"It's not that bad."
Carol's voice rang through the megaphone, "A recent homeowner himself..."
How long of an introduction was necessary for an HOA president? It's not like I was going to be a likeable character. As a matter of fact, I was about to become the most unpopular man in the neighborhood. Everyone loved complaining about HOA presidents. There were probably clubs devoted to it. Entire Facebook groups devoted to complaints.
Pulling back from Nola, I immediately missed the soft smell of coconut and grapefruit that seemed to follow her.
"If you could just wave big now, Bane," Carol was saying to me through the megaphone. Nola lifted my limp arm from my side and waved it in the air. I glared down at her, but she just grinned. Carol continued speaking, "Everybody see Bane? He's the one to go to if you have questions about current policies, or if you have any future ideas or complaints."
"Thank you, everyone," I nodded and smiled stiffly. "I'll try to look out for the best interests of the neighborhood while I'm here."
Carol winked at me, then said, "Any questions or concerns, and you can call or text. I'll be sure to get Bane's number and text it to you all. One more wave, so everyone knows who to look for when they have questions."
With another big wave, I stepped toward the shadows where Nola stood. "Quick, let’s get out of here. I don't want to stay here too long and give them a chance to come talk to me."
We turned around to make our getaway but came face to face with a Civil War veteran. Okay, he wasn't that old, but his glasses were thick enough to be bulletproof. "You'll make a terrible HOA president."
I nodded. "You're probably right."
"With a name like Fox, how do I know I can trust you?"
"Well, that's an excellent question—what did you say your name was?"
"Fredrick Rolston," he barked.
"Fredrick, I can understand your concerns. I'm new to the neighborhood. Honestly, I'll be speaking with Jan and Carol the first chance I get. I feel as though it isn't fair to the other residents to have someone so new to the area. You should be the president." Anyone should be the president but me. "I'm not familiar with the struggles and nuances of this neighborhood. I don't think I'd be able to represent everyone the way they deserve, so I’ll be stepping down."
Fredrick's face softened, or maybe the light shifted. "You're stuck now. Guess we'll see if you make a muddle of it."
With that, he stomped off.
Nola slipped her hand into mine—lacing our fingers together. My heart leapt into my throat, and it had nothing to do with the shock of being elected head of the HOA.
"Congratulations!" A shrill voice said behind us. I turned around, keeping a firm grip on Nola. It was the woman with the big blonde hair. "My name is Marcia. Now, I just have a few questions about that noise ordinance..."
CHAPTER TWELVE
Homeowners Association Rule #61:
Outdoor lightbulbs must be white.
It was another hour before we could get away from the HOA meeting. Bane was inundated with questions. Jan looked positively gleeful when she handed over the HOA manual to him—we almost needed a wheelbarrow to carry it back to the house.
When there was finally a break in the questions, Bane had grabbed my hand and practically sprinted back to our house with me in tow. I’d been fairly certain he was in great shape. His mad dash toward freedom only confirmed that his muscles weren’t only for show.
Gasping for air by the time we got back to the house, I croaked out, "Water!"
Once I got a drink of water, I turned to Bane.
His eyes were wide, the look of horror he’d had when they announced him as president still stuck on his face.
"You're the—you're—" I gasped, trying to catch my breath in between my laughter. "You're the new HOA president."
Bane rummaged around the freezer and pulled out a carton of ice cream. He slammed it down on the counter and scooped the entire contents into a bowl. It made a tall mountain of chocolate.
"Mr. HOA. It has a nice ring to it," I said as he glared at me.
He sat down in the living room in that giant overstuffed recliner and tackled the tower of ice cream with determination.
"We're in deep—" He paused. "Trouble."
I sobered and walked into the living room, where I sat on the edge of the coffee table. "Being Mr. HOA isn't exactly flying under the radar, is it?"
He took a big bite of ice cream. I had not realized how giant his mouth was until that moment. There had to be a hippopotamus in his family tree, but it was rather endearing to watch him eat his feelings. It made him more human—more relatable. Mr. Perfect had a flaw.
"It's okay. We'll tell everyone you're sick or something. You only have a couple weeks to live."
His eyes narrowed at me.
"Okay, you don't look very sick. Maybe we could claim early onset dementia? You could pretend to be forgetful all the time. How about that?"
"What a great idea!" He stabbed the ice cream with the spoon. "No. How about this? How about we do what we should have done a couple days ago and get out of here? Never come back. And we'll learn how to be commuters."
"Ugh. That sounds so boring to spend half my time in the car. You realize literally everywhere else is at least an hour away?"
"An hour isn't very long."
"Whatever happened to your ‘if we squat for ten years, we are the legal owners’ idea. Besides, it's like you said, it's not really breaking and entering if we used a key."
He glared at me, "No, that is not what I said. You said it wasn't breaking and entering."
"Look, you're worried about it, but you're already adding value to this property. I saw you pull a weed out of the yard this morning. You're providing a service in exchange for rent, just like you said."
He shook his head. "I'm delusional. Why did I think squatting would be doable?"
"I have permission!"
Bane's shoulders relaxed. "You're right. Yes. You're right."
He continued muttering as he took another big bite of ice cream. I walked over and sat down on the arm of the recliner next to him. He stiffened slightly but continued eating the ice cream. I wrapped my arm around his shoulders in what I hoped was a comforting gesture, like I would with one of my kids. "It's going to be okay. You're going to be the best HOA president this neighborhood has ever had. You're going to kill it. I mean, I can't even blame them for electing you. You'd be my top pick as well."
He smiled weakly. "I bet it's the first time they've elected a homeless man to run the HOA."
I bit my lip, trying not to laugh, but I couldn't help it. I started shaking.
"Come on now. It was your idea to stay here. I think it's time you had an idea that got us out of trouble rather than into it, don't you think?" He shook his head as he pointed his spoon at me.
"Well, you were the one who decided we were married in front of blabbermouth Carol."
"That was purely self-preservation. That woman scares me." He scraped the bottom of the bowl with his spoon.
I moved my arm from around his shoulders and rested it on the back of the chair, realizing how awkwardly close we were. I’d only meant to support and comfort him, not burst his personal space bubble. "How are you not morbidly obese with how much ice cream you eat?"
He shrugged. "I guess I have a happy metabolism."
"You mean a fast metabolism?"
He shook his head. "I meant happy. It's happy to see lots of ice cream."
I chuckled as I stood to move to the couch. It was safe to say he was calming down now that he was joking around. Despite his reservations, I thought he’d make a great HOA president. He'd be particular about so many things that the rest of us normal people wouldn't notice.
"Well, Mr. HOA. What are you going to do first?"
He pointed at the stack of papers on the counter. "Read through that ridiculous HOA manual. Apparently, it has all the rules in there. Jan was pretty quick to hand it over. I'm scared to think about w
hat I've gotten myself into—not to mention what happens when they find out we don't own this house."
"Don't be such a downer. This is the perfect thing to lend credibility to us being here. Don't you see?"
He stood up, twisted his torso so he could pop his back, then carried the ice cream bowl back into the kitchen. "You know, it might give me the opportunity to suggest building on that empty acreage. I think it’s technically owned by the HOA. There's such a housing shortage in town, there's no doubt those lots would be snatched up in a hot minute."
"And you happen to know a real estate agent..."
He smiled. "Exactly. Now, what's our exit strategy out of this place?"
I glanced at the front door, but I figured that wasn't exactly what he meant. "Why do we need an exit strategy?"
"Because I don't want to have to move all the way across the country and start a new real estate office. I'm finally getting it established here. If they find out that I'm trespassing and living in someone else’s house, then it will ruin my reputation."
"It might. But it sure sounds like you're wasting a lot of time worrying about something that probably won't ever happen. Maybe you should try enjoying your time here. It's a nice house. It's a nice neighborhood. The back yard is phenomenal. Everyone loves you here, and your roommate isn't half bad either."
"Well, as long as she remembers to switch the laundry that is."
I smiled. "All right. She's a bit of a slob. I'll give you that."
"A bit?" he asked.
"Yes! A bit, but I'm not the worst. You should have seen my friend, Riley. We were roommates in college. She made me look like a clean freak." I followed him into the kitchen and watched him wash the ice cream bowl.
"Where did you go to college?" He asked as he pulled out a dish towel to dry the bowl.
"OSU. Human sciences major."
"Am I surprised?"
"I don't know—are you?"
He smiled. "No."
"Where did you go, Mr. HOA?"
He smiled. "I didn't. College is a trap."
"A trap? Explain yourself, sir!" Dad would have killed me if I didn’t go to college. Ironically, dad wasn’t a college graduate either, but I guess that was why it was so important to him.
He chuckled at my poor imitation of a subject of the crown. "Paying for a college education can cost anywhere from fifty-thousand dollars to a couple hundred grand. Why would I pay for a degree I wouldn't use, so that I can spend the rest of my life getting out of debt?"
"You and your debt." I shook my head. "If you told me why you don't like it, maybe I'd understand."
"Because you become a slave to the loan!"
"No, I mean your 'why.' Something made you look at money with a different lens."
"How about I let you psychoanalyze me another night?"
"It's a date!"
He looked at me sharply. His dark lashes blinking slowly.
"I meant like a friend date. Like a save the date. But not the wedding date. I mean, we are married but—" I gulped when the corners of his mouth tipped up into a smirk. My hands trembled as I spoke again, "Okay. I'm going to bed before I choke on my foot."
Bane's chuckle drifted after me as I ran toward the sanctity of my bedroom. My cheeks felt hot after mentioning the word date. Why did I use that word? So many better words I could have used: appointment, meeting, mutual conversation time. Even ‘do life together’ sounded better than ‘date.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Homeowners Association Rule #14:
No outdoor clotheslines.
Underwear. Everywhere. Absolutely everywhere. Hanging from the shower doors, the curtain rods, and the bathroom cupboards.
It was like a lingerie shop had exploded in my bathroom.
My bathroom.
That was a funny one. There was nothing about this situation that was mine.
Not the house. Not my wife. Not my role as president of the HOA.
A heavy feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. My life was spiraling out of control. But there was one thing I could get control of: the underwear explosion in my bathroom.
"Nola!" I yelled.
A minute later, I heard her quick footsteps.
"What is it? Did you see a spider?"
I glared at her when she walked into the bathroom with a poorly hidden smile on her face.
I pointed at the shower where there were multiple garments hanging over the door and the showerhead itself.
"What's this?"
She shrugged, two pink spots appearing on her cheeks. "I forgot about it. I'm sorry." She hurried around the room gathering all her items.
Ah, crap. I just wanted to shower—I hadn't meant to embarrass her. "No, no, that's okay. It—I can just use the other bathroom. Don't worry about it."
With a quick nod, I grabbed the soap out of the shower and hurried out of the bathroom and upstairs to use the third bathroom. Nola might be unusual—not many people I knew broke into houses without a second thought—but she still had feelings. It wasn't fair of me to embarrass her by yelling for her to clean up her underwear.
The stress was getting to me. Treating people this way was not how my momma raised me.
After a long shower, I made myself at home in the kitchen. It was the first time I'd cooked dinner in a long time, so I stuck with something simple and made spaghetti from a jar and garlic bread with a store-bought French loaf. Everything still smelled delicious.
Nola still wasn't showing her face. This wasn't good. I must have really embarrassed her.
Heading down the hall to the room she'd picked, I knocked on the door.
There was a soft shuffling sound inside.
"Nola?"
More shuffling.
"Nola..."
"Yes?" Her voice was more subdued than usual.
"Nola, I'm sorry."
"Why are you sorry?"
"Because I'm a jerk. I didn't mean to embarrass you."
All was quiet until the door swung open. "You didn't embarrass me."
Her bright pink cheeks said otherwise. She also seemed to find my chest incredibly fascinating.
"Everybody wears underwear—at least the majority do," I said, hoping to coax a smile out of her.
She nodded. "Not everybody forgets about it and hangs it up in a stranger's bathroom."
"But we're not strangers. We're roommates." I chuckled. "Heck, we're married."
Her eyes finally met mine, the sparkle coming back.
"If it will make you feel better, I'll hang my briefs to dry on the dining room fan."
This time a full smile stretched across her face.
"Come on. I made us some dinner."
"I thought I smelled something delicious," she said as she followed me into the kitchen. "Man, do I know how to pick a husband or what? You can cook!"
"I'm pretty sure I picked you."
"Or maybe I entrapped you by luring you to this amazing house." She lifted the lid and smelled the spaghetti sauce. "I had a sixth sense that you could cook."
"You better believe I can cook. You've never seen a can opener like me."
Nola glanced over her shoulder at me. "You'd be in high demand for desperate housewives."
She pulled two plates from the top cupboard. Sometimes I forgot how tall she was. It was nice to be around a woman who I didn't tower over.
"Don’t you find it strange that Sebastian Mercier would want to keep our deposits? He owns multiple properties in town. I can’t imagine our deposits would seem like very much money to him."
"Eh, he likes to account for every dollar he spends."
I stopped cutting the bread. "You know, you seem to know a lot about him."
She stilled for a moment, but then shrugged her shoulders in a casual gesture. "Like I've said before, word gets around in a small community."
Shaking my head, I went back to slicing the bread, feeling a small amount of sympathy for Mercier. "It's a shame that such a big reputation can be built about a man
who doesn't even live here."
"Well, you know the best way to squash rumors, right?"
I shook my head.
"To live your life like an open book. Nothing negates rumors like truth."
Laying the bread slices on our plates, I dished the noodles and sauce next to it. "You know, every once in a while, you say things that should be printed on a coffee mug."
Nola laughed and took the plate I held out to her. "So glad my wisdom will go down in history as mug-wisdom. I've always aspired to greatness. Nice to know I've finally achieved it."
We sat down at the large rectangular table, each sitting on an end. "Does everyone in the community know Mercier? I haven't run into anyone else who knows him."
Nola shifted in her seat. "Actually, I sort of interned for him for a few years."
I sat straight up. "What?"
She grimaced. "Yeah, he did some house flipping, and it was a summer job for me."
"So you do know a lot about him."
She studied her plate. "I thought I knew him better—but turns out I was wrong."
The melancholy mood settled around the table as she seemingly reminisced about her summer job, and I wondered how the heck I'd not realized she knew Mercier. Besides the fact she didn't tell me. Only a small factoid.
She knew Mercier. She could have used her work connection to speak with him.
But when I looked in her face, all I saw was pain. Sometimes the people you admire the most have the greatest power to hurt you. And I found myself not wanting to exploit her connection to the man.
"What happened?" I asked quietly. Though I had a thousand questions I'd like to ask her, I held back.
"He—" she swallowed.
I scooted my chair back from the table and moved to the chair next to her. "Did he hurt you?"
She looked at me in horror. "No! No! Nothing like that."
She reached forward and rested her hand on my arm. "You're very sweet for worrying about me. It was nothing like that. It was more like I had him on a pedestal in my mind, and then he just didn't live up to my expectations. He didn't value his family like I thought he should. And when it came down to it—he was all about the money."
Mr. H.O.A. Page 9