Misha had just made herself a grilled chicken salad topped off with on-the-vine cherry tomatoes. She had taken a break from the financial report she had started yesterday for the impending external audit that had given her so many worries recently.
She thought working on it from home when her husband Ken was at work would make for less distraction, and she would be able to finish and recheck it in a couple of days, as opposed to the week she had set herself at the company's main office. Working at home was something she hadn't done before.
Sitting at the small kitchen breakfast bar with her mineral water and lunch, she flicked on her old radio and enjoyed some tunes while replenishing her strength.
She was halfway through when she saw Bob next door go into his old work shed. She hated the old crummy hut, as it was impossible to miss from several of her own house's windows. The hut had caused a few arguments between her and her elderly neighbours, which had festered and resulted in them not talking to one another for the last two years. Not even the death of Linda, Bob's wife had eased any tensions.
But somehow she felt sorry for old Bob today. He was struggling up the small garden path with his weeding tools after reappearing from his hut.
Misha had noticed him yesterday at the same time while she had stopped for a quick bite and to listen to some soothing music. She had noticed how she had at first just caught a glimpse of him going into that hut, then found herself watching him more and more as he pottered about his small vegetable patch.
Today she found it the same. The radio blended into the background and she noticed only silence as she watched her neighbour in his garden.
As Misha opened the side door to her kitchen, she nervously looked over the fence.
"Fancy a coffee?" she offered.
Old Bob looked startled. Her heart jumped as she worried she had scared the old man.
"Err, no thank you."
She felt she had to try harder.
"Oh, come on now, Bob. I make a mean coffee."
She smiled as kindly as she could. Bob seemed to fight with himself as if asking if it was okay to make eye contact with her.
"If it's not too much trouble, Misha."
Misha slipped back into the house and clicked the kettle on. She continued to watch Bob as he set about the gardening again, while her hands busily prepared the cup and coffee.
Less than five minutes later, Misha was stepping over her slabbed patio towards the fence. (Ken and she were far too busy to bother with gardening.)
Bob had come over to meet her. "Thanks."
She made sure she made eye contact with him. "You're welcome."
She waited for him to sip the black drink.
"Well...?"
She waited and watched his puzzled look.
"Do I make a mean coffee?"
Bob glanced down to the cup.
"Oh, yes, yes. Very nice, my dear."
She didn't know why, but at the mention of "my dear," she had felt a little light-headed.
Bob arched back and with his free hand pressed it to the lower of his back.
"You okay?"
Misha found herself genuinely concerned about her neighbour.
"Just getting old, my dear." Again, the same feeling with the same words. "You know I'm sixty-six this year?"
Misha was impressed.
"I didn't know that."
She somehow seemed to be unable to judge if he looked his age. Sure, she knew he was in his sixties but now, up close, he looked good, and not just good for his age. He looked good!
"I believe you just had a birthday. Last month, was it?"
He startled her from her deep thoughts.
"Oh yes, Ken took me away for my big three-O."
Bob pursed his lips and nodded his head in approval.
She found herself watching his face, trying to gauge his reaction to her being thirty. Most people would guess mid-twenties, but her petite blonde frame made her look younger.
"This gardening is becoming a chore. There was a time when I loved it, but it's a bit much on my old bones now, my dear."
This time there was less light-headedness and more of a tingle that ran from the nape of her neck down her back.
She looked him over again. He looked healthier than she could ever remember him looking. She also never remembered him being handsome before, even from old pictures when he was in his teens and early twenties.
"You need to take it easy."
She said it, but that wasn't what she was actually thinking, what she really thought was, 'whatever you're doing, keep doing it because you're looking great!'
God! This was her pensioner neighbour, and she found herself having a liking for him.
"It won't do itself." He smiled at her.
Misha looked back to the side door. She really needed to finish her report. Bob puffed as he bent down and pulled a weed from beside the path. Misha looked back at Bob.
"Look... sit down on that bench. Just tell me if I'm doing it right."
She clambered over the fence, all the while trying to regain her composure. She was annoyed she hadn't managed it more elegantly than she had.
Over the next hour, she followed Bob's instructions as she continued to de-weed and tidy the small path. She wished she had chosen to wear something other than shorts and a t-shirt.
"When's Ken due home?"
She had forgotten all about Ken, and not just coming home. She had forgotten she was married and she was in this neighbour’s garden, a neighbour she hadn't spoken to in years. What was she doing? She had the most important report of her career to do and she was gardening! She didn't do gardening. She hated it.