series 1 that I'd bought when I sold my first company.

And now she's crashed her ugly tank of a thing into it. On American roads, my beautiful car looks like a toy car but it does look pretty. Did, look pretty. I get to the back of the car and there's a good-sized dent in the back, 100% something I can get fixed in a couple of days and at minimal cost but like fuck am I going to tell her that.

Towering over her even in my bare feet I quietly but seriously ask, "What the hell have you done? Do you even pay attention? Is your world so fucking simple and vapid that you don't notice other people's belongings? Are you that self-centred that you can't pay attention to the bloody road? It's not difficult, I mean, it's a tiny, little, beautiful car and you've managed to hit it. What were you doing?"

With every question, my voice gets quieter and I can see her visibly shrinking in front of me. She's biting her lip and definitely not trying to be sexy about it but she's doing things to me even as she withers under my stare. "Well?"

She mumbles and mutters, "I'm sorry, I'll get it fixed, I don't know how it happened. I just, er, I don't know. I'm so so sorry. Don't tell my husband, please." Long gone is the calm and restraint and air of superiority. She almost looks cute.

Looking down at her and at my car then around at the neighbourhood wondering how on earth I ended up here. Surrounded by these people, people who care more that their trainers match their sports bra than, well, a lot of things. Breathing steadily, my eyes staring past her I say thinly, "Just drive away Danielle, drive away. I won't tell Bryan."

Turning away to walk back inside. I hear that ugly sound of her tank backing up and swinging into her drive. I think to myself there is absolutely no way she doesn't come knocking soon, to apologise with some cliched apology dish or bottle of wine or something. The only questions are whether she showers first and what she brings.

It's getting towards early evening now and she still hasn't come over to apologise. Maybe she isn't quite as prim and proper as I thought. Maybe she doesn't care enough. I've already rung the workshop, showed them the photos and a little facetime video of it. They are picking it up tomorrow and will be fixed in a day. No harm done, really.

I'm watching the sunset out on my deck at the back and there's some amazing clouds brewing. Storm today or tomorrow for sure. Just as the sun dips below the horizon, I hear my doorbell go. Checking my phone I see it's her and as I pad towards the front door, I notice that she's brought wine at least, better than flowers.

I open the door and she's there, her hair up in a ponytail that makes her look five years younger but slightly stern, almost teacher-like. Her long flowing summer dress looks really good and she's clearly been working on her poses as she stands there one foot forward, the slit of the dress falling to the side of her leg.

"Hi Danielle, has the shock subsided?"

"Hi Nick, er, yes, thanks. I've been feeling so bad about earlier. I've been fretting all afternoon. I wanted to give you the chance to calm down a bit and, well, apologise properly."

She holds out the wine and I take it, our fingers touching as I lift it from her. My eyes instantly noting the 1982 and the big, bold, fuck you lettering of Grand Vin du Chateau Latour. Anyone who knows wine knows this is a proper apology.

I smile at Danielle, perhaps for the first time since my own apology. "Well, thank you. Do you want to come in and try it?"

She's uncertain that's for sure but she didn't spend all that time picking out this outfit of that stunning dress and those heels just to hand over the bottle. I mean heels, to come next door? She needs to get out more.

I give her a real smile, an open one, "Come on, let's bury the hatched with a glass of this wine."

She nods and smiles a little, "I raided Bryan's cellar but he probably won't even notice." The note of either disappointment, resentment or something else definitely lingers in the air as she walks in. The sound of her heels clicking on the hardwood floors reminds me of when the realtor was walking around in her heels, that pencil skirt. What was her name? She was fun.

I break from my thoughts and see that Danielle has made it through to the open plan living room and kitchen and is looking at the sunset that still dominates the dark sky. "Make yourself at home, I'll just open this. Do you want a gin and tonic whilst it breathes?"

She doesn't seem to be listening but nods, "Ooh, yes please."

Her fingers are absentmindedly tracing over the soft material of the sofa as she looks out the window. No idea what she is thinking about but she's definitely lost in thought. I make two gin and tonics and grab some nuts bringing them all over and hand her the drink. She's used to being waited on you can tell as she barely thanks me, almost an auto-pilot thing. Grew up privileged no doubt.

I smile to myself and take a sip, following her gaze out at the sunset, "Want to go out on the deck?"

She just nods again. She's a confusing one.

We head outside and take our seats, looking out again at the sunset. Eventually, she turns to me and says in a rush of garbled words, "Please don't tell my husband, about the car, or the wine." Her eyes go wide and she carries on, "I, well, he gets so mad, I'll pay for the damage and just, please."

I let her go on and she carries on this same vein for at least a minute. She's not looking at me though. It's the worst prepared apology and pleading ever. I put my hand on hers and give it a brief squeeze, "Danielle, it's fine, stop. I've spoken to the shop and it will be fixed in a day. And as for your husband, don't worry, it's our secret. And the wine? Well, that's definitely our secret. Now finish your gin and we'll see how it tastes."

I down the rest of my drink and walk past her inside to get the wine and a couple of glasses. She's visibly more relaxed as she sits there looking up at me as I pour her a glass and hand it to her. I pour my own and sitting down hold up my glass to hers, "To putting the past behind us."

She nods and smiles and for the first time is starting to look at ease in my company. As we drink the wine, I can see she is unwinding. She's actually quite good fun. There's definitely a mischievous side that she's hidden away over the years. Whether it's a look here or a certain smile when we talk about life before marriage there was clearly a wild child who has been smothered with all of these things and possessions.

As we finish the bottle, her phone rings and she looks at it. Recognising the picture as her husband I can't help but notice some of the light go out of her eyes. I smile at her to take it and head inside for another bottle. As I do, the heavens absolutely open, those clouds that were building have broken and we have another thunderstorm on our hands. I've come to get used to them and the lightning in the three months I've lived here.

She scurries in after me just as I hear, "No, don't worry, I'm just at home, I've locked all the doors and windows are shut. I'll see you tomorrow. Ok. Love you."

That littlest of lies makes my cock throb lightly as I wonder what else she would lie about.