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M y water shoes squelch on the pavement as my boyfriend—my fun-loving, super-hot boyfriend—leads the way across the street and into the small and overflowing club house. The supervisor position has been going well, and on my days off from there, I've gotten to spend every waking moment (and most of the sleeping ones) with Wyatt, whether it’s guiding a tour together or snuggling up on the couch.

We wrap up a rafting tour where I successfully manage to stay in the boat when Wyatt’s Mom calls and insists there is some kind of emergency and that we are needed to come right away.

“Do you think they’re okay?” I ask.

“I’m sure they’re fine. You know how they are. Their emergency could be anything from a loose tube on the hot tub to the grocery store no longer stocking Mom’s favorite candies.” He’s casual about this, but lots of time in his company has taught me that Wyatt cares deeply for people. I know he’ll feel anxious until he’s laid eyes on both of his parents.

Many of the faces in the crowd are familiar to me now. After creating such a buzz about Hannah and Wyatt at the restaurant, Myra has created a monthly podcast where I’ve been a guest twice. It has no discernible theme, and our discussions have ranged from whether ghosts are real to how to count cards at blackjack. She sprung that one on me without warning and was annoyed when I didn’t want to lay it all out for her. I don’t want to lose my job, which I've actually come to like.

I destroyed several of these people at poker at Hannah’s parents’ house just last week. I wasn’t about to go easy on them just because my job gives me an abundance of experience. When my pile of chips at the clubhouse grew, Hannah nudged me to be kind to my elders, and Wyatt said, “Forget that. Mr. Shellecky has a mean streak in him. Take no prisoners. Get ‘em baby.”

That night, the clubhouse had been lively, but nothing like today. The room overflows with hard chairs that have been set up to accommodate the masses. Hand in hand, we weave through the crowd until Wyatt spots his mom and drags us over.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“It’s your dad and Arthur”

Wyatt catches my eyes, and I know we’re both thinking, Oh no, not again . Not when they’ve gotten along for so long.

I scan the crowd looking for the dads and try to make out the issue from the conversation around us. There are so many people talking at once, though, and I can’t make sense of any of it. Hannah pushes her way in from the opposite entrance. She and Dr. Nelson gradually make their way over.

“Did you two also get summoned?” she asks.

“Yeah, we haven’t figured out what’s going on yet.”

“The board placed a one-birdfeeder-per-household limit,” Dr. Nelson says.

This strikes me as an absurd rule to enforce, but I can’t remember seeing any birdfeeder at the MacGregors’ house.

“So? Do either of you even have birdfeeders?” Wyatt asks.

Ms. MacGregor and Dr. Nelson exchange looks. “We didn’t use to. I take it you haven’t driven past this week.”

Hannah bites her lip, and when she speaks, her voice is full of dread. “How many?”

“Seventeen,” Wyatt’s mom admits.

“Each,” Dr. Nelson adds.

My eyes bug out. Thirty-four bird feeders between two houses?

“It’s irresponsible is what it is!” A woman shouts.

“Mind your own beeswax, Elaine!” Mr. Nelson shouts.

“I know you said I need to stop qualifying everything as an emergency, but they’re about to riot.”

“All the spilled birdseed attracts other animals. My garden is a wreck!” someone shouts.

“There’s squirrel poop all over my lawn,” another person proclaims.

“You don’t even know what squirrel poop looks like,” Wyatt’s dad says. Come to think of it, I’ve always lived in neighborhoods full of squirrels, and I don’t remember ever coming across squirrel poop. What does it look like?

“I can talk to Dad about the birdfeeders, but he won’t back down in this setting. I’ll have to confront him later,” Wyatt says.

“We just need to get them to move onto the next agenda item,” Hannah says.

I’ve got this. I don’t know how I ended up coming to so many homeowners association meetings for a place where I don’t even own a home, but I know the ins and outs. I also know that the president, Janet, runs a ludicrous ship but is anal about keeping things on time. I turn to Wyatt’s mom.

“Do you have the email with the agenda?”

“They send an email with the agenda?” she asks bewilderedly. How do I know this but she doesn’t?

“Yes. Can I see your phone?”

“Of course, sweet girl,” she says, laying it on extra thick. All this time and she’s still paranoid about what I think of her.

“Four hundred and ninety-six unread emails. Geez, Julie. How do you sleep at night?”

“In the old guest room, you know that. I know it’s controversial to sleep in my own room, and you know I love my husband, but that man sure can snore,” she says, entirely missing my point.

I quickly search for the email and see that the birdfeeder agenda item’s allotted discussion time ended fifteen minutes ago.

“The neighborhood vigilantes for decorative freedom stand in the corner, their oversized t-shirts flapping in the breeze like capes for the superheroes that they are,” Myra says enthusiastically into a miniature microphone.

I push my way through the crowd and over to Janet.

“Hi,” I say, bursting out of the mass of bodies and rubbing at my shin where Mildred whacked me with her cane for accidentally bumping her shoulder.

“Hello, dear,” Janet says. “I’m afraid our agenda is closed today. I can’t put you on the list for any additional topics, especially since you aren’t technically a resident.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. I merely wanted to check the schedule with you. It looks like we’re running fifteen minutes behind.”

Her jaw drops, and she checks her watch. From the absolute horror that paints her face when she realizes this is true, you’d think I'd just told her wolves have trampled her daffodils.

She bangs her gavel on the folding table, but nobody seems to hear it over the arguing. “Desperate times...” she mutters and pulls an air horn from her pocket.

She blasts the horn. Hands fly to cover ears, and people scream left and right.

“We’re tabling this topic. We need to move onto the next agenda item. Mildred, the floor is yours.” Her tone leaves zero room for discussion, and with only a few quiet grumbles, people who had wandered around make it back to their seats. I take the opening to move back over to Wyatt and take his hand. He gives it a squeeze.

“Aren’t you the little senior citizen whisperer,” he says and kisses my cheek.

“It’s a talent.” I shrug, and Hannah smiles at us in a half-formed way that’s a little wistful. Her dating life is still a work in progress, and none of my exes have panned out yet. But I’ve got plans, and she’s got herself a dating coach. I'm optimistic.

“I would like to propose we invest some of the HOA funds in a spiritual cleanser,” Mildred declares without an ounce of irony, and arguments flare up from all around the room.

“Oh, come on.”

“My hard-earned money is not being wasted on your superstitions!”

“What hard-earned money? You inherited all your money. You haven’t worked a day in your life!”

“It’s still my money!”

“Easy, people. Let’s hear her out,” Janet says.

“It’s time we all acknowledge there’s an evil spirit in our midst. I think you all know what I'm referring to.”

A series of hushed whispers goes up around the room, and I pick out the words, “The statue.” Oh no.

“Maybe we should get out of here,” Wyatt whispers.

“Good idea,” I say.

“I’ve been tracing the paranormal occurrences for my podcast.; The curious happenstances of Eagle’s Landing/knitting with Myra, new episode every Tuesday and Thursday. I believe that haunting Victims Zero are the Nelsons.

“Wait a minute, was that you two?” Hannah hisses.

I stored the creepy statue that Wyatt’s mom gifted me for a while, but after she stopped in a couple times and didn’t seem to notice it, it had to go. I was all for setting it on fire, but in a not-so-sober decision, we decided to play a harmless little prank and leave it at the Nelsons. We wanted to see how long it took for word to make it to Hannah, but then I kind of forgot about it.

“For anyone unaware, the statue has been placed in the trash a minimum of fifteen times, once even being driven all the way to the landfill. It somehow keeps appearing in different people’s homes,” Myra says.

“Clearly there’s an evil spirit at work that needs to be dealt with,” Mildred adds, bringing us back around to the spiritual cleanser proposal, which launches the whole room into a spiraling argument once again.

“You’re haunting the neighborhood?” Hannah whispers. She’s quiet enough to barely be audible, but her pitch is reaching hysterical levels.

“Noah and Penny banned me from pranks at the office, so I needed an outlet.” Wyatt shrugs.

“We only did it to your parents,” I say. “Maybe the thing really is haunted.”

Hannah’s face goes red, and my jaw drops. “Hannah Nelson, did you move the statue?”

“Maybe? Just twice! My mom tried to get rid of it twice and I brought it back because she was kind of getting on my nerves. I was feeling a little petty, but then she started really freaking out and I didn’t know what to do. Trevor saw me toting it around and said, ’Woah, that thing’s creepy as hell. Can I borrow that?’ I said, ‘Take it.’ I didn’t know he was moving it around, too.”

“Alright,” A man in the corner shouts. “I admit it. I moved the statue.”

“Quit taking credit for my jokes. You were never the funny one. I moved the statue.”

How many people have moved this damn thing? “I think that’s our cue,” I say, and the three of us duck out the door.

“Well, that was eventful,” I say.

“Yes, and as much as I’d love to stay and watch it devolve, I’ve got to get going,” Hannah says.

“Are you working tonight?” I ask.

“Nope, I’ve got a lesson.” Her cheeks go pink again. Wyatt’s hand squeezes mine in that silent way we’ve managed to develop. “You?”

“Not today. I’ve got a supervisor shift tomorrow,” I say. That sentence doesn’t come with the same sense of dread that it used to carry. Now that I’m making better use of my time outside of work, I’m starting to look forward to working at the casino. I’ve learned a lot in my new supervisor role and am even thinking about enrolling in a program they have for senior leadership. That’s way down the line since I haven’t been a supervisor for long, but for once, staying in one place isn’t so scary.

“Yeah you do, boss lady,” Wyatt says, his voice husky and seductive. Working with him at Shred and Treat has been incredible, and we’ve made a date-night pact to take classes in things we’ve never tried to always keep us on our toes. I lean in to kiss him and throw in plenty of tongue. Wyatt’s hand runs down my back, and he pinches my ass.

“On that note, I'm out,” Hannah says and hurries away.

“Woops. Forgot we had an audience,” I say against his lips.

“I don’t mind an audience.” He tilts my head and pulls me in closer with one hand, deepening our kiss while his other hand slides under the edge of my shirt.

I slap his hand and pull back. “Naughty.”

“Guilty as charged. Come back to my place?” he asks.

“About that.”

He raises an eyebrow, and I brace myself to say the thing that’s been on my mind for the last couple weeks.

“You know how I keep a toothbrush there?” I ask.

“Yep.”

“I was thinking... maybe you could set a drawer aside for me, too?” My chest constricts as that old claustrophobic feeling tries to take the wheel. But I force myself to breathe, and as I do anytime this happens, I remember all the amazing things that have ocurred in the last few months when I finally took some chances and got myself a life.

I study a crack in the sidewalk, a leaf on a nearby bush, a cloud that looks remarkably phallic—anything to avoid looking at Wyatt’s face. Never one to let me get away with my shit, he raises a finger to my chin and gently nudges me to look at him. He’s got the goofiest grin.

“That…” He dips his face and plants a peck on my lips. My heart flutters. “Sounds like a wonderful idea.”

I didn’t actually think he’d say no. If I expressed a hint of readiness, he’d probably drop down on one knee tomorrow. He’s known from the start that I need to take things slow, and he’s been incredibly kind and patient.

I just might love that man. Maybe soon I'll even work up to saying it.